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fiANTo VI, FINGAL.
Here paus'd the chief, and seem'd to know
That soldier virtue, loyal love,
E'en the rough weight of warrior woe
Can smooth, can lighten, can renniove.
Turning to Arrathon, he said,—
" Think not that thy blood-guilty hand
Shall e'er anoint this princely head.
Rise, trembler ! rise ! for j udgment stand,
Or with thy accomplice, in the dust
Confess thy condemnation just.
Thy name was blazoned on this hilt.
Speak thee, accursed Arrathon,
What gain'dst thou from the life-stream spilt,
Of him who lov'd'thee as a son ?
Why didst thou keep the birth unknown
Of this young heir to Tarah's throne ?
And why did'st thou the child expose
To wint'ry wave, to wint'ry storm,

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