The Poems of Ossian, Volume 2

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J. D. Dewick, 1803 - Bards and bardism
 

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The authenticity of Macpherson’s collection was already controversially judged, when it came, translated in several European languages, to the continent. The author was said having written the poems ... Read full review

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Page 39 - STAR 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.
Page 98 - 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 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.
Page 202 - The blue waves of Ullin roll in light; the green hills are covered with day; trees shake their dusky heads in the breeze.
Page 49 - Roll on, ye dark-brown years ; ye bring no joy on your course! Let the tomb open to Ossian, for his strength has failed. The sons of song are gone to rest. My voice remains, like a blast that roars lonely on a sea-surrounded rock, after the winds are laid.
Page 31 - 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...
Page 190 - The remembrance of battles past, and the return of peace is compared to the sun returning after a storm : " Hear the battle of Lora! the sound of its steel is long since past: so thunder on the darkened hill roars, and is no more ; the sun returns with his silent beams; the glittering rocks, and green heads of the mountains, smile.
Page 46 - ... please the soul. It is like soft mist that, rising from a lake, pours on the silent vale ; the green flowers are filled with dew, but the sun returns in his strength, and the mist is gone Why art thou sad, O Armin, chief of sea-surrounded Gorma?
Page 48 - Before morning appeared, her voice was weak; it died away like the evening breeze among the grass of the rocks. Spent with grief, she expired, and left thee, Armin, alone.
Page 341 - Did not Ossian hear a voice ? or is it the sound of days that are no more? Often, like the evening sun, comes the memory of former times on my soul.

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