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at once they cease around. The people lean forward, from their spears, towards the voice of their land (1).
the lance of the mighty ; with which they stretched forth their hands to death. Look to
thy fathers, my son; they are awful beams. – With morning lead Ferad artho forth to the echoing halls of Temora. Remind him of the kings of Erin; the stately forms of
r, rolled. |