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1870 |
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... , the sons of streamy Mor- ven ! We came to Branno , friend of strangers ! Branno of the sounding mail ! " From whence , " he said , " are the arms of steel ? A thousand heroes wooed her : 20 To thousand heroes 4 FIONNGHAL .
... , the sons of streamy Mor- ven ! We came to Branno , friend of strangers ! Branno of the sounding mail ! " From whence , " he said , " are the arms of steel ? A thousand heroes wooed her : 20 To thousand heroes 4 FIONNGHAL .
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... arms . There Colla , there Durra of wounds , there mighty Toscar , and Tago , there Frestal the victorious stood ; Dairo of the happy deeds : Dala , the battle's bulwark in the narrow way ! The sword flamed in the hand of Cormac ...
... arms . There Colla , there Durra of wounds , there mighty Toscar , and Tago , there Frestal the victorious stood ; Dairo of the happy deeds : Dala , the battle's bulwark in the narrow way ! The sword flamed in the hand of Cormac ...
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... arm : Oft had they followed him to field of gashing blows , And come back from the battle with spoils . " Advance to conflict , " said the prince , " Ye sons of loud - resounding Selma . Forward to death of thousands on the hill ...
... arm : Oft had they followed him to field of gashing blows , And come back from the battle with spoils . " Advance to conflict , " said the prince , " Ye sons of loud - resounding Selma . Forward to death of thousands on the hill ...
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Ossian. 265 The red son of the furnace flashing high , So rose the arms of the host , Such was the noise of their brands . Rushed Gaul like a blast on Ardven ; And havoc to heroes was his sword . Swaran was as a raging fire , In heather ...
Ossian. 265 The red son of the furnace flashing high , So rose the arms of the host , Such was the noise of their brands . Rushed Gaul like a blast on Ardven ; And havoc to heroes was his sword . Swaran was as a raging fire , In heather ...
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... arm in every perilous toil ; hard heart that never yields ; chief of the pointed arms of death : cut down the foe ; let no white sail bound round dark Inistore . Be thine arm like thunder , thine eyes like fire , thy heart of solid rock ...
... arm in every perilous toil ; hard heart that never yields ; chief of the pointed arms of death : cut down the foe ; let no white sail bound round dark Inistore . Be thine arm like thunder , thine eyes like fire , thy heart of solid rock ...
多く使われている語句
anam aomadh àrd Atha bards battle beum bheinn Bhuail blast brave Ca-mor Cairbar Carul Cathmor Cha-n cheuman chief chliu chruaidh Chunnaic ciar clàrsach cloud còmhrag Cormac Cromla cuairt Cuchullin dark dealradh DUAN IV DUAN VIII éirigh Éirinn Erin eyes fame faoin father feast féin Fillan Fingal Fionnghal Folda Foldath fonn fuaim fuath Gaelic garbh Gaul ghaoith Ghluais ghuth glen grey guth harp hero hill host iadhadh iolair king làimh làmh lann laoch Lochlin Lubar mall measg mhòr mighty mist Moi-lena mòr Morven N uair nan sliabh nial night oidhche Oscar Ossian raon renown rìgh rock ruaig Selma sgiath shield sìos sleagh sòlas song soul sound spear speur sruth storm streams strì Swaran sword Temora Thàinig thall thaobh thee Thog thou Thuit treun triath tuar uair Ullin voice warriors waves wind
人気のある引用
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.
535 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.
553 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...
507 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.