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A POEM. 171
moulder with age away ; when thou, mighty ftream, flialt ceafe
to run, and the mountain-fpring fliall, no more, ftipply thy courfej
when youf fbngs, O bards, in the dark flood of Time fhall be loft ;
and the memory of yovirfelves, with tlaofe you fung, in its vafl
current he fwept away and forgot : — Then, perhaps, may ceafe to
be heard the fame of Gaul j and the ftranger may alk, " Who was
Morni's fon, and who was Struraon's chief?"
Y 2

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