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LibraryThing Reviewユーザー レビュー - hbergander - LibraryThing
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 ... レビュー全文を読む
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ancient appear arms authenticity bard battle beautiful called Cecidit chief circa circumstance clouds collection Connal cujus Cuthullin dark death ejus erat evidence ex adverso fear féin Fingal fuit Gaelic give hand haud heard heroes hill illi instar inter John king language lann letter Macpherson Macpherson's translation mall manner manu manuscript mentioned meum mind mòr nature night Nuair observe original Ossian particular person poems poems of Ossian poet poetry princeps printed publication quæ quod regarding Report respectable righ rock says Scotland sgiath shield Sicut side sine spear Starno stream sunt super Swaran sword talla Thàinig thall thou Thuit translation treun triath Venit wind
cxcv ページ - WHEN Learning's triumph o'er her barbarous foes First rear'd the stage, immortal Shakespeare rose; Each change of many-colour'd life he drew, Exhausted worlds, and then imagin'd new: Existence saw him spurn her bounded reign, And panting Time toil'd after him in vain. His powerful strokes presiding truth impress'd, And unresisted passion storm'd the breast.
vi ページ - ... long to be remembered, and the language formerly had nothing written. He has doubtless inserted names that circulate in popular stories, and may have translated some wandering ballads, if any can be found; and the names and some of the images being recollected, make an inaccurate auditor imagine, by the help of Caledonian bigotry, that he has formerly heard the whole.
cxxx ページ - Thin thongs, bright-studded with gems, bend on the stately necks of the steeds. The steeds that like wreaths of mist fly over the streamy vales ! The wildness of deer is in their course, the strength of eagles descending on the prey. Their noise is like the blast of winter, on the sides of the snow-headed Gormal.
cxxxiv ページ - Blood bursts and smokes around. Strings murmur on the polished yews. Darts rush along the sky. Spears fall like the circles of light, which gild the face of night. As the noise of the troubled ocean, when roll the waves on high. As the last peal of thunder in heaven, such is the din of war...
civ ページ - I beheld their chief," says Moran, " tall as a glittering rock. His spear is a blasted pine; his shield the rising moon. He sat on the shore! like a cloud of mist on the silent hill! Many, chief of heroes! I said, many are our hands of war. Well art thou named the Mighty Man, but many mighty men are seen from Tura's windy walls.
clxiii ページ - Duchomar was the dream of her night! She will raise my tomb; the hunter shall raise my fame. But draw the sword from my breast. Morna, the steel is cold !' She came, in all her tears she came ; she drew the sword from his breast. He pierced her white side! He spread her fair locks on the ground! Her bursting blood sounds from her side; her white arm is stained with red. Rolling in death she lay. The cave re-echoed to her sighs.
xxxiii ページ - The Noble Lord, with his usual zeal for literature, proposed that Clach Ossian, which ignorance or malice had overturned, should be restored to its former place, and a further monument erected, with a suitable inscription. There was not then public spirit enough in Scotland, to raise the sum necessary for that purpose. It is to be hoped, however, that the time is not far distant, when that object will be accomplished. .3. Not only is the Caledonian title to Fingal and his heroes justified by the...
lxxxi ページ - the greatest contempt and disdain for those who " thought him the fabricator of them. If there " was any person who asserted that Macpherson " had owned it to himself, even that would not " shake my faith, for I know him to be of a tem" per, when he was teased and fretted, to carry
cxxii ページ - Is the son of Torman fallen?' said the wildly bursting voice of the maid. ' Is he fallen on his echoing hills, the youth with the breast of snow? the first in the chase of hinds? the foe of the strangers of ocean? Thou art dark to me, Duchomar! cruel is thine arm to Morna! Give me that sword, my foe ! I love the wandering blood of Cathba ! ' " He gave the sword to her tears.