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74 FINGAL. c.\s
" Who," to his soul he said, " is he,
This prince, so honored of thj sire ?
Is he than thou more brave ? more free ?
Or pants he with a nobler fire ?
Or is his arm more strong- for war
Than thine, oh Marthon ? thou, whose name
In darkness wrapt, lies buried far
From song, from honor, and from fame."
Wearied with wond'ring, now retir'd
The people from the water-side ;
Marthon, with fervent thoughts inspir'd,
Looks on the slowly turning tide :
No eye beholds ; — he straightway stands
Upon the boat, unclasps the bands
Of the fair armour, and within
Succeeds concealing place to win.
Borne up the stream, at length his eyes,
With gaze of ecstaey invite,
From the soft-glowing morniag skies,
The loveliness of azure light.

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