The Celtic Revival in English Literature, 1760-1800

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Harvard University Press, 1923 - Comparative literature - 208 pages
 

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Page 35 - Cold is Cadwallo's tongue, That hush'd the stormy main : Brave Urien sleeps upon his craggy bed : Mountains, ye mourn in vain Modred, whose magic song Made huge Plinlimmon bow his cloudtopt head. On dreary Arvon's shore they lie, Smear'd with gore, and ghastly pale : Far, far aloof th' affrighted ravens sail ; The famish'd eagle screams, and passes by.
Page 36 - He spoke, and headlong from the mountain's height Deep in the roaring tide he plunged to endless night.
Page 75 - Having had the good fortune to be born and reared in a mountainous country, from my very childhood I have felt the falsehood that pervades the volumes imposed upon the world under the name of Ossian. From what I saw with my own eyes, I knew that the imagery was spurious.
Page 35 - Far, far aloof th' affrighted ravens sail ; The famish'd eagle screams, and passes by. Dear lost companions of my tuneful art, Dear as the light that visits these sad eyes, Dear as the ruddy drops that warm my heart, Ye died amidst your dying country's cries — No more I weep. They do not sleep. On yonder cliffs, a grisly band, I see them sit, they linger yet, Avengers of their native land : With me in dreadful harmony they join, And weave with bloody hands the tissue of thy line.
Page 34 - Tho' fann'd by Conquest's crimson wing They mock the air with idle state. Helm, nor hauberk's twisted mail Nor e'en thy virtues, tyrant, shall avail To save thy secret soul from nightly fears, From Cambria's curse, from Cambria's tears...
Page 53 - On a rock, whose haughty brow Frowns o'er old Conway's foaming flood, Robed in the sable garb of woe, With haggard eyes the poet stood ; (Loose his beard and hoary hair, Stream'd like a meteor to the troubled air,) And with a master's hand and prophet's fire Struck the deep sorrows of his lyre...
Page 37 - Nor on all profusely pours ; Lord of every regal art, Liberal hand, and open heart. Big with hosts of mighty name, Squadrons three against him came; This the force of Eirin hiding, Side by side as proudly riding, On her shadow long and gay Lochlin...
Page 39 - THE DEATH OF HOEL. AN ODE. SELECTED FROM THE GODODIN. HAD I but the torrent's might, With headlong rage and wild affright Upon Dei'ra's squadrons hurl'd To rush, and sweep them from the world! Too, too secure in youthful pride, By them, my friend, my Hoel, died, Great Cian's son: of Madoc old He ask'd no heaps of hoarded gold; Alone in nature's wealth array'd, He ask'd and had the lovely maid.
Page 47 - Mona on Snowdon calls : Hear, thou king of mountains, hear ; Hark, she speaks from all her strings ; Hark, her loudest echo rings ; King of mountains, bend thine ear, Send thy spirits, send them soon, Now, when midnight and the moon Meet upon thy front of snow : See, their gold and ebon rod, Where the sober sisters nod, And greet in whispers sage and slow.

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