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his rolling sea. Morning did not come to his
bows: the bounding of five dogs is before him. His warriors move on, at a distance, admiring
Larthmor' but his soul was dark. Dark as the troubled face of the moon, when it foretels
stopt in the midst of his course. His warriors - gathered *) Ossian thought, that his killing the boar, on his first landing in Berrathon, was a good omen of
his future success in that island. The present highlanders look, with a degree of superstition,
upon the success of their first ačion, after they
have engaged in any desperate undertaking.