[
FRAGMENT
]
III
.
EVENING
is
grey
on
the
hills
.
The
north
wind
resounds
through
the
woods
.
White
clouds
rise
on
the
sky
:
the
trembling
snow
descends
.
The
river
howls
afar
,
along
its
winding
course
.
Sad
,
by
a
hollow
rock
,
the
grey-hair'd
Carryl
sat
.
Dry
fern
waves
over
his
head
;
his
seat
is
in
an
aged
birch
.
Clear
to
the
roaring
winds
he
lifts
his
voice
of
woe
.
TOSSED
on
the
wavy
ocean
is
He
,
the
hope
of
the
isles
;
Malcolm
,
the
support
of
the
poor
;
foe
to
the
proud
in
arms
!
Why
hast
thou
left
us
behind
?
why
live
we
to
mourn
thy
fate
?
We
might
have
heard
,
with
thee
,
the
voice
of
the
deep
;
have
seen
the
oozy
rock
.
SAD
on
the
sea-beat
shore
thy
spouse
looketh
for
thy
return
.
The
time
of
thy
promise
is
come
;
the
night
is
ga
thering
around
.
But
no
white
sail
is
on
the
sea
;
no
voice
is
heard
except
the
blustering
winds
.
Low
is
the
soul
of
the
war
!
Wet
are
the
locks
of
youth
!
By
the
foot
of
some
rock
thou
liest
;
washed
by
the
waves
as
they
come
.
Why
,
ye
winds
,
did
ye
bear
him
on
the
desert
rock
?
Why
,
ye
waves
,
did
ye
roll
over
him
?
BUT
,
Oh
!
what
voice
is
that
?
Who
rides
on
that
meteor
of
fire
!
Green
are
his
airy
limbs
.
It
is
he
!
it
is
the
ghost
of
Malcolm
!
—
Rest
,
lovely
soul
,
rest
on
the
rock
;
and
let
me
hear
thy
voice
!
—
He
is
gone
,
like
a
dream
of
the
night
.
I
see
him
through
the
trees
.
Daughter
of
Reynold
!
he
is
gone
.
Thy
spouse
shall
return
no
more
.
No
more
shall
his
hounds
come
from
the
hill
,
forerunners
of
their
master
.
No
more
from
the
distant
rock
shall
his
voice
greet
thine
ear
.
Silent
is
he
in
the
deep
,
unhappy
daughter
of
Rey
nold
!
I
will
sit
by
the
stream
of
the
plain
.
Ye
rocks
!
hang
over
my
head
.
Hear
my
voice
,
ye
trees
!
as
ye
bend
on
the
shaggy
hill
.
My
voice
shall
preserve
the
praise
of
him
,
the
hope
of
the
isles
.