The Poems of Ossian, Volume 2D. & G. Bruce, 1810 |
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Pagina 12
... ghosts , is sitting around in shades ! We brought him with songs to Selma's halls . Fingal spread the feast of shells . A thousand bards raised the name of Oscar ; Morven answered to the sound . The daughter of Toscar was there : her ...
... ghosts , is sitting around in shades ! We brought him with songs to Selma's halls . Fingal spread the feast of shells . A thousand bards raised the name of Oscar ; Morven answered to the sound . The daughter of Toscar was there : her ...
Pagina 19
... Oh ! from the rock on the hill ; from the top of the windy steep , speak , ye ghosts of the dead ! speak , I will not be afraid ! Whither are ye gone to rest ? In what cave of the hill shall I find the departed SONGS OF SELMA . 19.
... Oh ! from the rock on the hill ; from the top of the windy steep , speak , ye ghosts of the dead ! speak , I will not be afraid ! Whither are ye gone to rest ? In what cave of the hill shall I find the departed SONGS OF SELMA . 19.
Pagina 20
... ghost shall stand in the blast , and mourn the death of The hunter shall hear from his booth . my friends . He shall my voice fear but love my voice ! For sweet shall be for my friends : pleasant were her friends to Colma ! Such was thy ...
... ghost shall stand in the blast , and mourn the death of The hunter shall hear from his booth . my friends . He shall my voice fear but love my voice ! For sweet shall be for my friends : pleasant were her friends to Colma ! Such was thy ...
Pagina 26
... ghosts of my children . Half - viewless , they walk in mournful conference together . Will none of you speak in pity ! They do not regard their father . I am sad , O Carmor , nor small is my cause of wo . Such were the words of the ...
... ghosts of my children . Half - viewless , they walk in mournful conference together . Will none of you speak in pity ! They do not regard their father . I am sad , O Carmor , nor small is my cause of wo . Such were the words of the ...
Pagina 34
... ghosts of men ; amid the tem- " pest let Calmar die , if ever chase was sport to him , so much as the battle of shields ! " 66 Calmar ! " Connal slow replied , " I never the Forth . For Ierne is said to be the North of Britain , which ...
... ghosts of men ; amid the tem- " pest let Calmar die , if ever chase was sport to him , so much as the battle of shields ! " 66 Calmar ! " Connal slow replied , " I never the Forth . For Ierne is said to be the North of Britain , which ...
Overige edities - Alles bekijken
Veelvoorkomende woorden en zinsdelen
arms art thou Atha bards battle beam behold bend blast blood blue streams Cairbar Calmar car-borne Carril Cathmor cave chief Clono cloud Cona Connal Cormac Cromla Cuthullin Dar-thula dark dark-brown darkened daugh daughter death distant dost thou echoing Erin Erin's eyes fame fathers feast feeble fell field fight Fillan Fingal fled Foldath friends Gaul ghosts gleaming grey grief hall harp hear heard heath heroes hill Inis-huna king of Ireland king of Morven king of swords Lathmon Lego Lena light Lochlin Lubar maid midst mighty mist Moi-lena Mora Morni mournful Nathos night Oscar Ossian poem renown rise roar rock roes rolled rose rush Ryno Selma Semo shield side sigh silent song sons soul sound steel steps storm stream Strutha Sul-malla Swaran sword tears Temora thee thine Thou art tomb Torman Trenmor Ullin Usnoth Uthal vale voice warriors waves wind youth
Populaire passages
Pagina 17 - ... stream and the wind roar aloud. I hear not the voice of my love! Why delays my Salgar, why the chief of the hill, his promise? Here is the rock, and here the tree! here is the roaring stream! Thou didst promise with night to be here. Ah! whither is my Salgar gone? With thee I would fly, from my father; with thee, from my brother of pride. Our race have long been foes; we are not foes, O Salgar! Cease a little while, O wind! stream, be thou silent a while! let my voice be heard around. Let my...
Pagina 56 - She " was covered with the Light of Beauty; but her " heart was the House of Pride.
Pagina 160 - The music of Carryl was, like the ." memory of joys that are past, pleasant and
Pagina 20 - ... hunter's eye the grave of the mighty Morar. Morar! thou art low indeed. Thou hast no mother to mourn thee, no maid with her tears of love. Dead is she that brought thee forth. Fallen is the daughter of Morglan. "Who on his staff is this? Who is this whose head is white with age, whose eyes are red with tears, who quakes at every step? It is thy father, O Morar!
Pagina 5 - OUR youth is like the dream of the hunter on the hill of heath. He sleeps in the mild beams of the sun; he awakes amidst a storm; the red lightning flies around : trees shake their heads to the wind! He looks back with joy, on the day of the sun; and the pleasant dreams of his rest!
Pagina 18 - I sit in my grief! I wait for morning in my tears! Rear the tomb, ye friends of the dead. Close it not till Colma come. My life flies away like a dream! why should I stay behind?
Pagina 19 - Morar! as a roe on the desart; terrible as a meteor of fire. Thy wrath was as the storm. Thy sword in battle, as lightning in the field. Thy voice was a stream after rain ; like thunder on distant hills.
Pagina 137 - Whither dost thou retire from thy course, when the darkness of thy countenance grows? hast thou thy hall, like Ossian ? dwellest thou in the shadow of grief? have thy sisters fallen from heaven ? are they who rejoiced with thee, at night, no more ? Yes, they have fallen, fair light ! and thou dost often retire to mourn.
Pagina 71 - Oscar ! bend the strong in arm ; but spare the feeble hand. Be thou a stream of many tides against the foes of thy people ; but like the gale that moves the grass to those who ask thine aid. — So Tremor lived; such Trathal was ; and such has Fingal been. My arm was the support of the injured ; and the weak rested behind the lightning of my steel.
Pagina 339 - Bring me the harp, son of Alpin. Another song shall rise. My soul shall depart in the sound. My fathers shall hear it in their airy hall. Their dim faces shall hang, with joy, from their clouds; and their hands receive their son. The aged oak bends over the stream. It sighs with all its moss. The withered fern whistles near, and mixes, as it waves, with Ossian's hair. 'Strike the harp, and raise the song: be near, with all your wings, ye winds. Bear the mournful sound away to Fingal's airy hall....