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An epic poem. 143
more. Bend, then, in grief, over the flood, where blows the moun-
tain breeze. Let them pafs on thy foul, the blue-eyed dwellers of
the tomb. — But Erin rolls to war; wide-tumblino-, roush, and
dark. Lift, Oiiian, lift the fliield. — I am alone, my fon !
As comes the fudden voice of winds to the becalmed fliip of
Inis-huna, and drives it large, along the deep, dark rider of the
wave J fo the voice of Fingal fent Ofiian, tall, along the heath.
He lifted high his fhining (liield, in the dufky wing of war : like
the broad, blank moon, in the fkirt of a cloud, before the florms
arife.
Loud, from mofs-covered Mora, poured down, at once, the
broad-winged war. Fingal led his people forth, king of Morven
of ftreams. — On high fpreads the eagle's wing. His grey hair is
poured on his Ihoulders broad. Li thunder are his mighty ftrides.
He often ftood, and faw behind, the wide-gleaming rolling of ar-
mour. — A rock he feemed, grey over with ice, whofe woods are
high in wind. Bright ftreams leap from its head, and fpread their
foam on blafts.
the hills. — Pleafant, beneath my white their broken fides.
hand, arofe the found of harps. What " Dweller of my thoughts, by nit^ht
then, daughter of Lutha, travels over thy whofe form afcends in troubled fields, why
foul, like the dreary path a ghoft, along doft thou flir up my foul, thou far-diftant
the nightly beam?— Should the young war- fon of the king?— Is that the fliip of my
ricr fall, in the roar of his troubled fields ! love, its dark courfe thro' the ridges of
—Young virgins of Lutha arife, call back ocean .? How art thou fo fudden, Ofcar
the wandering thoughts of Malvina. A- from the heath of (hielJs ?"
wake the voice of the harp, along my echo- The reft of this poem, it is faid, con-
ing vale. Then (hall my foul come forth, fifted of a dialogue between Ullin and Mal-
like a light from the gates of the morn, vina, wherein the diftrefs of the l,u;cr is
when clouds are rolled around thgm, with carried to the higlieft pitch.
Now

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