The Poems of Ossian: In the Original Gaelic with a Literal Translation Into English and a Dissertation on the Authenticity of the Poems

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W. Blackwood and Sons, 1870
 

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56 ページ - Or fights or yields the hero ?" said Fingal of the noble deeds : " foes do not conquer in my presence : my friends are renowned in the hall. Son of the wave, follow me, partake the feast of my shells : pursue the deer of my desert : be thou the friend of Fingal.
480 ページ - Green thorn of the hill of ghosts, that shakest thy head to nightly winds ! I hear no sound in thee ; is there no spirit's windy skirt now rustling in thy leaves ? Often are the steps of the dead, in the darkeddying blasts ; when the moon, a dun shield, from the east, is rolled along the sky.
544 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.
43 ページ - Cuthullin, and talk to him in the cave of his sor" row. For never more shall I be renowned among " the mighty in the land. I am like a beam that " has shone : Like a mist that has fled away ; when " the blast of the morning came, and brightened the
150 ページ - Every man of the children of Israel shall pitch by his own standard, with the ensign of their father's house: far off about the tabernacle of the congregation shall they pitch.
191 ページ - Their people saw the darkening chiefs. Their crowding steps are heard around. Their eyes roll in fire. A thousand swords are half unsheathed. Red-haired Olla raised the song of battle. The trembling joy of Oscar's soul arose: the wonted joy of his soul when Fingal's horn was heard. Dark as the swelling wave of ocean before the rising winds, when it bends its head near the...
325 ページ - We bend towards the voice of the king. The moon looks abroad from her cloud. The greyskirted mist is near; the dwelling of the ghosts ! TEMORA: AN EPIC POEM.
185 ページ - His towers rose on the banks of Atha: seven paths led to his halls: seven chiefs stood on these paths, and called the stranger to the feast. But Cathmore dwelt in the wood to avoid the voice of praise.
201 ページ - of aged chiefs: The howling of my dogs: The sudden bursts of the song of grief, have melted Oscar's soul. My soul, that never melted before. It was like the steel of my sword. Ossian, carry me to my hills! Raise the stones of my renown. Place the horn of a deer; place my sword by my side. The torrent hereafter may raise the earth: the hunter may find the steel, and say, 'This has been Oscar's sword, the pride of other years!
12 ページ - The ghosts of night shriek afar: I have seen the meteors of death. Let me awake the king of Morven, he that smiles in danger ! He that is like the sun of heaven, rising in a storm...

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