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heath of Lena; that no / veffel may hereafter bound on the dark - rolling waves of Inistore.

They flew like lighthing over the heathHe flowly moved as a cloud of thunder, when the fultry plain of fummer is filent. His fword is before him as a fun-beam, terrible as the streaming meteor of night. He came toward a chief of Lochlin, and spoke to the fon of the VVg Ve,

Who is that like a cloud at the rock of the roaring stream? He cannot bound over its courfe; yet stately is the chief his bosty shield is on his fide; and his fpear like the tree of the defart. Youth of the dark-brown hair, art thou of Fingal's foes? *

I am a fon of Lochlin, he cries, and strong is my arm in war. My spoufe is weeping ất home, but Orla [3] will never return. - Or [3] The story of Orla is fo beautiful and affesting in the otiginal, that Inany are in poffefon Y it in the north of Scotland, who never heard a fyllable more of the poem. Ir varies the astion, ! |- and

Or fights or yields the hero, faid Fingal of the noble deeds ? foes do not conquer in my prefence : but my friends are renowned in the hall. Son of the wave, follow me, partake the feaft of my fhells, and pursue the deer of my defart. . * , No: faid the hero, I affift the feeble: my strength fhall remain with the weak in arms. My fword has been always unmatched, o war. rior : let the king of Morven yield. ~ I never yielded, Orla, Fingal never yield. ed to man. Draw thy fword and chufe thy foe. Many are my heroes.

And does the king refufe the combat, faid Orla of the dark-brown hair? Fingal is a match for Orla: and he alone of all his race. – But, king of Morven, if I shall fall; (as one time the warrior muft die; ) raife my tomb in the midft, and let it be the greatest on Lena. And fend, over the dark - blue wave, the fword of Orla to the fpoufe of his love; that she may fhew it to her fon, with tears, to kindle his foul to war. * Son and awakes the attention of the reader, when he exfpested nothing but langor in the condućt of the poem, as the great action was over in the conquest of Swaran. \

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Son of the mournful tale, faid Fingal, why doft thou awaken my tears? One day the warriors inuft : die, i and the children fee their ufeless arms in the hall. But, Orla, thy tomb fhall rife, and thỳ white - bofomed spoufe weep over thy fword.

They fought on the heath of Lena, but feeble was the arm of Orla. The fword of Fingal descended, and cleft his fhield în twain. It fell and glittered on the ground, as the moon on the stream of night.

, , King of Morven, faid the hero, lift thy fword, and piercet my breaft. Wounded and faint from battle my friends have left me here. The mournful tale fhall come to my love on

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alone in the wood; and the ruftling blaft in the leaves. . . * - ;

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No ; faid the king of Morven, I will never wound thee, Orla. On the banks of Loda let her fee thee efcaped from the hands of war. Let thy gray - haired father, who, perhaps, is blind with age, hear the found öf thy voice in his hall: With joy let the hero rife, and fearch for his fon with his hands. ? . * But | But never will he find him, Fingal; faid the youth of the ftreamy Loda. . On - Lena’s heath I shall die; and , foreign bards will talk of me. My broad belt covers my wound of death. And now I give it to the wind.

The dark blood poured from his fide, he fell pale on the heath of Lena. Fingal bends over him as he dies, and calls his younger heroes. - , , ofear and Fillan, ny fons, raife high the memory of Orla. Here let the dark - haired hero rest far from the spouse of his love. Here let him reft in his narrow houfe, får from the found of Loda. The fons of the feeble will find his bow at ‘ home , but will not be able to bend it. His faithful dogs howl on his hills, and his boars, which he used to purfue » rejoice. Fallen is the arm of battle; the mighty among the valiant is low !

Exalt the voice, and blow the horn, ye fons of the king of Morven: let us go back to Swaran, and fend the night away on fong. Fillan, Oscar, and Ryno, fly over the heath of Lena. Where, Ryno, art thou, young fon of fame ? Thou art not wont to be the laft to answer thy father.

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Ryno, faid Ullin first of bards, is with the awful forms of his fathers. With Trathal king of fhields, and Trenmor of the mighty deeds. The youth is low, he lies on Lena's heath.

the youth is pale, —

And fell the fwiftest in the race, faid the king, the first to bend the bow? Thou farce haft been known to me: why did young Ryno fall? But fleep thou foftly on Lena , Fingal fhall foon behold thee. Soon shall my voice be heard no more, and my footsteps ceafe tỏ be feen. The bards will, tell of Fingal’s name ;

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art low indeed, — thou haft not received thy fame. Ullin, {trike the harp for Ryno ; tell what the chief would have been. Farewel, thou first in every field. No more shall I direâ thy dart. Thou that haft been fò fair ; I behold thee not Farewel.

The tear is on the cheek of the king; for terrible was his fon in war. His fon ! that was like a beam of fire by night on the hill; when the forefts fink down in its couríe , and

the traveller trembles at the found.
H o VWhofe

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