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Thou art like a fun-beam on the hill in the day of the gloomy
ftorm. Saweft thou the fon of Torman, lovely on the hill of his
hinds ? Here the daughter of Cormac waits the coming of Cathbat.
And long fhall Morna wait, Duchomar faid, his blood is on my
fword. — Long fliall Morna wait for him. He fell at Branno's ftream.
High on Cromla I will raife his tomb, daughter of Cormac-cairbar ;
but fix thy love on Duchomar, his arm is ftrong as a ftorm. —
And is the fon of Torman fallen ? faid the maid of the tearful eye.
Is he fallen on his ecchoing hilb the youth with the breaft of fnow ? he
that was firft in the chace of the hill ; the foe of the ftrangers of the
ocean. Duchomar thou art dark * indeed, and cruel is thy arm to
Morna. But give me that fword, my foe; I love the blood of Caithbat.
He gave the fword to her tears ; but fhe pierced his manly breaft.
He fell, like the bank of a mountain-ftream ; ftretched out his arm
and faid ;
Daughter of Cormac-cairbar, thou haft flain Duchomar. The
fword is cold in my breaft : Morna, I feel it cold. Give me to
Moina -f- the maid ; Duchomar was the dream of her night. She
will raife my tomb ; and the hunter ftiall fee it and praife me. But
draw the fword from my breaft ; Morna, the fteel is cold.
She came, in all her tears, ftie came, and drew it from his breaft.
He pierced her white fide with fteel ; and fpread her fair locks on
the ground. Her burfting blood founds from her fide : and her
white arm is ftained with red. Rolling in death ftie lay and Tura's
cave anfwered to her fighs.
* She alludes to his mmc—the dark ■\ yio'imi foft in temper and perfin.
C Peace,

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