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Absatz ancient appear Ausgabe battle blood breaſt brother brow chief cloud coming Connal cries Crimora dark daughter dead death dogs Druckfehler Duchommar earth Edition eyes fair fall fallen fame father fear fehlt FP fell fide field fight Fingal Fragment friends fword give grave grey grief hall hand hear heard heath herausgegeben heroes High hill king Lamderg Lesarten light Macpherson maid meet mighty moon Morna mountain mourn Mugruch night Note Ofcian Original pierced plain poem poetry race raiſe reſt rock ſaid Scotland ſee ſhall ſhe ſhield Shilric ſnow ſon ſoul ſpear ſteel ſtones ſtorm ſtream Strich ſtrong ſword tears Text thee thou Three tomb tree Ullin voice warriours wave wind wood yield youth Zusatz
Pagina 41 - RYNO The wind and the rain are past: calm is the noon of day. The clouds are divided in heaven. Over the green hills flies the inconstant sun. Red through the stony vale comes down the stream of the hill. Sweet are thy murmurs, O stream! but more sweet is the voice I hear. It is the voice of Alpin, the son of song, mourning for the dead!
Pagina 32 - 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!
Pagina viii - WITHOUT increasing his genius, the author may have improved his language, in the eleven years that the following Poems have been in the hands of the public. Errors in diction might have been committed at twenty-four, which the experience of a riper age may remove ; and some exuberances in imagery may be restrained with advantage, by a degree of judgment acquired in the progress of time.
Pagina 12 - Returnest thou safe from the war? Where are thy friends, my love? I heard of thy death on the hill; I heard and mourned thee, Shilric! Yes, my fair, I return; but I alone of my race. Thou shalt see them no more: their graves I raised on the plain.
Pagina 18 - Ka the the narrow Plain. A Tree ftands alone on the Hill, and marks the Grave of Connal. The Leaves whirl round with the Wind, and ftrew the Grave of the Dead.
Pagina 43 - Morar! weep; but thy son heareth thee not. Deep is the sleep of the dead; low their pillow of dust. No more shall he hear thy voice; no more awake at thy call.
Pagina 18 - Autumn is dark on the mountains; grey mist rests on the hills. The whirlwind is heard on the heath. Dark rolls the river through the narrow plain. A tree stands alone on the hill, and marks the slumbering Connal. The leaves whirl round with the wind, and strew the grave of the dead.
Pagina 34 - My soul is tormented with fears! Ah, they are dead! Their swords are red from the fight. O my brother, my brother, why hast thou slain my Salgar ? why, O Salgar, hast thou slain my brother?