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120 The B A T T L E of L O R A:
Son of the diftant land*, thou dwelleft in the field of fame : O
let thy fong rife, at times, in the praile of thofe that fell : that their
thin ghofts may rejoice around thee ; and the foul of Lorma come
on a moon-beam -f-, when thou lieft down to reft, and the moon
looks into thy cave. Then fhalt thou fee her lovely ; but the tear
is flill on her cheek.
* The poet addrefles himfelf to the near the window of my reft ; when my
Culdee. thoughts are of peace ; and the din of arms
f Be thou on a moon-beam, O Morna, is over. Fingal, B. I.
C O N L A T H

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