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WITH morning we awaked the woods; and hung forward on the path of the roes. They fell by their wonted ftreams. We returned thro' Crona's vale. From the wood a youth came forward, with a fhield and pointless fpear. "Whence, faid Tofcar of Lutha, is the flying beam? Dwells there peace at Col-amon, round bright Colna-dona of harps?"

By Col-amon of ftreams, faid the youth, bright Colna-dona dwelt. She dwelt; but her courfe is now in defarts, with the fon of the king; he that seized her foul as it wandered thro' the hall.

STRANGER of tales, faid Toscar, haft thou marked the warrior's courfe? He muft fall,give thou that boffy fhield!-In wrath he took the fhield. Fair behind it heaved the breafts of a maid, white as the bofom of a swan, rifing on fwift-rolling waves. It was Colna-dona of harps, the daughter of the king.-Her blue eyes had rolled on Tofcar, and her love arofe.

A SPE

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SPECIMEN

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ORIGINAL

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TEM ORA.

BOOK SEVENTH.

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ADVERTISEMENT.

IT is thought proper to give a fpecimen of the original Galic, for the fatisfaction of thofe who doubt the authenticity of Offian's poems. The feventh book of TEMORA is fixed on, for that purpose, not from any other fuperior merit, than the variety of its verfification. To print any part of the former collection was unneceffary, as a copy of the originals lay, for many months, in the bookfeller's hands, for the infpection of the curious. Tho' the erroneous orthography of the bards is departed from, in many inftances, in the following specimen, yet feveral quiefcent confonants are retained, to fhew the derivation of the words. This circumftance may give an uncouth appearance to the language, in the eyes of those who are ftrangers to its harmony. They ought, however, to confider, that a language is put to the fevereft teft, when it is stripped of its own proper characters; efpecially, when the power of one of them requires, fometimes, a combination of two or three Roman letters to express it.

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BOOK SEVENTH.

Linna doir-choille na Leigo,

Air uair, eri' ceo taobh-ghórm nan tón;

Nuair dhunas dorfa na h'oicha

Air iulluir-fhuil greina nan fpeur.
Tomhail, mo Lara nan fruth,

Thaomas du'-nial, as doricha cruaim:

Mar ghlas-fcia', roi taoma nan nial,

Snamh feachad, ta Gellach na h'oicha,
Le fo edi' taisin o-fhean

An dlu'-ghleus, a measc na gaoith,

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'S iad leamnach, o ofna gu ofna,
Air du'-aghai' oicha nan fian.
An taobh oitaig, gu palin nan feoid,
Taomas iad ceäch nan fpeur,
Gorm-thalla do thannais nach béo,
Gu ám eri' fón marbh-rán nan teud.

TA torman, a machair nan crán Se Conar ri Erin ať án,

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A taoma' ceo-tanais gu dlu'
Air Faolan aig Lubhair nan fru'
Muladach, fuigha fo bhrón,
Dh'aom an tais an ceach an loin.
Thaom ofna, essin an fein,

Ach phil an cruth aluin, gu diän
Phíl é le chrom-fhealla mál

Le cheo-leatain, mar fhuibhal nan fian.
'S doilleir fo!

Ata na floigh na nfuain, fan ám,
An trufcan cear na h'oicha:

Dh'ilfich teina an ri, gu ard,

Dh'aom é na aonar, air scia'.
Thuit codál, mo fhuillin a ghaifcich,
Thanic guth Fhaolan, na chluais.

AN codal fo, don' fhear-phofda aig Clatho? Am bail coni do m'athair, an fuain?

Am

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