I.
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he stag at eve had drunk his fill,Where danced the moon on Monan's rill,And deep his midnight lair had madeIn lone Glenartney's hazel shade;But when the sun his beacon redHad kindled on Benvoirlich's head,The deep-mouthed bloodhound's heavy bayResounded up the rocky way,And faint, from farther distance borne,Were heard the clanging hoof and horn.
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