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Her dreams were in the lands of her fathers. There
morning is on the field. Gray streams leap down from

the rocks. The breezes, in shadowy waves, fly over"

the rushy fields. There is the sound that prepares fo:
the chase. There the moving of warriors from the
hall. But tall above the rest is seen the hero of streamy
Atha. He bends his eye of love on Sul-malla, from his
stately steps. She turns, with pride, her face away,
and careless bends the bow.
Such were the dreams of the maid when Cathmor of
Atha came. He saw her fair face before him, in the
midst of her wandering locks. He knew the maid of
Lumon. What should Cathmor do? His sighs arise.
His tears come down. But straight he turns away.
“This is no time, king of Atha, to awake thy secret
soul. The battle is rolled before thee like a troubled
stream.”
He struck that warning boss,” wherein dwelt the
voice of war. Erin rose around him, like the sound
of eagle wing. Sul-malla started from sleep, in her
disordered locks. She seized the helmet from earth.
She trembled in her place. “Why should they know
in Erin of the daughter of Inis-huna 2° She remem.
bered the race of kings. The pride of her soul arose!
Her steps are behind a rock, by the blue-winding
stream of a vale; where dwelt the dark-brown hind
ere yet the war arose, thither came the voice of Cath-
mor, at times, to Sul-malla's ear. Her soul is darkly
sad. She pours her words on wind.
“The dreams of Inis-huna departed. They are dis.

* In order to understand this passage, it is necessary to look to the description: of Cathmor's shield in the seventh book This shield had seven principal bosses, the sound of each of which, when itruck with a spear, conveyed a particular order from the king to mistribes. The sound of one of sh. as here, was the signas for the aruty to assemble.

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persed from my soul. I hear not the chase in my land. I am concealed in the skirt of war. I look * forth from my cloud. No beam appears to light m path. I behold my warriors low ; for the broadshielded king is near. He that overcomes in danger, Fingal, from Selma of spears! Spirit of departed Con| mor! are thy steps on the bosom of winds ! Comes: | thou, at times, to other lands, father of sad Sul-malla? Thou dost come ! I have heard thy voice at night; while yet I rose on the wave to Erin of the streams. The ghosts of fathers, they say, call away the souls of their race, while they behold them lonely in the midst of wo. Call me, my father, away! When Cathmor is low on earth, then shall Sul-malla be lonely in the midst of wo!”

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The poet, aster a short address to the harn of Coma, de cribes the at rangement of both armies on either side of the riv Lubar Fingal gives the command to Fillan; but at the same traw orders Gaul, the son of Morna, who had been wounded in the hond ir the preceding battle, to assist him with his counsel. The army of the Fir-bog is commanded by Fołdath. The general orst is gescribed... The great actions of Fillan. He kills Rothmar and Culin ra. . But when Fillan conquers in one wing, Foldath presses hard on the other. He wounds Dermid, the son of luthio, and puts the whole wing to flight. Dermid deliberates with himself, and, at last, resolves to put a stop to the progress of Foldath, by . him in single combat. When the two chiefs were apo:oaching towards one another, Fillan came suddenly to the reief of Lermid; o: Foldath, and killed him. e behavior of Maihos towards the fallen Foidih. Filian puts the whol. army of the Fir-bolg to flight. The book closes with an address to Clatho, the mother of that hero

Thou dweller between the shields that hang, on high, in Ossian's hall ! Descend from thy place, O harp, and let me hear thy voice! Son of Alpin, strike the string. Thou must awake the soul of the bard. The murmur of Lora's stream has rolled the tale away. I stand in the cloud of years. Few are its openings towards the past; and when the vision comes, it is but dim and dark. I hear thee, harp of Selma my soul returns. like a breeze, which the sun brings back to the vale, where dwelt the lazy mist.

Lubar is bright before me in the windings of its vale. On either side, on their hills, arise the tar, forms of the kings. Their people are poured around them bending forward to their words: as if their fathers spoke, descending from the winds. But they themselves are like two rocks in the midst; each with its dark head of pines, when they are seen in the desert,

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