The sun sat low'ring in the Western sky,
The swelling tempest spread around the eye;
Upon my Cawna's bosom I reclind,
Catching the breathing whispers of the wind:
Swift from the wood a prowling Tiger came;
Dreadful his voice, his eyes a glowing flame;
I bent the bow, the never-erring dart
Pierc'd his rough armour, but escap'd his heart;
He fled, tho' wounded, to a distant waste,
I urg'd the furious flight with fatal haste;
He fell, he dy'd — spent in the fiery toil,
I stripid his carcase of the furry spoil
And as the varied spangles met my eye,
On this, I cried, shall my lov'd Cawna lie.
The dusky midnight hung the skies in grey;
Impell'd by Love, I wing'd the airy way;
In the deep valley and the mossy plain,
I sought my Cawna, but I sought in vain.
The pallid shadows of the azure waves
Had made my Cawna and my children slaves.
Reflection maddens, to recall the hour,
The Gods had giv'n me to the Daemon's power.
The dusk slow vanish'd from the hated lawn,
I gain'd a mountain glaring with the dawn.
There the full sails, expanded to the wind,
Struck horror and distraction in my mind,
There Cawna mingled with a worthless train,
In common slav'ry drags the hated chain.
Now judge my Heccar, have I cause for rage?
Should aught the thunder of my arm assuage?
In ever-reeking blood this jav'lin dy'd
With vengeance shall be never satisfied:
I'll strew the beaches with the mighty dead
And tinge the lily of their features red.