The Celtic Revival in English Literature, 1760-1800Harvard University Press, 1923 - 208 pagina's |
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Ancient British Annual Register anonymous antiquary antiquities appeared Bard bardic Battle Britain British Museum Britons Cæsar Cambrian Caractacus Celtic mythology Celtic Revival Celtic-English poetry Celts Critical death Dissertation dramatic poem Druidical Druidism Druids Edinburgh Edward eighteenth century Elegy English poetry English prose English verse Epic Poetry essay European Magazine Evan Evans Evans's Specimens Fingal Fragments Gaelic Gaelic poems Genius Gentleman's Magazine genuine Gray's Bard harp heroes heroic couplets Highlands History imitation influence interest Irish James Macpherson John Jones King letters Lewis Morris literary Llewelyn London Lyric Macpherson's Ossian Mason metrical version Mona Morven Norse numerous o'er original Ossianic poems Owen passages Percy pieces Poems of Ossian poets praise Preface printed published quoted Richard Romantic Scandinavian Scots Magazine song spirit stanzas Temora thee Thomas thou tion Tovey tragedy translation vols volume Wales Welsh Bards Welsh literature Welsh poetry William writing
Populaire passages
Pagina 44 - On a rock whose haughty brow Frowns o'er old Conway's foaming flood, Robed in the sable garb of woe, With haggard eyes the poet stood; (Loose his beard, and hoary hair Stream'd, like a meteor, to the troubled air) And with a master's hand, and prophet's fire, Struck the deep sorrows of his lyre.
Pagina 1 - 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 — for what could that have done?
Pagina 45 - Cold is Cadwallo's tongue, That hush'd the stormy main : Brave Urien sleeps upon his craggy bed : Mountains, ye mourn in vain Modred, whose magic song Made huge Plinlimmon bow his cloudtopt head. On dreary Arvon's shore they lie, Smear'd with gore, and ghastly pale : Far, far aloof th' affrighted ravens sail ; The famish'd eagle screams, and passes by.
Pagina 44 - RuiN seize thee, ruthless King! Confusion on thy banners wait! Though fanned by Conquest's crimson wing They mock the air with idle state. Helm, nor hauberk's twisted mail, Nor e'en thy virtues, tyrant, shall avail To save thy secret soul from nightly fears, From Cambria's curse, from Cambria's tears!
Pagina 46 - He spoke, and headlong from the mountain's height Deep in the roaring tide he plunged to endless night.
Pagina 85 - Having had the good fortune to be born and reared in a mountainous Country, from my very childhood I have felt the falsehood that pervades the volumes imposed upon the World under the name of Ossian. From what I saw with my own eyes, I knew that the imagery was spurious.
Pagina 45 - Far, far aloof th' affrighted ravens sail ; The famish'd eagle screams, and passes by. Dear lost companions of my tuneful art, Dear as the light that visits these sad eyes, Dear as the ruddy drops that warm my heart, Ye died amidst your dying country's cries — No more I weep. They do not sleep. On yonder cliffs, a grisly band, I see them sit, they linger yet, Avengers of their native land : With me in dreadful harmony they join, And weave with bloody hands the tissue of thy line.
Pagina 48 - Marking with indignant eye Fear to stop, and shame to fly There Confusion, Terror's child, Conflict fierce, and Ruin wild, Agony, that pants for breath, Despair and honourable Death.
Pagina 63 - On a rock, whose haughty brow Frowns o'er old Conway's foaming flood, Robed in the sable garb of woe, With haggard eyes the poet stood; (Loose his beard and hoary hair Streamed like a meteor to the troubled air;) And with a master's hand and prophet's fire Struck the deep sorrows of his lyre: 'Hark, how each giant oak and desert cave Sighs to the torrent's awful voice beneath!
Pagina 57 - Mona on Snowdon calls : Hear, thou king of mountains, hear ; Hark, she speaks from all her strings ; Hark, her loudest echo rings ; King of mountains, bend thine ear, Send thy spirits, send them soon, Now, when midnight and the moon Meet upon thy front of snow : See, their gold and ebon rod, Where the sober sisters nod, And greet in whispers sage and slow.