The poems of Ossian, tr. by J. Macpherson. To which are prefixed dissertations on the æra and poems of Ossian, Volume 11807 |
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Pagina vii
... soul . But when the warrior thought on the past , his proud heart heaved against his side : forth flew his sword from its place ; he wounded Harold in all the winds . One daughter , and only one , but bright in form , and mild of soul ...
... soul . But when the warrior thought on the past , his proud heart heaved against his side : forth flew his sword from its place ; he wounded Harold in all the winds . One daughter , and only one , but bright in form , and mild of soul ...
Pagina viii
... soul was kind . She saw the mournful with tearful eyes . Transient darkness arose in her breast . Her joy was in the chase . Each morning , when doubtful light wandered dimly on Lulan's waves , she roused the resounding woods , to ...
... soul was kind . She saw the mournful with tearful eyes . Transient darkness arose in her breast . Her joy was in the chase . Each morning , when doubtful light wandered dimly on Lulan's waves , she roused the resounding woods , to ...
Pagina 59
... soul properly warmed with wine , to receive with becoming enthusiasm the poems of his father - in - law . One of the poems begins with this piece of useful information : Lo don rabh PADRIC na mhúr , Gun Sailm air uidh , ach a gól ...
... soul properly warmed with wine , to receive with becoming enthusiasm the poems of his father - in - law . One of the poems begins with this piece of useful information : Lo don rabh PADRIC na mhúr , Gun Sailm air uidh , ach a gól ...
Pagina 62
... soul of his grandson to his redeemer . He Duan a Gharibh Mac - Starn is another Irish poem in high repute . The grandeur of its images , and its propriety of sentiment , might have induced me to give a translation of it , had not I some ...
... soul of his grandson to his redeemer . He Duan a Gharibh Mac - Starn is another Irish poem in high repute . The grandeur of its images , and its propriety of sentiment , might have induced me to give a translation of it , had not I some ...
Pagina 74
... soul of poetry : for many circumstances of those times which we call barbarous , are favourable to the poeti- cal spirit . That state , in which human nature shoots wild and free , though unfit for other improvements , certainly ...
... soul of poetry : for many circumstances of those times which we call barbarous , are favourable to the poeti- cal spirit . That state , in which human nature shoots wild and free , though unfit for other improvements , certainly ...
Veelvoorkomende woorden en zinsdelen
ancient Annir antiquity appears arms art thou Balclutha bards battle beam beautiful behold blast Caledonians Carthon Cathmor Celtic Celtic nations character chief Clessámmor cloud Clutha Comala Connal Crimora Cuthullin Dargo dark daugh daughter death descended distant dost Druids Dunthalmo dwells eyes fame father feast fell Fillan Fingal Fion Firbolg Frothal Gaul genius ghosts grief hall hand harp heard heath heroes hill Homer Iliad Ireland Irish king of Morven language lift Lochlin Loda maid Malvina manners meteor midst mighty mist moon Morni Morven mournful nations night Odin Oithona Oscar Ossian Picts poem poet poetical poetry race renowned rise roar rock rolled rose rushed Scandinavia Scotland Scots Selma sentiment shew shield sigh silent song soul sound spear spirit Starno storm strangers stream sublime Swaran sword tears Temora thee thou tion tomb tradition Trenmor vale voice warrior wave winds youth
Populaire passages
Pagina 312 - O thou that rollest above, round as the shield of my fathers ! Whence are thy beams, O sun ! thy everlasting light? Thou comest forth, in thy awful beauty; the stars hide themselves in the sky; the moon, cold and pale, sinks in the western wave.
Pagina 425 - It is night ; I am alone, forlorn on the hill of storms. The wind is heard in the mountain. The torrent pours down the rock. No hut receives me from the rain ; forlorn on the hill of winds ! "Rise, moon ! from behind thy clouds.
Pagina 280 - He lifted high his shadowy spear! He bent forward his dreadful height. Fingal, advancing, drew his sword; the blade of dark-brown Luno.* The gleaming path of the steel winds through the gloomy ghost. The form fell shapeless into air, like a column of smoke, which the staff of the boy disturbs, as it rises from the half-extinguished furnace.
Pagina 140 - In thoughts from the visions of the night, When deep sleep falleth on men, Fear came upon me, and trembling, Which made all my bones to shake. Then a spirit passed before my face; The hair of my flesh stood up: It stood still, but I could not discern the form thereof: An image was before mine eyes, There was silence, and I heard a voice, saying, Shall mortal man be more just than God?
Pagina 206 - Lycidas ? For neither were ye playing on the steep, Where your old bards, the famous Druids, lie, Nor on the shaggy top of Mona high, Nor yet where Deva spreads her wizard stream. Ay me, I fondly dream ! Had ye been there...
Pagina 423 - OTAR of descending night! fair is thy light in the west ! thou liftest thy unshorn head from thy cloud : thy steps are stately on thy hill. What dost thou behold in the plain? The stormy winds are laid. The murmur of the torrent comes from afar. Roaring waves climb the distant rock.
Pagina 295 - Two stones half sunk in the ground, shew their heads of moss. The deer of the mountain avoids the place, for he beholds a dim ghost standing there.
Pagina 201 - The land, through which we have gone to search it, is a land that eateth up the inhabitants thereof; and all the people that we saw in it are men of a great stature. And there we saw the giants, the sons of Anak, which come of the giants : and we were in our own sight as grasshoppers, and so we were in their sight.
Pagina 426 - O my brother! my brother! why hast thou slain my Salgar? why, O Salgar! hast thou slain my brother? Dear were ye both to me! what shall I say in your praise? Thou wert fair on the hill among thousands! he was terrible in fight. Speak to me; hear my voice; hear me, sons of my love!
Pagina 163 - The flower hangs its heavy head, waving, at times, to the gale. Why dost thou awake me, O gale, it seems to say, I am covered with the drops of heaven? The time of my fading is near, and the blast that shall scatter my leaves. Tomorrow shall the traveller come, he that saw me in my beauty shall come; his eyes will search the field, but they will not find me?