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The Poems of Ossian, Tr. by J. MacPherson. to Which Are Prefixed ...
No preview available - 2015
ancient arms arose art thou Balclutha bards battle beam behold bend blast blood blue streams breast Cairbar Calmar Carril Carthon Cathmor cave chief cloud Comala Cona Connal Cormac Cromla Cuthullin dark daugh daughter death distant dost thou Druids dwelling echoing Erin eyes fame fathers feast feeble fell field fight Fillan Fingal fled friends Gaul ghosts gray grief hair hall hand harp hear heard heath heaven heroes hill Iliad Ireland king of Morven king of swords Lathmon lift light Lochlin maid meteor midst mighty mist moon Morni mournful night Oscar Ossian poems poet poetry race raised rejoice renown rise roar rock rolled rose rushed Selma shield side sigh silent song sons soul sound spear Starno steel stood storm strangers stream strength Swaran sword tears Temora thee thine tomb Torman Trenmor Ullin vale voice warriors waves wind youth
Page 244 - O thou that rollest above, round as the shield of my fathers! Whence are thy beams, O sun! thy everlasting light? Thou comest forth in thy awful beauty; the stars hide themselves in the sky; the moon, cold and pale, sinks in the western wave. But thou thyself movest alone; who can be a companion of thy course?
Page 177 - The land through which we have gone to search it, is a land that eateth up the inhabitants thereof; and all the people that we saw in it, are men of a great stature. And there we saw the giants, the sons of Anak, which come of the giants : and we were in our own sight as grasshoppers, and so we were in their sight.
Page 298 - It is thy father, O Morar! the father of no son but thee. He heard of thy fame in war; he heard of foes dispersed. He heard of Morar's renown; why did he not hear of his wound? Weep, thou father of Morar! weep; but thy son heareth thee not. Deep is the sleep of the dead; low their pillow of dust.
Page 236 - Why dost thou build the hall, son of the winged days? Thou lookest from thy towers to-day; yet a few years, and the blast of the desart comes; it howls in thy empty court, and whistles round thy half-worn shield.
Page 295 - The murmur of the torrent comes from afar. Roaring waves climb the distant rock. The flies of evening are on their feeble wings ; the hum of their course is on the field. What dost thou behold, fair light ? But thou dost smile and depart. The waves come with joy around thee : they bathe thy lovely hair. Farewell, thou silent beam ! Let the light of Ossian's soul arise ! "And it does arise in its strength ! I behold my departed friends.
Page 169 - As the troubled noise of the ocean when roll the waves on high ; as the last peal of the thunder of heaven ; such is the noise of battle.
Page 153 - 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.
Page 318 - Like the darkened moon, he retired in the midst of the whistling blast.
Page 365 - Swaran," said the king of hills, "to-day our fame is greatest. We shall pass away like a dream. No sound will remain in our fields of war. Our tombs will be lost in the heath. The hunter shall not know the place of our rest.
Page 134 - In thoughts from the visions of the night, When deep sleep falleth on men, Fear came upon me, and trembling, Which made all my bones to shake. Then a spirit passed before my face; The hair of my flesh stood up: It stood still, but I could not discern the form thereof: An image was before mine eyes, There was silence, and I heard a voice, saying, Shall mortal man be more just than God?