The poems of Ossian, tr. by J. Macpherson. Blair's critical dissertations, 第 2 巻1806 |
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42 ページ
... of the enemy by night ; Gaul the son of Morni desires the command of the army in the next battle ; which Fingal promises to give him . Some general reflections of the poet close the third day . FINGAL : AN ANCIENT EPIC POEM . IN SIX BOOKS.
... of the enemy by night ; Gaul the son of Morni desires the command of the army in the next battle ; which Fingal promises to give him . Some general reflections of the poet close the third day . FINGAL : AN ANCIENT EPIC POEM . IN SIX BOOKS.
56 ページ
... Morni's son ; that bards may sing of me , Such was the custom heretofore of Fingal's noble race . Such was thine own , thou king of swords , in • battles of the spear . " " O son of Morni , " Fingal replied , " I glory in * Gaul , the ...
... Morni's son ; that bards may sing of me , Such was the custom heretofore of Fingal's noble race . Such was thine own , thou king of swords , in • battles of the spear . " " O son of Morni , " Fingal replied , " I glory in * Gaul , the ...
60 ページ
... Morni , while he himself , after charging his sons to behave gallantly and defend his people , retires to a hill , from whence he could have a view of the battle . The battle joins ; the poet relates Oscar's great actions . But when ...
... Morni , while he himself , after charging his sons to behave gallantly and defend his people , retires to a hill , from whence he could have a view of the battle . The battle joins ; the poet relates Oscar's great actions . But when ...
66 ページ
... Morni fights , the chief of mighty men ! He shall lead my battle ; that his fame may rise in song ! O ye ghosts of heroes dead ! ye riders of the storm of Cromla ! receive my falling people with joy , and bear them to your hills . And ...
... Morni fights , the chief of mighty men ! He shall lead my battle ; that his fame may rise in song ! O ye ghosts of heroes dead ! ye riders of the storm of Cromla ! receive my falling people with joy , and bear them to your hills . And ...
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... Morni's son , as the strength of the tide of Inistore . The king half - rose from his hill at the sight . He half - assumed the spear . " Go , Ullin , go , my aged bard , " begun the king of Morven . " Remind the mighty Gaul of war ...
... Morni's son , as the strength of the tide of Inistore . The king half - rose from his hill at the sight . He half - assumed the spear . " Go , Ullin , go , my aged bard , " begun the king of Morven . " Remind the mighty Gaul of war ...
多く使われている語句
arms art thou Atha bards battle beam behold bend blast blood blue blue streams Cairbar Calmar car-borne Carril Cathmor cave chace chief Clono cloud Cona Connal Cormac Cromla Cuthullin Dar-thula dark dark-brown darkened daugh daughter death dost thou echoing Erin Erin's eyes fame fathers feast feeble fell field fight Fillan Fingal Firbolg Foldath friends Gaul ghosts gleaming grey grief hair hall harp hear heard heath heroes hill king of Ireland king of Morven Lathmon Lego Lena lift light Lochlin Lubar maid Malthos midst mighty mist Moi-lena Mora Morni mournful Nathos night Oscar Ossian poem renown rise roar rock roes rolled rose rush Ryno Selma Semo shield side sigh silent song sons soul sound spear steel steps storm stream Strutha Sul-malla Swaran sword tears Temora thee thine Thou art tomb Torman Trenmor Ullin Usnoth Uthal vale voice warriors waves wind youth
人気のある引用
56 ページ - O Oscar ! bend the strong in arm : but spare the feeble hand. Be thou a stream of many tides against the foes of thy people ; but like the gale that moves the grass, to those who ask thine aid. So Trenmor lived ; such Trathal was ; and such has Fingal been. My arm was the support of the injured ; the weak rested behind the lightning of my steel.
9 ページ - Cromla echoes round. On Lena's dusky heath they stand, like mist that shades the hills of autumn; when broken and dark it settles high, and lifts its head to heaven. "Hail!
15 ページ - < to the souls of the heroes ! their deeds were great in fight. Let them ride around ine on clouds. Let them show their features of war. My soul shall then be firm in danger ; mine arm like the thunder of heaven! But be thou on a moonbeam, O Morna ! near the window of my rest ; when my thoughts are of peace ; when the din of arms is past.
167 ページ - The blue waves of Ullin roll in light. The green hills are covered with day. Trees shake their dusky heads in the breeze. Grey torrents pour their noisy streams. Two green hills with aged oaks surround a narrow plain. The blue course of a stream is there. On its banks stood Cairbar of Atha. His spear supports the king; the red eyes of his fear are sad. Cormac rises on his soul with all his ghastly wounds.
318 ページ - I passed, O son of Fingal, by Tor-lutha's mossy walls. The smoke of the hall was ceased. Silence was among the trees of the hill. The voice of the chase was over. I saw the daughters of the bow. I asked about Malvina, but they answered not. They turned their faces away: thin darkness covered their beauty. They were like stars, on a rainy hill, by night, each looking faintly through her mist.
17 ページ - When fled Swaran from the battle of spears? When did I shrink from danger, chief of the little soul? I met the storm of Gormal, when the foam of my waves beat high. I met the storm of the clouds; shall Swaran fly from a hero? Were Fingal himself before me, my soul should not darken with fear. Arise to battle, my thousands! pour round me like the echoing main. Gather round the bright steel of your king; strong as the rocks of my land; that meet the storm with joy, and stretch their dark pines to the...
287 ページ - Son of Alpin, strike the string. Is there aught of joy in the harp? Pour it then on the soul of Ossian: It is folded in mist. I hear thee, O bard ! in my night. But cease the lightly-trembling sound.
276 ページ - Lara's stream, is poured the vapour dark and deep : the moon, like a dim shield, is swimming through its folds. With this clothe the spirits of old their sudden gestures on the wind, when they stride, from blast to blast, along the dusky night. Often, blended with the gale, to some warrior's grave,* they roll the mist, a grey dwelling to his ghost, until the songs arise.