_SECOND EDITION._

Dark bending from the skirts of the wood, her wounded father came. He appeared at times, then seemed as hid in mist. Bursting into tears, she rose; she knew that the Chief was low. To her came a beam from his soul when folded in its storms. Thou wert the last of his race, blue-eyed Dardu-lena!

OSSIAN.

_LONDON_: PRINTED FOR T. CADELL AND W. DAVIES, STRAND.

1807.

THE

LIBERTINE.