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410 THE POEMS OF OSSIAN.
through mist, just rising from his rocks. But th.
is no time, O bardl to sit down, at the strife i
song. Fingal is in arms on the vale. Thou see:
the flaming shield of the king. His face darkens bi
tween his locks. He beholds the wide rolling c
Erin. Docs not Carril behold that tomb, beside th
roaring stream ? Three stones lift their grey heads
beneath a bending oak. A king is lowly laid ! Giv
thou his soul to the wind. He is the brother o
Cathmor ! Open his airy hall ! Let thy song be
stream of joy to Cairbar's darkened ghost!"

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