The Poems of Ossian, Volume 1Sammer, 1801 - 290 pages |
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Page 6
... behold . Deaths wander , like fhadows , over his fiery foul ! Do I forget that beam of light , the white - handed daughter ( 2 ) of kings ? Go , fon of Loda ; his words are wind to Fingal wind , that , to and fro , drives the thiftle ...
... behold . Deaths wander , like fhadows , over his fiery foul ! Do I forget that beam of light , the white - handed daughter ( 2 ) of kings ? Go , fon of Loda ; his words are wind to Fingal wind , that , to and fro , drives the thiftle ...
Page 9
... behold thee , chief of Lulan , sport- ing by Loda's hall , when the dark- fkirted night is rolled along the sky . Thou , fometimes , hideft the moon with thy shield . I have seen her dim , in hea- ven . Thou kindleft thy hair into me ...
... behold thee , chief of Lulan , sport- ing by Loda's hall , when the dark- fkirted night is rolled along the sky . Thou , fometimes , hideft the moon with thy shield . I have seen her dim , in hea- ven . Thou kindleft thy hair into me ...
Page 14
... behold the dark moon descending , be- hind thy refounding woods . On thy top dwells the mifty Loda : the house of the spirits of men ! In the end of his cloudy hall , bends forward Cruth - loda of swords . His form is dimly feen , amid ...
... behold the dark moon descending , be- hind thy refounding woods . On thy top dwells the mifty Loda : the house of the spirits of men ! In the end of his cloudy hall , bends forward Cruth - loda of swords . His form is dimly feen , amid ...
Page 45
... behold thy waters rolling in blood ? Has the noise of the battle been heard ; and fleeps the king of Morven ? Rise , moon , thou daughter of the sky ! look from between thy clouds , rife that I may behold the gleam of his fteel , on the ...
... behold thy waters rolling in blood ? Has the noise of the battle been heard ; and fleeps the king of Morven ? Rise , moon , thou daughter of the sky ! look from between thy clouds , rife that I may behold the gleam of his fteel , on the ...
Page 46
... behold his love , fair- leaning from her rock ! Her red eye dim in tears , her blushing cheek half hid in her locks ! Blow , O gentle breeze ! lift thou the heavy locks of the maid , that may behold her white arm , her lovely cheek in ...
... behold his love , fair- leaning from her rock ! Her red eye dim in tears , her blushing cheek half hid in her locks ! Blow , O gentle breeze ! lift thou the heavy locks of the maid , that may behold her white arm , her lovely cheek in ...
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Common terms and phrases
arms arofe aroſe art thou Balclutha bards battle beam behold blaft bofom breaft Carthon chace chief clouds Clutha Colmar Comála Comhal Connal courſe Crimora Crothar Dargo dark darkneſs daughter death defcended diftant doft thou Dunthalmo Duth-carmor Duth-maruno eyes faid fame fathers feaft feen fell fhall fhield fide figh filent Fingal firangers firft flain fome fong foul fpear Frothal fteel fteps ftone ftood ftorm ftory ftrangers ftreams ftrength fword Gaul ghofts hair hall harp heard heroes Hidallan hill himſelf hoft king Lochlin Loda maid Malvina meteor midft mift mighty Moina moon Morni Morven night Ofcar Offian Oithóna poem race raiſed Rathmor reft renowned rife river Clyde roar rock rofe rolled roſe ruſhed ſaid ſaw Scandinavia Selma ſhall ſhe Shilric ſon ſong ſpear ſpirit ſpread Starno Swaran ſword tears thee theſe thoſe thouſand tomb Trenmor vale voice warriors wave weft winds youth
Popular passages
Page 87 - 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 261 - Night is alike to me, stormy or gloomy the sky. Night flies before the beam, when it is poured on the hill. The young day returns from his clouds, but we return no more. Where are our chiefs of old? Where our kings of mighty name ? The fields of their battles are silent. Scarce their mossy tombs remain. We shall also be forgot. This lofty house shall fall. Our sons shall not behold the ruins in grass. They shall ask of the aged, " Where stood the walls of our fathers ?" Raise the song, and strike...
Page 81 - The murmur of thy streams, O Lora ! brings back the memory of the past. The sound of thy woods, Garmallar, is lovely in mine ear. Dost thou not behold, Malvina, a rock with its head of heath? Three aged pines bend from its face; green is the narrow plain at its feet ; there the flower of the mountain grows, and shakes its white head in the breeze.
Page 82 - ... grows, and shakes its white head in the breeze. The thistle is there alone, shedding its aged heard.
Page 57 - Didst thou but appear, O my love, a wanderer on the heath! thy hair floating on the wind behind thee...
Page 60 - But sleep did not rest on the king : he rose in the midst of his arms; and slowly ascended the hill, to behold the flame of Sarno's tower. " The flame was dim and distant ; the moon hid her red face in the east. A blast came from the mountain ; on its wings was the spirit of Loda. He came to his place in his terrors, and shook his dusky spear.
Page 62 - Fly to thy land,' replied the form: 'receive the wind and fly! The blasts are in the hollow of my hand: the course of the storm is mine. The king of Sora is my son, he bends at the stone of my power. His battle is around Carric-thura; and he will prevail! Fly to thy land, son of Comhal, or feel my flaming wrath!
Page 58 - When mid-day is filent around, converfe, O my love, with me! come on the wings of the gale! on the blaft of the mountain, come! Let me hear thy voice, as thou pafleft, when mid-day is fiient a*ound.
Page 19 - His race came forth, in their years ; they came forth to war, but they always fell.
Page 61 - Dost thou force me from my place? replied the hollow voice. The people bend before me. I turn the battle in the field of the brave. I look on the nations, and they vanish: my nostrils pour the blast of death. I come abroad on the winds: the tempests are before my face. But my dwelling is calm, above the clouds; the fields of my rest are pleasant. Dwell in thy pleasant fields, said the king; let Comhal's son be forgot.