The poems of Ossian, in the orig. Gaelic, with a literal tr. into Engl. and a dissertation on the authenticity of the poems by A. Clerk. With the tr. by Macpherson, 第 2 巻

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78 ページ - Fingal has long since fallen asleep, the ruler of the war ! Then Gaul and Ossian sat with Swaran, on the soft green banks of Lubar. I touched the harp to please the king. But gloomy was his brow. He rolled his red eyes towards Lena. The hero mourned his host. I raised mine eyes to Cromla's brow. I saw the son of generous Semo. Sad and slow he retired, from his " hill, towards the lonely cave of Tura.
527 ページ - For many a petty king ere Arthur came Ruled in this isle, and ever waging war Each upon other, wasted all the land ; And still from time to time the heathen host Swarm'd overseas, and harried what was left. And so there grew great tracts of wilderness, Wherein the beast was ever more and more, But man was less and less, till Arthur came.
411 ページ - Distant from the host he always lay, when battle burnt within his soul. On two spears hung his shield on high ; the gleaming sign of death ; that shield, which he was wont to strike, by night, before he rushed to war. It was then his warriors knew, when the king was to lead in strife; for never was this buckler heard till the wrath of Fingal arose.
543 ページ - DID not Ossian hear a voice? or is it the sound of days that are no more? Often does the memory of former times come, like the evening sun, on my soul.
77 ページ - Such was thy grief, thou king of swords, when Ryno lay on earth. What must the grief of Ossian be, for thou thyself art gone ! I hear not thy distant voice on Cona. My eyes perceive thee not. Often forlorn and dark I sit at thy tomb ; and feel it with my hands. When I think I hear thy voice, it is but the passing blast. Fingal has long since fallen asleep, the ruler of the war ! Then Gaul and Ossian sat with Swaran, on the soft green banks of Lubar. I touched the harp to please the king. But gloomy...
499 ページ - Father of heroes, Trenmor, dweller of eddying winds ! I give thy spear to Ossian, let thine eye rejoice. Thee have I seen, at times, bright from between thy clouds ; so appear to my son, when he is to lift the spear : then shall he remember thy mighty deeds,, though thou art now but a blast.
116 ページ - call my dogs, the long-bounding sons of the chase. Call white-breasted Bran, and the surly strength of Luath. Fillan and Ryno ; but he is not here ! my son rests on the bed of death. Fillan and Fergus ! blow the horn, that the joy of the chase may arise : that the deer of Cromla may hear, and start at the lake of roes.
75 ページ - Lota weep ! Like a tree they grew on the hills. They have fallen like the oak of the desert ; when it lies across a stream, and withers in the wind. Oscar ! chief of every youth ! thou seest how they have fallen.
91 ページ - O sooth my soul from war! Let mine ear forget, in the sound, the dismal noise of arms. Let a hundred harps be near to gladden the king of Lochlin. He must depart from us with joy. None ever went sad from Fingal. Oscar ! the lightning of my sword is against the strong in fight. Peaceful it lies by my side when warriors yield in war.
26 ページ - He came like a cloud of rain in the day of the sun, when slow it rolls on the hill, and fields expect the shower. Silence attends its slow progress aloft: but the tempest is soon to arise.