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298 THE DEA TH OF CUTHULLIN.
u The mighty are dispersed at Temora : there is none
in Cormac's hall. The king mourns in his youth. He
does not behold thy return. The sound of thy shield is
ceased : his foes are gathering round. Soft be thy rest
in thy cave, chief of Erin's wars ! Bragela will not hope
for thy return, or see thy sails in ocean's foam. Her
steps are not on the shore : nor her ear open to the voice
of thy rowers. She sits in the hall of shells. She sees
the arms of him that is no more. Thine eyes are full of
tears, daughter of car-borne Sorglan ! Blest be thy soul
in death, O chief of shady Tura 1 "
Printed by Walter Scott, Felllm, Xenruxile-oa-Tim*.

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