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the midft of my courfe. A foreign tomb receives, in youth, the laft of Reuthamir's race. Darkness dwells in Balclutha : and the shadows of grief in Crathmo.-But_raife my remembrance on the banks of Lora: where my fathers dwelt. Perhaps the hufband of Moina will mourn over his fallen Carthon.

His words reached the heart of Clefsammor: he fell, in filence, on his fon. The hoft ftood darkened around: no voice is on the plains of Lora. Night came, and the moon from the east, looked on the mournful field: but ftill they ftood, like a filent grove that lifts its head on Gormal when the loud winds are laid, and dark autumn is on the plain.

Three days they mourned over Carthon; on the fourth his father died. In the narrow plain of the rock they lie; and a dim ghoft defends their tomb. There lovely Moina is often feen; when the fun-beam darts on the rock and all around is dark. There she is feen, Malvina, but not like the daughters of the hill. Her robes are from the ftrangers land; and she is still alone.

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Fingal was fad for Carthon; he defired his bards to mark the day, when shadowy autumn returned. And often did they mark

the day, and fing the hero's praife. Who comes fo dark from ocean's roar, like autumn's shadowy cloud? Death is trembling in his hand his eyes are flames of fire! Who roars along dark Lora's heath? Who but Carthon, king of fwords? The people fall fee how he ftrides, like the fullen ghoft of Morven !-But there he lies a goodly oak, which fudden blafts overturned! When shalt thou rife, Balclutha's joy! lovely carborne Carthon --Who comes fo dark from ocean's roar, like autumn's shadowy cloud?

Such were the words of the bards, in the 'day of their mourning: I have accompani ed their voice; and added to their fong. My foul has been mournful for Carthon; he fell in the days of his valour and thou, : Ö Clefsammor! where is thy dwelling in the air? Has the youth forgot his wound? And flies he on the clouds, with thee? -I feel the fun, O Malvina, leave me to my reft. Perhaps they may come to my dreams; I think I hear a feeble voice.-The beam of heaven delights to shine on the grave of Carthon: I feel it warm around.

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O thou that rolleft above (1), round as the shield of my fathers! Whence are thy beams, O fun! thy everlafting light? Thou

(1) This paffage is something fimilar to Satan's

comeft forth in thy awful beauty, and the stars hide themselves in the sky; the moon, cold and pale, finks in the western wave. But thou thyfelf moveft alone who can be a companion of thy courfe! The oaks of the mountains fall: the mountains themselves decay with years; the ocean shrinks and grows again: the moon herself is loft in heaven; but thou art for ever the fame; rejoicing in the brightness of thy courfe. When the world is dark with tempefts; when thunder rolls, and lightning flies; thou lookeft in thy beauty, from the clouds, and laugheft at the ftorm. But to Offian thou lookeft in vain ; for he beholds thy beams no more; whether thy yellow hair flows on the eastern clouds, or thou trembleft at the gates of the weft. But thou art perhaps, like me, for a feafon, and thy years will have an end. Thou shalt fleep in thy clouds, careless of the voice of the morning. Exult then fun, in the ftrength of thy youth! Age

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addrefs to the Sun in the fourth book of Paradife Loft.

O thou that with furpaffing glory crown'd,
Looks from thy fole dominion like the god
Of this new world; at whose fight all the stars
Hide their diminish'd heads; to thee I call
But with no friendly voice; and add thy name,
O Sun!

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is dark and unlovely; it is like the glim mering light of the moon when it shines through broken clouds, and the mift is on the hills; the blast of the north is on the plain, the traveller shrinks in the midst of his journey

THE

DEATH

OF

CUCHULLIN:

A POEM.

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