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Teinora. 383
liavp, and let nie hear thy voice ! Son of Alpin,
strike the string. Thou must awake the soul of the
bard. The murmur of Lora's stream has rolled the
tale away. I stand in the cloud of years. Few are
its openings toward the past ; and when the vision
comes, it is but dim and dark. I hear thee, harp of
Selma! my soul returns, like a breeze, which the sun
brings back to the vale, where dwelt the lazy mist!
Lubar is bright before me in the windings of its
vale. On either side, on their hills, rise the tall
forms of the kings. Their people are poured around
them, bending forward to their words ; as if their
fathers spoke, descending from the winds. But they
themselves are like two rocks in the midst ; each
with its dark head of pines, when they are seen in the
desert, above low-sailing mist. High on their face are
streams, which spread their foam on blasts of wind !
Beneath the voice of Cathmor pours Erin, like
the sound of flame. Wide they come down to Lubar.
Before them is the stride of Foldath. But Cathmor
retires to his hill, beneath his bending oak. The
tumbling of a stream is near the king. He lifts, at
times, his gleaming spear. It is a flame to his peo-
ple, in the midst of war. Near him stands the daugh-
ter of Conmor, leaning on a rock. She did not
rejoice at the strife. Her soul delighted not in blood.
A valley spreads green behind the hiU, with its three
blue streams. The sun is there in silence. The
dun mountain roes come down. On these are turned
the eyes of Sul-malla in her thoughtful mood. .
Fingal beholds Cathmor, on high, the son of Bor-
bar-d uthul ! he beholds the deep-rolling of Erin, on the
darkened plain. He strikes that warning boss, which
bids the people to obey, when he sends his chief before
them, to the field of renown. Wide rise their spears
to the sun. Their echoing shields reply around. Fear,
like a vapour, winds not among the host : for he, the
king, is near, the strength of streamy Selma. Glad-
ness brightensthe hero. Wehearhiswordswithjoy.

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