The Poems of Ossian

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Patrick Geddes & colleagues, 1896 - 417 ページ
 

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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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176 ページ - 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 desert comes ; it howls in thy empty court, and whistles round thy half-worn shield.
184 ページ - 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? - The oaks of the mountains fall ; the mountains themselves decay with years ; the ocean shrinks, and grows again ; the moon herself is lost in heaven ; but thou art forever the same, rejoicing in the brightness of thy course.
184 ページ - 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; and the stars hide themselves in the sky; the moon, cold and pale, sinks in the western wave; but thou thyself movest alone.
160 ページ - He lifted high his shadowy spear ! He bent forward his dreadful height. Fingal, advancing, drew his sword. the blade of dark-brown Luno. The gleaming path of the steel winds through the gloomy ghost. The form fell shapeless into air, like a column of smoke, which the staff of the boy disturbs, as it rises from the half-extinguished furnace.
414 ページ - Weep, thou father of Morar ! weep ; but thy son heareth thee not. Deep is the sleep of the dead ; low their pillow of dust. No more shall he hear thy voice ; no more awake at thy call. When shall it be morn in the grave, to bid the slumberer awake?
411 ページ - Cease a little while, O wind! stream, be thou silent a while! let my voice be heard around. Let my wanderer hear me! Salgar! it is Colma who calls. Here is the tree, and the rock. Salgar, my love!
409 ページ - TAR of descending night ! fair is thy light in the west ! thou liftest thy unshorn head from thy cloud : thy steps are stately on thy hill. What dost thou behold in the plain ? The stormy winds are laid. The murmur of the torrent comes from afar. Roaring waves climb the distant rock.
387 ページ - A soliloquy by the poet himself. j}UR youth is like the dream of the hunter on the hill of heath. He sleeps in the mild beams of the sun ; he awakes amidst a. storm ; the red lightning flies around : trees shake their heads to the wind! He looks back with joy, on the day of the sun ; and the pleasant dreams of his rest...
413 ページ - Many fell by thy arm; they were consumed in the flames of thy wrath. But when thou didst return from war, how peaceful was thy brow! Thy face was like the sun after rain; like the moon in the silence of night; calm as the breast of the lake when the loud wind is laid.
49 ページ - Retire, for it is night, my love, and the dark winds sigh in thy hair. Retire to the halls of my feasts, and think of the times that are past : for I will not return till the storm of war is ceased.

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