FRAGMENT I SHILRIC, VINVELA. VINVELA My love is a son of the hill. He pursues the flying deer. His grey dogs are panting around him; his bow-string sounds in the wind. Whether by the fount of the rock, or by the stream of the mountain thou liest; when the rushes are nodding with the wind, and the mist is flying over thee, let me approach my love unperceived, and see him from the rock. Lovely I saw thee first by the aged oak; thou wert returning tall from the chace; the fairest among thy friends. SHILRIC. What voice is that I hear? that voice like the summer-wind.--I sit not by the nodding rushes; I hear not the fount of the rock. Afar, Vinvela, afar I go to the wars of Fingal. My dogs attend me no more. No more I tread the hill. No more from on high I see thee, fair-moving by the stream of the plain; bright as the bow of heaven; as the moon on the western wave.
- ISBN10 0557758289
- ISBN13 9780557758289
- Publish Date 22 October 2010 (first published 17 June 2004)
- Publish Status Active
- Publish Country US
- Imprint Lulu.com
- Format eBook
- Language English