Mean time young Alpin feeks the king and peers; But fair Culena in his bosom bears. In vain against the rifing flame he ftrove, And raise a bulwark 'gainft the future war. And ev'ry voice is forward in his His temples whiten'd with the fn On the brave youth he bends his folemn look, Then, turning round, thus to the nobles spoke. "Beneath the royal banner, Scors afar Had urg'd on Humber's banks the foreign war; And thither night convey'd a band of foes. I went, expell'd the foes, and kill'd their lord, Take it brave youth; for you can wield it best." reply'd, Shooting the heavy blade athwart his fide, My lord with gratitude this fword I take, Efteem the prefent for the giver's fake. It still may find the way it oft explor'd, And glut with hoftile blood its fecond lord; He thus.---With placid mein great INDULPH rose, For us, my lords, fought all our godlike fires; Pofterity degen'rate, as they groan, Shall bless their fires, and call their woes their own. Let us, my lords, each virt'ous spark inspire, And where we find it, blow it to a fire. Thy service, gallant ALPIN, in this war, He added not the godlike chiefs obey; The palace here, and there a virid mound, Confine a flow'ry spot of graffy ground. Chequers with hoary knobs the various scene. An antique bow a BALEARIAN Wore, When Romans thunder'd on our ALBION's shore. Threw on our Scottish host the distant war; Thus, grafping the long bow, the monarch faid; Rofe valiant Grahame and youthful SOMERLED. Next GoWAL in the ftrife demands a part, Fam'd on his native hills to wing the dart. Full on the mound a helm, their aim, was plac'd; And GowAL drew the nerve, firft, to his breaft; The bow reluctant yields, then backward fprings; The nerve resounds, thro' air the arrow fings. Clofe to the aim, the earth the arrow meets, And as it vibrates the bright helmet beats. Applause enfues.--- The shaft was fent by Grahame, And cut its brazen journey thro' the aim. The prize on him the murm'ring chiefs bestow, Till SOMERLED affumes the antient bow. The dancing chord the leaping arrow left, And, rushing, took on end Grahame's birchen shaft; Tore on its way, around the fhivers fly, And SOMERLED brings off the prize with joy. "Who," cries the king, " this fhield his prize fhall bear, And fling with skilful hand the martial spear? Behind this buckler mighty KENNETH stood, When Tay, impurpled, ran with Pictish blood." He said, and plac'd a mark, the knobby roun And meafur'd back with equal fteps the groun |