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Evening came down on Moi-lena. Grey rolled the streams of the land. Loud canie forth the voice of Fingal: the beam of oaks
• Awake, thou daughter of Conmor, from the fern-skirted cavern of Lona. Awake, thou sun-beam in desarts; warriors one day must fail. They move forth, like terrible lights ; but , often, their cloud is near. — Go to the valley of streams , to the wandering of herds, on Lumon ; there dwells, in his lazy mist, the man of many days. But he is unknown, Sul-malla , like the thistle of the rocks of roes; it shakes its grey beard, in the wind, and falls, unseen of our eyes,— Not such are the kings of men, their departure is a meteor of fire, which pours its red course, from the desart, over the bosom of night.
s: He is mixed with the warriors of old, those