The poems of Ossian, tr. by J. Macpherson. Blair's critical dissertations, Volume 21806 |
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Page 6
... behold the chiefs , in the pride of their for- mer deeds ! Their souls are kindled at the battles of old ; at the actions of other times . Their eyes are flames of fire . They roll in search of the foes of the land , Their mighty hands ...
... behold the chiefs , in the pride of their for- mer deeds ! Their souls are kindled at the battles of old ; at the actions of other times . Their eyes are flames of fire . They roll in search of the foes of the land , Their mighty hands ...
Page 7
... Behold , thou first in Cormac's war , the sable fleet of Swaran . His masts are many on our coast , like reeds in the lake of Lego . His ships are forests cloathed with mist , when the trees yield by turns to the squally wind . Many are ...
... Behold , thou first in Cormac's war , the sable fleet of Swaran . His masts are many on our coast , like reeds in the lake of Lego . His ships are forests cloathed with mist , when the trees yield by turns to the squally wind . Many are ...
Page 11
... Behold this sword unsheathed ! Here wanders the blood of Cathba . Long shall Morna wait . He fell by the stream of Branno ! On Cromla I will raise his tomb , daughter of blue - shielded Cormac ! Turn on Duchomar thine + Torman , thunder ...
... Behold this sword unsheathed ! Here wanders the blood of Cathba . Long shall Morna wait . He fell by the stream of Branno ! On Cromla I will raise his tomb , daughter of blue - shielded Cormac ! Turn on Duchomar thine + Torman , thunder ...
Page 36
... behold the grave of Cuthullin ? " We fought on the plain of Muri . Our swords avoid a wound . They slide on the helmets of steel ; or sound on the slippery shields . Deugala was near with a smile , and said to the son of Damman ...
... behold the grave of Cuthullin ? " We fought on the plain of Muri . Our swords avoid a wound . They slide on the helmets of steel ; or sound on the slippery shields . Deugala was near with a smile , and said to the son of Damman ...
Page 50
... behold the blood of my friends . Sad is the heath of Lena ! mournful the oaks of Cromla ! The hunters have fallen in their strength : the son of Semo is no more . Ryno and Fillan , my sons , sound the horn of Fingal . Ascend that hill ...
... behold the blood of my friends . Sad is the heath of Lena ! mournful the oaks of Cromla ! The hunters have fallen in their strength : the son of Semo is no more . Ryno and Fillan , my sons , sound the horn of Fingal . Ascend that hill ...
Common terms and phrases
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
Popular passages
Page 56 - 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.
Page 9 - 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!
Page 15 - < 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.
Page 167 - 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.
Page 318 - 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.
Page 17 - 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...
Page 287 - 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.
Page 276 - 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.