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(193)
THE COMBAT
FINGAL AND GARY.
The wave scourgeth the sea, and the roaring
sound of the wind is on the mountains of Erin;
the gray morning is on the ridge* of the ocean. I
see the oak rolling up and down on the hill ;
Who is underl yonder high fire? Or, is it the sun
that shines on Cromleac? The sails are hauled
down, and then the oars, and the ship is steered
to the land.
Raoine and Faolan, my sons, blow Fingal's
war-trumpet, and ascend the rugged mountain of
Erin, and call to the ancestors of Lochlin.
Three days I shall remain on the shore, waiting
the arrival of the rough champion in his armoury
* Fac?.

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