Still'd is the tempest's blust'ring roar;
Hoarse dash the billows of the sea;
But who on Kilda's dismal shore
Cries - 'Have I burnt my harp for thee!'

'Tis Col, wild raving to the gale,
That howls o'er heath, and blasted lea;
Still as he eyes the lessening sail,
Cries - 'Have I burnt my harp for thee!'

Bright was thy fame in Bara's isle,
Sweet bard! where many a rival sung;
Oft hadst thou wak'd the tear and smile
As soft thy harp melodious rung:

Oft hadst thou touch'd the female heart,
(To love I ween! and pity true)
Till Mora came to hear thy art ;-
Mora, with eye of softening blue.

The maid he priz'd above the throng
That press'd to hear his raptur'd strain;
The maid, who melted at the song,
But trifled with a lover's pain:

Long had he borne the treach'rous smile
That cherish'd hope, and left despair;
The promis'd bliss which female guile
As oft dispers'd in empty air;

Till shunn'd by ev'ry constant maid;
Condemn'd by friends; by kindred prest;
Deceitful thus, in smiles array'd,
Mora the sorrowing youth addrest:

'Too long, O Col! in plaintive moan
Thou'st strung thy Harp to strains divine;
Add but two strings of varied tone,
This heart, this yielding heart is thine.'

Two strings the youth with anxious care,
Half doubtful, to his Harp applies;
And oft, in vain, he turns each air,
And oft each varying note he tries;

At length (unrivall'd in his art!)
With new-born sounds the valley rings ;
Col claims his Mora's promis'd heart
As deep he strikes the varied strings!

Three moons, three honied moons, are past
Since Col, enraptur'd laugh'd at care;
And oft the tuneful Harp he blest
That won a nymph so good and fair:

Till mindful of those tender ties
That fashion's sons would blush to name;
With soften'd voice, and melting sighs,
He thus accosts his peerless dame.

'Three months, dear partner of my bliss!
Three fleeting months have shed their charms
Since first I snatch'd the bridal kiss,
And clasp'd perfection to my arms:

Yet happiness, however true,
Must fade if selfish or confin'd ;
Your friends now claim affections due;
The kindred transports of the mind!

Each parent mourns our cold delay;
They think of Mora with a tear:
The gale invites - at early day
To Cana's sea-beat shore we steer.'

The morn blush'd fair; mild blew the gale,
The lark to heaven light warbling springs;
Col smiles with love, spreads quick the sail,
And sweeps with ravish'd heart the strings!

But ah! how short the transient gleams
That light with joy the human breast!
The tempest raves and wildly screams
Each frighted sea fowl to her nest,

High rage the billows of the deep
That lately roll'd serenely mild,
And dash'd near Kilda's awful steep;
Col clasps his love with horror wild.

For cold's the form o'er which he hung
With raptur'd eye the morn before;
And mute and tuneless is the tongue
That charm'd so late on Bara's shore;

And pale and lifeless is the cheek
That glow'd so late with rosy hue;
The eye that melting joys could speak
Is clos'd! - the eye of soft'ning blue.

Hard with the furious surge he strove,
His Love and fav'rite harp to save;
Till deep in Crona's sea worn cove,
He bears them safe from storm and wave.

But cove, nor love's assiduous care
Could ebbing life's warm tide restore!
Pale, wet, and speechless lay the fair
On Kilda's bleak and stormy shore.

Oft, oft her breathless lips of clay
With frantic cries he fondly prest;
And while a senseless corse she lay,
He strain'd her madly to his breast.

But who can paint the pencil true
The scene, when sighs first struggling stole
(Which thus by magic love he drew)
Deep lab'ring from her fluttering soul!

'She breathes! - she lives!' the minstrel cried,
'Life has not fled this beauteous form!
Protecting heaven! some aid provide!
Shield - shield my trembler from the storm!

'No roof its friendly smoke displays!
No storm-scap'd faggot, turf, nor tree
No shrub to yield one kindly blaze,
And warm my love to life and me!

Dark grows the night! - and cold and sharp
Beat wind, and hail, and drenching rain!
Nought else remains - I'll burn my Harp!'
He cries, and breaks his harp in twain.

'For thee, O Mora! oft it rung,
To guard thee from each rival's art;
And now, though broken and unstrung,
It guards from death thy constant heart.'

Bright flam'd the fragments as he spoke;
One parting sigh his Harp he gave:
The storm-drench'd faggots blaze thro' smoke,
And snatch his Mora from the grave.

PART II.

Now heedless rav'd the stormy night,
For instant terror frown'd no more,
And cheerful blaz'd the spreading light
Round Kilda's dark and dismal shore;

And cheerful smil'd the grateful pair,
And talk'd of death and dangers past,
When loud the voice of wild despair
Came rushing on the midnight blast.

Chill horror seiz'd each lover's heart
'Ah me! what dismal sounds draw near!
Defend us heaven!' with sudden start
Cry'd Mora, thrill'd with frantic fear.

One hand supports his trembling wife,
The other grasps his trusty glave;
'My Harp,' he cries, 'has given thee life,
And this, that precious life shall save!'

'No danger comes,' deep sigh'd a form,
As near the cave it shiv'ring stood;
'A stranger shipwreck'd by the storm
Implores the gen'rous and the good;

No danger comes - ah me! forlorn!
A wretch by woes and tempests tost!
From love, from friends, and kindred torn,
And dash'd on Kilda's frightful coast!

Restless with grief, at op'ning day
For Lewis' isle I spread the sail;
Sweet rose the lark with cheerful lay,
And sweetly blew the flatt'ring gale!

Ah fate relentless! thus to cheat
With baneful lure and treach'rous smile!
Were human suff'rings not complete
Till wreck'd on Kilda's desert isle!

Lur'd by the light that gleams afar,
With fainting steps these cliffs I prest :
O! may it prove a polar star,
And guide to pity's shelt'ring breast!

Quick from his grasp the falchion flies
As Col each opening arm extends;
'Approach, ill fated youth!' he cries,
'Here - here are none but suff'ring friends!

Like thee, we hail'd the matin song,
The flatt'ring gale, and faithless tide!
How sweet! by zephyrs borne along,
My Harp and Mora by my side!

Why starts the youth? approach; draw near,
Behold the wreck of storm and wave
'Tis all that's left! - my Harp so dear
I burn'd, that fair one's life to save!'

First pale, then crimson grew his cheek,
And sorely shook his manly frame!
His fault'ring tongue refus'd to speak,
Save to repeat his Mora's name

A name which oft had charm'd his ear,
And e'en from childhood grew more sweet;
A name which love had render'd dear,
And sorrow taught him to repeat!

Long had he nurs'd the kindling flame,
Long, long possess'd her virgin heart;
But party feuds and discord came,
And forc'd the tend'rest pair to part.

Torn hapless thus from all he lov'd,
The wretched wand'rer left his home,
From isle to isle incessant rov'd ;
His only wish to idly roam!

Oft had he brav'd the tempest's war,
Unaided in his slender bark;
Oft lonely steer'd by some faint star
That glimmer'd thro' th' involving dark;

Oft, oft uncertain whether driven,
Or near some rock, or breaker borne;
He'd quit his helm to guiding heaven,
And sigh his cheerless lot till morn!

Oft had the wild heath been his bed,
On some lone hill, or craggy steep;
While light'nings flash'd around his head,
And eagles scream'd his woes asleep.

Thus pass'd his wand'ring life away,
'A wretch by woes and tempests tost,'
Till fortune, in her changeful play,
Wreck'd him on Kilda's fatal coast.

Ah! little thought he while he strove
'Gainst whelming wave and rocky shore,
You light would guide him to his love,
I'll ne'er burn Harp again for thee!'