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Book III. F I N G A L. 201
Repeated Groans were heard from Hill to Hill !
450 But flufli'd with Conqueft, and infatiate ftill,
His bloody Sword the King of Morven wav'd,
Till from his Fury Night the Vanquifh'd fav'd.
Pale, flaring like a Herd of hunted Deer,
The routed Scandinavians fmit with Fear,
455 Fled diverfe to efcape impending Death,
And join'd their Friends on Lends gloomy Heath.
Where Lubars Stream meander'd o'er the Ground,
We fat, and heard the Harp's harmonious Sound.
Sweet on the pailing Gales the Numbers flow,
460 And reach Fingal, who ftation'd next the Foe,
Could hear the Bards, refponflve to their Strings,
Record the Race of Morve?i\ ancient Kings.
He fat attentive on his Shield reclin'd.
His aged Locks white waving in the Wind,
465 While Thoughts of other Years engrofs'd his Mind.-
D d Lean'd

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