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CONLAOCH US CUTHOITNA.
'Us e 'feucbainn a claruth 'us e baotli.
C'àit' am bheil thu fein le d' dheoir,
'S àrd thriath na ]\Iòra gu bàs 1
Tlirdig an aisling ghlas mo chliabli ;
155 Clia-n fhaic mi na triatban na 's mo.
A bhàrda nan am 'tlia gun triall,
Cuiribh cuimhn' air Conlaoch le deoir,
Thuit an gaisgeach roimh iomall a Kii' ;
Lion dorcha a thalla le bròn.
160 Sheall a mhàthair air a sgiath air balla ;
'Us bha snàmli na fala g' a coir.
B' aitline dh'ise gu-n d' thuit tliu, a tlircin ;
Chualas a gutli fo bheud 'am Mora.
Am bbeil tliu, 'òigh, gun tuar, gun fheum
165 Air taobli gaisgich nam beum, a Chiithonn ?
Tlia oidbclie 'tigliin ; tdlidb grian
Gun duiue gu 'u toirt sios gu 'n uaigb ;
Tba tbusa 'cur eunlaitb fo fbiamli ;
Tba do dbeuran mar sbian mu do gbruaidb ;
170 Tba tbu fein mar nial 'us e glas,
'Tba 'g dirigb gu fras o Ion.
Tluiinig siol Sbclma o ear,
'Us f buair iad C'iitbonn' gun tuar ;
Tbog iad an uaigbean gu \èìr ;
175 'S bba fois d'i ri Conlaocb nam buadb.
ghastly wound. "Where art thou with thy tears, Cuthona 1 The
chief of Mora dies. The vision grows dim on my mind. I behold
the chiefs no more ! But, O ye bards of future times ! remember
the fall of Conlath with tears. He fell before his day. Sadness
darkened in his hall. His mother looked to his shield on the wall,
and it was bloodv : she knew that her hero fell. Her sorrow was

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