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FRITHIL.
I.
The sigh of a friend on fair Frithil's repose :
Alas ! the young hero is laid in his grave :
The sighs of our -warriors their sorrows disclose,
And our maidens lament him — the beautiful brave !
II.
Ah, see the fresh earn of our Frithil's decay.
And why did the star of our gallants depart ?
He fell by the cruel deceiving of Mey,
The mother iugrate of the loved of his heart.
III.
Weep on, ye fair maidens of Cruathan, weep on ;
Severe was the fate that bereft ye of glee :
weep, for your fav'rite for ever is gone, —
The beautiful scion of heroes was he !

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