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What voice is that I hear that voice like the summer-wind. — I fit not by the nodding rushes; I hear not the fount of the
rock. Afar, Vinvela (2), afar I go to the
of Bran ; in particular one which falls into the Tay at Dunkeld.
Then thou art gone, O Shilric and 1 am alone on the hill. The deer are seen on the brow ; void of fear they graze along. No more they dread the wind ; no more the rustling tree. The hunter is far removed ; he is in the field of graves. Strangers sons of the waves spare my lovely Shilric,
hills I will go at noon : I will go through the filent heath. There I will see the place of thy rest, returning from the chace. Indeed, my Shilric will fall ; but I will remember him. -