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154 The DEATH of CUCHULLIN.
foes are gathering round. Soft be thy reft in thy cave, chief
of Erin's wars !
Bragela will not hope thy return, or fee thy fails in ocean's foam.
' Her fteps are not on the fliore : nor her ear open to the voice
of thy rowers. — She fits in the hall of rtiells, and fees the arms of
him that is no more. — Thine eyes are full of tears, daughter of
car-borne Sorglan !— — Bleft be thy foul in death, O chief of
fhady Cromla!
DAR-THULA,

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