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By that time Mar had breathed his last,
And Donald Gorm was nearing fast
The bourne of all the human race;
Yet, in his stern and rugged face,
There seem'd no terror, wrath, or teen,
Save at some being all unseen.
When Haco raised him to his knee,
He look'd aside most movingly,
And to the wind these words address'd—
He saw nought but the slaughter'd priest!—