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Sweet too, by the source of the lonely stream, 



To see aloof the eagle sail ; 

 To hear her solitary scream, 



Burst startling o'er the vale ; 

 To hear the otter's whining note ; 



Or mid the hollow mountain rocks. 



The barking of the wary fox ; 

 Or mellow song of blackbird float 

 From bower and grove, o'er wood and lawn, 

 To evening hour from early dawn. 



As he recollects the past, and contrasts it with his present forlorn 

 situation, he falls into a strain of touching pathos : 



With joy it thrilled my heart I vow. 

 To sit upon the mountain's brow ; 



And all the glorious landscape view. 

 The seven brave Fenian bands around. 

 In war, in peace, still faithful found — 



But now my friends are few ! 

 Then merry and gay, in the summer ray. 



They frolicked and they shone ; 

 With autumn's blast away they past. 



And I am left alone. 

 My fate with tears, may dim your eye. 

 And wake your tender sympathy. 



From such specimens we may conclude, that in whatever age these 

 compositions were written, the art of poetry had been cultivated with 

 some success. But we find in them nothing of the metaphysical thoughts 

 of Macpherson, like ^Uhejoy of grief ," or, as he might almost equally 

 well have said, the grief of joy. Valour and generosity, particularly 

 to the learned, are the frequent themes of eulogy, and sometimes 

 we are favoured with a good prudential sentiment, as when Goll 

 Mac-Morne is reminded in the poem of Dearg Mac-Dreithil, that — 



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