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A DRAMATIC POEM. 269
hands shall grow red in the blood of Lochlin.
Roll, streamy Carun, roll in joy, the sons of
battle fled!
MELILCOMA.
Descend, ye light mists from high ! Ye
moon-beams, lift her soul ! Pale lies the maid
at the rock ! Comala is no more !
FINGAL.
Is the daughter of Sarno dead ; the white-
bosomed maid of my love ? Meet me, Comala,
on my heaths, when I sit alone at the streams
of my hills !
HIDALLAX.
Ceased the voice of the huntress of Ardven ?
Why did I trouble the soul of the maid ? When
shall I see thee, with joy, in the chase of the
dark-brown hinds?
FINGAL.
Youth of the gloomy brow! no more shalt
thou feast in my halls. Thou shalt not pursue
my chase, my foes shall not fall by thy ' sword.
Lead me to the place of her rest, that I may
1 The sequel of the story of Hidallaii is introduced in an-
other poem.

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