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An epic POE M. 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-tumbling, rough, and
dark. Lift, Oflian, 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 Kirge, along the deep, dark rider of the
wave ; fo the voice of Fingal fent Oflian, tall, along the heath.
He lifted high his fliining fliield, in the duilcy wing of war : like
the broad, blank moon, in the iTcirt of a cloud, before the ftorms
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 fp reads the eagle's wing. His grey hair is
poured on his fhoulders broad. In thunder are his mighty ftrides.
He often flood, 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 flreams leap from its head, and Ipread their
foam on blafls.
the hills. — ^Pleafant, beneath my white
hand, arofe the found of harps. What
then, daughter of Lutha, travels over thy
foul, like the dreary path a ghoft, along
the nightly beam T — Should the young war-
rior fall, in the roar of his troubled fields !
— Younu virgins of Lutha arife, call back
the wandering thoughts of Malvina. A-
wake the voice of the harp, along my echo-
ing vale. Then fhall my foul come forth,
like a light from the gates of the morn,
when clouds arc rolled around them, with
their broken fides.
♦' Dweller of my thoughts, by night,
whofe form afcends in troubled fields, why
dofl thou flir up my foul, thou far-diftant
fon of the king ?— Is that the fhip of my
love, its dark courfe thro' the ridges of
ocean ? How art thou fo fudden, Ofcar,
from the heath of fliields?"
The reft of this poem, it is faid, con-
fifled of a dialogue between Ullin and Mal-
vina, wherein the diflrefs of the latter is
carried to the higheft pitch.
Now

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