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seen from thy furze; the deer lifts his branchy head; for he sees, at times, the hound, on the half-covered heath. Slow, on the vale, are the steps of maids, the white-armed daughters of the bow : they lift their blue eyes to the hill, from amidst their wandering locks, – Not there is the stride of Larthon, chief of Inishuna. He mounts the wave on his own dark oak, in Cluba’s ridgy bay. That oak which he cut from Lumon, to bound along the sea. The maids turn their eyes away, left the king should be lowly laid; for never had they seen a ship, dark rider of the wave :

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(3) The original of this lyric ode is one of the most

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