The Works of Ossian, the Son of Fingal, Volume 2J.Fr. Valade and sold by Theophilus Barrois, 1783 - Scottish Gaelic poetry |
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Page 37
... weft . But thou art perhaps , like me , for a fea- fon , and thy years will have an end . Thou shalt fleep in thy clouds , careless of the voice of the morning . Exult then fun , in the ftrength of thy youth ! Age › › O addrefs to the ...
... weft . But thou art perhaps , like me , for a fea- fon , and thy years will have an end . Thou shalt fleep in thy clouds , careless of the voice of the morning . Exult then fun , in the ftrength of thy youth ! Age › › O addrefs to the ...
Page 106
... weft . Ullin , my aged bard ! take the ship of the king . Carry Ofcar to Selma , and let the daughters of Morven weep . We shall fight in Erin for the race of fallen Cormac . The days of my years begin to fail : Ifeel the weak- nefs of ...
... weft . Ullin , my aged bard ! take the ship of the king . Carry Ofcar to Selma , and let the daughters of Morven weep . We shall fight in Erin for the race of fallen Cormac . The days of my years begin to fail : Ifeel the weak- nefs of ...
Page 107
... death of his mafter Cormac . and ( 2 ) Althan speaks . ( 3 ) Doira , the woody fide of a mountain ; it is here a hill in the neighbourhood of Temora . thered in the weft , and a red ftar looked E vj AN EPIC POEM . 707.
... death of his mafter Cormac . and ( 2 ) Althan speaks . ( 3 ) Doira , the woody fide of a mountain ; it is here a hill in the neighbourhood of Temora . thered in the weft , and a red ftar looked E vj AN EPIC POEM . 707.
Page 108
thered in the weft , and a red ftar looked from behind its edge . - I ftood in the wood alone , and faw a ghoft on the darkening air . His ftride extended from hill to hill : his shield was dim on his . fide . It was the fon of Semo : I ...
thered in the weft , and a red ftar looked from behind its edge . - I ftood in the wood alone , and faw a ghoft on the darkening air . His ftride extended from hill to hill : his shield was dim on his . fide . It was the fon of Semo : I ...
Page 123
... not addicted to the fuperftition wich prevailed all the world over before the introduction of Chrifti . aniry . ? ( 2 ) The fong of Ullin , with which the of poem F weft has opened its gates ; the bed of Fij CARRIC - THURA ( 1 ) :
... not addicted to the fuperftition wich prevailed all the world over before the introduction of Chrifti . aniry . ? ( 2 ) The fong of Ullin , with which the of poem F weft has opened its gates ; the bed of Fij CARRIC - THURA ( 1 ) :
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Common terms and phrases
againſt arms arofe art thou Balclutha bards battle beam behold bends blaft breaft Cairbar Calmar car-borne Carthon Cathmor chief cloud Clutha coaft Colla Conlath Connal Cormac courfe Crimora Cuchullin Dar-thula Dargo dark darkneſs daughter death defart defcended diftant doft thou Dunthalmo Etha eyes faid fallen fame father feaft feeble fell fide figh filent Fingal flain fleep fome fon of Morni fong foul fpear fpirit fpread friends fteel fteps ftood ftorm ftranger ftream ftrength fword Gaul ghoft gray grief hair hall harp hear heard heath heroes hill hoft king laft Lathmon Lego lift maid midft mift mighty moffy moon Morven mournful Nathos night Nuath Ofcar Offian Oithóna paffed poem prefence raiſed reft renown returned rife roar rock rofe rolled roſe Selma shield ſon ſpear ſteps tears Temora thee thouſand tomb trembling Ufnoth Ullin Uthal voice warriors waves weft wind youth
Popular passages
Page 84 - Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away. For, lo, the winter is past, The rain is over and gone ; The flowers appear on the earth ; The time of the singing of birds is come, And the voice of the turtle is heard in our land ; The fig tree putteth forth her green figs, And the vines with the tender grape give a good smell. Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away.
Page 186 - His renown will be a sun to my soul, in the dark hour of my departure. O that the name of Morni were forgot among the people! that the heroes would only say, " Behold the
Page 84 - Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away ! for, lo ! the winter is past, the rain is over and gone, the flowers appear on the earth, the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land. The fig-tree putteth forth her green figs, and the vines with the tender grapes give a good smell.
Page 37 - The oaks of the mountains fall : the \ mountains themfelves decay with years ; the ocean fhrinks and grows again : the moon herfelf is loft in heaven ; but thou art for ever the fame ; rejoicing in the brightnefs of thy courfe. When the world is dark with tempefts ; when thunder rolls, and lightning flies ; thou lookeft in thy beauty, from the clouds, and laugheft at the ftorm.
Page 160 - All night I stood on the shore. I saw her by the faint beam of the moon. All night I heard her cries. Loud was the wind; the rain beat hard on the hill. Before morning appeared, her voice was weak. It died away, like the evening breeze among the grass of the rocks.
Page 23 - I have seen the walls of Balclutha, but they were desolate. The fire had resounded in the halls: and the voice of the people is heard no more. The stream of Clutha was removed from its place, by the fall of the walls. The thistle shook there its lonely head: the moss whistled to the wind. The fox looked out from the windows, the rank grass of the wall waved round its head. Desolate is the dwelling of Moina, silence is in the house of her fathers.
Page 222 - son of the sightless Crothar! But let others advance before thee that I may hear the tread of thy feet at thy return ; for my eyes behold thee not, fair-haired Fovar-gormo.' He went ; he met the foe ; he fell. Rothmar advances to Croma. He who slew my son is near, with all his pointed spears.
Page 144 - What shall she do, hapless maid ! He. bleeds ; her Connal dies ! All the night long she 'cries, and all the day, " O Connal, my love, and my friend!
Page 206 - I sit alone, O Gaul ! the dark chief of Cuthal is there. He is there in the rage of his love. What can Oithona do ?" A rougher blast rushed through the oak.
Page 211 - Can the hand of Gaul heal thee, youth of the mournful brow ? I have searched for the herbs of the mountains ; I have gathered them on the secret banks of their streams. My hand has closed the wound of the brave, their eyes have blessed the son of Morni.