ble my son? thou hast fought in the battle of shields.
They look'd from no cloud of the hills; but the soul of thy father beheld
them.
Lochallen return'd from the field, to the sea-beaten tower of Arthula.
Five days he abode in the hall, and they pass'd like a glimpse of the sun,
When the clouds of the tempest are rent, and the green island smiles
'midst the storm.
On the sixth a cloud hung on his brow, and his eye shun'd the looks of his
friends.
He spoke to the maid of his soul, and the trouble of his bosom was great.
Pleasant is the hall of my love; but the storm gathers round us, Orvina.
I must go to the island of Uthal, and scatter his gathering force.
But like a cleft oak of the forest, I'll quickly return to my love:
When the hard wedge is drawn from its side, it returns to itself again.
The daughter of Lorma was silent: she turn'd her fair face from his sight.
Go to the war, son of Mora; and the strength of thy fathers go with thee.
I will sit on the high rocky shore, and look o'er the wide foaming sea.
I will watch ev'ry blue rising cloud, till I see thy dark vessels return.

He gather'd his warriours around him; they darken'd the brown rugged
shore.
The rocks echo'd wide to their cries, and loud was the dashing of oars.
Orvina stood high on a rock, that hung o'er the deep lashing main;
Big swell'd the tear in her eye, and high heav'd the sighs of her bosom;
As she saw the white billows encreasing between his dark ship and the
shore.
Her fixed eye follow'd its course o'er many a far distant wave,
Till its broad sails, and high tow'ring mast but appear'd like a speck on
the waters;
Yet still she beheld in her fancy the form of her love on its side;
And she stretched her white arms to the ocean, and wav'd her loose girdle
on high.

Soon reach'd the sons of Ithona the blue misty isle of their foe.
Like the pent up dogs of the hunter when let loose from their prison of
night;
Who snuff up the air of the morning, and rejoice at the voice of the
chace;
They leapt from the sides of their vessels, and spread o'er the wide
sounding shore.
Thick on the brown heathy plain, were spread the dark thousands of Uthal.
The warriours of Lochallen were few, but their fathers were known in the
song.
Like a small rapid stream of the hills when it falls on the broad settled
lake,
And troubles its dark muddy bosom, and dashes its waters aloft,
So rush'd the keen sons of Ithona on the thick gather'd host of the foe.
Red glea