The poems of Ossian, tr. by J. Macpherson. Blair's critical dissertations, Volume 21806 |
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Pagina 27
... rose , in the midst of his He struck his shield above Cuthul- battle waked . " Why , " said the sounding arms . lin . The son of ruler of the car , 66 comes Connal through my night ? My spear might turn against the sound ; and Cuthul ...
... rose , in the midst of his He struck his shield above Cuthul- battle waked . " Why , " said the sounding arms . lin . The son of ruler of the car , 66 comes Connal through my night ? My spear might turn against the sound ; and Cuthul ...
Pagina 29
... rose rustling like a flock of sea - fowl , when the waves ex- pel them from the shore . Their sound was like a thousand streams that meet in Cona's vale , when , after a stormy night , they turn their dark eddies , beneath the pale ...
... rose rustling like a flock of sea - fowl , when the waves ex- pel them from the shore . Their sound was like a thousand streams that meet in Cona's vale , when , after a stormy night , they turn their dark eddies , beneath the pale ...
Pagina 36
... rose ! 66 " Son of Damman , " begun the fair , " Cuthullin hath pained my soul . I must hear of his death , or Lubar's stream shall roll over me . My pale ghost shall wander near thee , and mourn the wound of my pride . Pour out the ...
... rose ! 66 " Son of Damman , " begun the fair , " Cuthullin hath pained my soul . I must hear of his death , or Lubar's stream shall roll over me . My pale ghost shall wander near thee , and mourn the wound of my pride . Pour out the ...
Pagina 68
... rose , so rung their swords ! Gaul rushed on , like a whirlwind in Ardven . The destruction of heroes is on his sword . Swaran was like the fire of the desert in the echoing heath of Gormal ! How can I give to the song the death of many ...
... rose , so rung their swords ! Gaul rushed on , like a whirlwind in Ardven . The destruction of heroes is on his sword . Swaran was like the fire of the desert in the echoing heath of Gormal ! How can I give to the song the death of many ...
Pagina 71
... banks of the roaring Cona ! Our arms were victo- rious on Lena : each chief fulfilled his promise ! Be- side the murmur of Branno thou didst often sit , O maid ! thy white bosom rose frequent , like the AN EPIC POEM . 71.
... banks of the roaring Cona ! Our arms were victo- rious on Lena : each chief fulfilled his promise ! Be- side the murmur of Branno thou didst often sit , O maid ! thy white bosom rose frequent , like the AN EPIC POEM . 71.
Veelvoorkomende woorden en zinsdelen
arms art thou Atha bards battle beam behold bend blast blood blue blue streams Cairbar Calmar car-borne Carril Cathmor cave chace chief Clono cloud Cona Connal Cormac Cromla Cuthullin Dar-thula dark dark-brown darkened daugh daughter death dost thou echoing Erin Erin's eyes fame fathers feast feeble fell field fight Fillan Fingal Firbolg Foldath friends Gaul ghosts gleaming grey grief hair hall harp hear heard heath heroes hill king of Ireland king of Morven Lathmon Lego Lena lift light Lochlin Lubar maid Malthos 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 spear 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 56 - O 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 Trenmor lived ; such Trathal was ; and such has Fingal been. My arm was the support of the injured ; the weak rested behind the lightning of my steel.
Pagina 9 - Cromla echoes round. On Lena's dusky heath they stand, like mist that shades the hills of autumn; when broken and dark it settles high, and lifts its head to heaven. "Hail!
Pagina 15 - < to the souls of the heroes ! their deeds were great in fight. Let them ride around ine on clouds. Let them show their features of war. My soul shall then be firm in danger ; mine arm like the thunder of heaven! But be thou on a moonbeam, O Morna ! near the window of my rest ; when my thoughts are of peace ; when the din of arms is past.
Pagina 167 - The blue waves of Ullin roll in light. The green hills are covered with day. Trees shake their dusky heads in the breeze. Grey torrents pour their noisy streams. Two green hills with aged oaks surround a narrow plain. The blue course of a stream is there. On its banks stood Cairbar of Atha. His spear supports the king; the red eyes of his fear are sad. Cormac rises on his soul with all his ghastly wounds.
Pagina 318 - I passed, O son of Fingal, by Tor-lutha's mossy walls. The smoke of the hall was ceased. Silence was among the trees of the hill. The voice of the chase was over. I saw the daughters of the bow. I asked about Malvina, but they answered not. They turned their faces away: thin darkness covered their beauty. They were like stars, on a rainy hill, by night, each looking faintly through her mist.
Pagina 17 - When fled Swaran from the battle of spears? When did I shrink from danger, chief of the little soul? I met the storm of Gormal, when the foam of my waves beat high. I met the storm of the clouds; shall Swaran fly from a hero? Were Fingal himself before me, my soul should not darken with fear. Arise to battle, my thousands! pour round me like the echoing main. Gather round the bright steel of your king; strong as the rocks of my land; that meet the storm with joy, and stretch their dark pines to the...
Pagina 287 - Son of Alpin, strike the string. Is there aught of joy in the harp? Pour it then on the soul of Ossian: It is folded in mist. I hear thee, O bard ! in my night. But cease the lightly-trembling sound.
Pagina 276 - Lara's stream, is poured the vapour dark and deep : the moon, like a dim shield, is swimming through its folds. With this clothe the spirits of old their sudden gestures on the wind, when they stride, from blast to blast, along the dusky night. Often, blended with the gale, to some warrior's grave,* they roll the mist, a grey dwelling to his ghost, until the songs arise.