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An epic poem.
35
law a ghoft on the darkening air. His flride
extended from hill to hill: his ihield was dim
on his fide. It was the fon of Senio : I knew
the warrior's face. But he pafTed a.-ay in his
blaft; and all Avas dark around. My foul
was fad. I went to the hall of iliells. A thou-
fand lights arofe : the hundred bards had ftrung
the harp. Cormac ftood in the niidft , like the
morning- liar, when it rejoices on the eallern
hill , and its young beams are bathed in fhow-
ers. 1 The fword of Artho "^ ) was in the
hand of the king ; and he looked with joy on
its polifhed ftuds : thrice he flrove to draw it ,
and thrice he failed : his yellow locks are fpread '
on his flioulders ; his cheeks of youth are red. —
I mourned over the beam of youth, for he was
foon to fet.
Althan! he faid, with a fmiie , haft thou
beheld my father ? Heavy is the fword of the
king , furely his arm was ftrcng. O that I
were like him in battle ^ when the raoe of his
wrath arofe! then would I have met,, like Cuch-
uUin , the car -borne fon of Cantela ! But years
may come on, o Althan ! and my arm be ftrono-. —
Haft
*) Arth or Artho, the father of Cormac king of
Ireland.
c a

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