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A landless prince, whose wandering life
Is but one scene of blood and strife-
Yet scant of friends The Bruce shall be,
But he'll find resting-place for thee.-
Come, noble Ronald ! o'er the dead
Enough thy generous grief is paid,
And well has Allan's fate been wroke ;-
Come, wend we hence--the day has broke.
Seek we our bark-I trust the tale
Was false, that she had hoisted sail."

XXXII.

Yet ere they left that charnel-cell,
The Island Lord bade sad farewell
To Allan :-" Who shall tell this tale,"
He said, “in halls of Donagaile !
Oh, who his widow'd mother tell,
That, ere his bloom, her fairest fell ! -
Rest thee, poor youth! and trust my care,
For mass and knell and funeral prayer;

While o'er those caitiffs, where they lie, The wolf shall snarl, the raven cry!"

And now the eastern mountain's head

On the dark lake threw lustre red;
Bright gleams of gold and purple streak
Ravine and precipice and peak-
(So earthly power at distance shows;
Reveals his splendour, hides his woes.)
O'er sheets of granite dark and broad,
Rent and unequal, lay the road.
In sad discourse the warriors wind,
And the mute captive moves behind.

END OF CANTO THIRD.

/

THE

LORD OF THE ISLES.

CANTO FOURTH.

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