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afterwards ancient antiquity appeared attack authenticity bards believe Blair brought called century character chief collected contained criticism death doubt early Edinburgh edition English epic evidence existed expressed fact Fingal fragments friends further Gaelic gave give given Government hand heard Highlands hill Home Hume influence interest Irish James John Johnson kind known land language later learned letter literary literature London Lord Macpherson manner manuscripts materials ment mentioned minister nature never notes obtained opinion original Ossian passages person pieces poems poetry present preserved printed probably productions prove published question received recited regard remains returned Scotch Scotland sent song success taken tells thou tion took tradition translation various verse volume whole writing written wrote young
Page 7 - O thou that rollest above, round as the shield of my fathers ! Whence are thy beams, O sun I 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...
Page 2 - Will no one tell me what she sings? — Perhaps the plaintive numbers flow For old, unhappy, far-off things, And battles long ago: Or is it some more humble lay, Familiar matter of to-day? Some natural sorrow, loss, or pain, That has been, and may be again?
Page 250 - What would you have me retract? I thought your book an imposture; I think it an imposture still. For this opinion I have given my reasons to the public, which I here dare you to refute. Your rage I defy. Your abilities, since your Homer, are not so formidable, and what I hear of your morals inclines me to pay regard not to what you shall say, but to what you shall prove. You may print this if you will. SAM. JOHNSON.
Page 88 - Did you never observe (while rocking winds are piping loud) that pause, as the gust is recollecting itself, and rising upon the ear in a shrill and plaintive note, like the swell of an ^Eolian harp ? I do assure you there is nothing in the world so like the voice of a spirit.
Page 7 - ... vain, for he beholds thy beams no more ; whether thy yellow hair flows on the eastern clouds, or thou tremblest at the gates of the west. But thou art perhaps like me for a season ; thy years will have an end. Thou shalt sleep in thy clouds careless of the voice of the morning. Exult, then...
Page 166 - Oh, from the rock on the hill, from the top of the windy steep, speak, ye ghosts of the dead! Speak, I will not be afraid! Whither are ye gone to rest? In what cave of the hill shall I find the departed? No feeble voice is on the gale: no answer half drowned in the storm! "I sit in my grief: I wait for morning in my tears! Rear the tomb, ye friends of the dead. Close it not till Colma come. My life flies away like a dream. Why should I stay behind? Here shall I rest with my friends, by the stream...
Page 169 - A tale of the times of old ! The deeds of days of other years ! " The murmur of thy streams, O Lora ! brings back the memory of the past.
Page 165 - . ."Star 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.
Page 171 - O bards ! over the land of strangers. They have but fallen before us : for, one day, we must fall. 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. And let the blast of the desert come ! we shall be renowned in our day ! The mark of my arm shall be in battle ; my name in the song of bards.