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ibe fire thy

miş sha

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winds. - He struck the bossy shield of kings; boy at once they cease around. The people lean forward, from their spears, towards the voice of their land (1)

Sons of Morven , spread the feast; send the night away on song. Ye have shone around

the me, and the dark storm is past. My people

of are the windy rocks, from which I spread my

old. eagle wings, when I rush forth to renown, and seize it on its field. Ossian, thou hart the spear of Fingal : it is not the staff of a

To (1) Before I finish my notes, it may not be alto. gerher improper to obviate an objection, which may be made to the credibility of the story of Temora , as related by Oman. It may be asked , whether it is probable, that Fingal could perform such actions as are ascribed to himn in this book, at an age when his grandson , Oscar had acquired so much repucation in arms. To this it may be answered, that Fingal was but very young [book 4th] when he took to wife Ros-crana , who soon afrer became the mother of Offian. Offian was also extremely young when he married Ever-allin, the mother of Orcar. Tradition relates, that Fingal was but eigh. teen years old at the birth of his son Offian; and that Olian was much about the same age , when Oscar, his son , was born. Oscar, perhaps , might be about twenty , when he was killed, in the battle of Gabhra ; [ book ift] so the age of Fingal when the decisive battle was fougl. between him and Cathmor, was just fifty.lix years. In those times of activity and health, the natural strength and vigour of a man was little abated , at such an age; so that there is no bing improbable in the actions of Fingal, as related in this book.

boy with which he strews the thistle round, young wanderer of the field. — No : it is the lance of the inighty ; 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 old. - Let not the fallen be forgot, they were mighty in the field. Let Carril pour his song, that the kings may rejoice in their mist. To-morrow I spread my fails to Selma's shaded walls; where streamy Duthula winds through the feats of roes.

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END of TEMORA,

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