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Gorging himself in gloom! No love was left;
And their masts fell down piecemeal; as they dropp’d
COMAL AND GALVINA.
“MOURNful is thy tale, son of the car,” said Carril of other times. “ It sends my soul back to the ages of old, and to the days of other years.
Often have I heard of Comal, who slew the friend he loved; yet victory attended his steel; and the battle was consumed in his presence.
• Comal was the son of Albion; the chief of an hundred hills. His deer drank of a thousand streams. A thousand rocks replied to the voice of his dogs. His face was the mildness of youth. His hand the death of heroes. One was his love, and fair was she!—the daughter of mighty Conloch. She appeared like a sun-beam among women. Her hair was like the wing of the raven. Her dog's were taught to the chase. Her bow-string sounded on the winds of the forest. Her soul was fixed on Comal. Often met their eyes of love. Their course in the chase was one. Happy were their words in secret. But Gormal loved the maid, the dark chief of the gloomy Ardven. He watched her lone steps in the heath!—the foe of unhappy Comal.
“One day, tired of the chase, when the mist had concealed their friends, Comal and the daughter of Conloch met, in the cave of Ronan. It was the wonted haunt of Comal. Its sides were hung with his arms. A hundred shields of thongs were there; a hundred helms of sounding steel. “Rest here,' he said, 'my love, Galvina; thou light of the cave of Ronan! A deer appears on Mora's brow.
I go; but I will soon return. • I fear,' she said, “dark Gormal my foe; he haunts the cave of Ronan! I will rest among the arms; but soon return, my love.'
“ He went to the deer of Mora. The daughter of Conloch would needs try his love. She clothed her white sides with his armour, and strode from the cave of Ronan. He thought it was his foe. His heart beat high. His colour changed, and darkness dimmed his eyes. He drew the bow. The arrow flew. Galvina fell in blood! He ran with wildness in his steps, and called the daughter of Conloch. No answer in the lonely rock. Where art thou, O my love?' He saw at length her heaving heart beating around the feathered arrow. O Conloch's daughter!—is it thou?' He sunk upon her breast.
“ The hunters found the hapless pair. He afterwards walked the hill; but many and silent were his steps round the dark dwelling of his love. The fleet of the ocean came. He fought: the strangers fled. He searched for death along the field. But who could slay the mighty Comal! He threw away his dark-brown shield. An arrow found his manly breast. He sleeps with his loved Galvina, at the noise of the sounding surge! Their green tombs are seen by the mariner, when he bounds o'er the waves of the north.”
A pious ostler, who did much repent
Of all his sins—and they were not a few—
And get his wicked soul white-wash'd anew:
So rose betimes next morn, and quickly knelt
Before a goodly priest with shaven crown,
Was not a novice in the tricks of town.
To him a free confession soon he made,
And boldly vow'd he ne'er would sin again; Hoping the holy sire would lend his aid,
From his polluted soul to wipe the stain.
“Son,” said the monk, “although thy crimes are great,
Enough to damn thy wretched, sinful soul, Too much I fear there's one you do not state,
And I, ere you're absolved, must hear the whole:
“Say, by your Lady, did you ne'er beneath
The manger keep some tallow in a horn, And did you never grease a horse's teeth,
To hinder him from surfeiting on corn?
No, father! no,” he cried; I'm not involved
In such a crime; indeed, I've named the whole.” So then the priest his load of sin absolved,
And home the ostler steer'd with white-wash'd soul.
Just six months after this, the ostler came
Again before the friar to confess; Acknowledging with penitential shame,
His greasing horses' teeth with great success.
“Oh, wicked son!” the holy father cried
“ Did you not tell me, when I saw you last,
Yes, holy sir, I did, and then spoke true!"
BRUTUS AND CASSIUS.
Cas. That you have wrong’d me, doth appear in this: You have condemn'd and noted Lucius Pella For taking bribes here of the Sardians; Wherein my letter (praying on his side, Because I knew the man) was slighted of.
Bru. You wrong'd yourself to write in such a case.
Cas. In such a time as this, it is not meet
Bru. Yet let me tell you, Cassius, you yourself
Cas. I an itching palm!
last. Bru. The name of Cassius honours this corruption, And chastisement doth therefore hide its head.
Bru. Remember March, the Ides of March remember!
Cas. Brutus, bay not me: