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ciates had been employed. [131] Here follows a catalogue of rival beauties, with satirical descriptions. Cowley has such a list, which may possibly have been in the poet's eye. SIUBHAL. Away with all, away with all, Away with all but Morag, A maid whose grace and mensefulness Still carries all before it. You shall not find her marrow, For beauty without furrow, Though you search the islands thorough From Muile[132] to the Lewis; So modest is each feature, So void of pride her nature, And every inch of stature To perfect grace so true is.[133] * * * * * O that drift, like a pillow, We madden to share it; O that white of the lily, 'Tis passion to near it; Every charm in a cluster, The rose adds its lustre-- Can it be but such muster Should banish the Spirit! URLAR. We would strike the note of joy In the morning, The dawn with its orangery The hill-tops adorning. To bush and fell resorting, While the shades conceal'd our courting, Would not be lack of sporting Or gleeful _phrenesie_; Like the roebuck and his mate, In their woodland haunts elate The race we would debate Around the tendril tree. SIUBHAL. Thou bright star of maidens, A beam without haze, No murkiness saddens, No disk-spot bewrays. The swan-down to feeling, The snow of the gaillin,[134] Thy limbs all excelling, Unite to amaze. The queen, I would name thee, Of maidenly muster; Thy stem is so seemly, So rich is its cluster Of members complete, Adroit at each feat, And thy temper so sweet, Without banning or bluster. My grief has press'd on Since the vision of Morag, As the heavy millstone On the cross-tree that bore it. In vain the world over, Seek her match may the rover; A shaft, thy poor lover, First struck overpowering. When thy ringlets of gold, With the crooks of their fold, Thy neck-wards were roll'd All weavy and showering. Like stars that are ring'd, Like gems that are string'd Are those locks, while, as wing'd From the sun, blends a ray Of his yellowest beams; And the gold of his gleams Behold how he streams 'Mid those tresses to play. In t
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