The poems of Ossian, tr. by J. Macpherson. Blair's critical dissertations, Volume 21806 |
From inside the book
Results 1-5 of 63
Page 2
... feast , by his bard Carril , the son of Kinfena . Swaran refuses to come . Carril relates to Cuthullin the story of Grudar and Brassolis . A party , by Connal's advice , is sent to observe the enemy ; which closes the action of the ...
... feast , by his bard Carril , the son of Kinfena . Swaran refuses to come . Carril relates to Cuthullin the story of Grudar and Brassolis . A party , by Connal's advice , is sent to observe the enemy ; which closes the action of the ...
Page 9
... feast ! storm ? Fergus , first in our son of Rossa ! arm of death ! comest thou like a roe from Malmor . Like a hart from thy echoing hills ? Hail thou son of Rossa ! what shades the soul of war ? " " Four stones , " I replied the chief ...
... feast ! storm ? Fergus , first in our son of Rossa ! arm of death ! comest thou like a roe from Malmor . Like a hart from thy echoing hills ? Hail thou son of Rossa ! what shades the soul of war ? " " Four stones , " I replied the chief ...
Page 18
... feast is smoaking wide ! Cuthullin , chief of Erin's war , re- sumed his mighty soul . He stood upon his beamy * The ancient manner of preparing feasts after hunting , is handed down by tradition . A pit lined with smooth stones was ...
... feast is smoaking wide ! Cuthullin , chief of Erin's war , re- sumed his mighty soul . He stood upon his beamy * The ancient manner of preparing feasts after hunting , is handed down by tradition . A pit lined with smooth stones was ...
Page 19
... feast spread for me alone and the king of Lochlin on Erin's shore ; far from the deer of his hills , and sounding halls of his feasts ? Rise , Car- ril of other times ; carry my words to Swaran . Tell him from the roaring of waters ...
... feast spread for me alone and the king of Lochlin on Erin's shore ; far from the deer of his hills , and sounding halls of his feasts ? Rise , Car- ril of other times ; carry my words to Swaran . Tell him from the roaring of waters ...
Page 22
... feasts ; think of the times that are past . I will not return till the storm of war is ceased . O Connal ! speak of war and arms , and send her from my mind . Lovely with her flowing hair is the white - bosomed daughter of Sorglan ...
... feasts ; think of the times that are past . I will not return till the storm of war is ceased . O Connal ! speak of war and arms , and send her from my mind . Lovely with her flowing hair is the white - bosomed daughter of Sorglan ...
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.