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he is in the field of graves. Strangers! sons of the waves! spare my lovely Shilric.
Shilric.
If fall I must in the field, raise high my grave, Vinvela. Grey stones, and heaped-up earth, shall mark me to future times. When the hunter shall sit by the mound, and produce his food at noon, "some warrior rests here," he will say; and my fame shall live in his praise. Remember me, Vinvela, when low on earth I lie!
Vinvela.
Yes!—I will remember thee—indeed my Shilric will fall. What shall I do, my love! when thou art gone forever? Through these hills I will go at noon: I will go through the silent heath. There
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