Report of the Committee of the Highland Society of Scotland, Appointed to Inquire Into the Nature and Authenticity of the Poems of OssianA. Constable, 1805 - 498 sayfa |
Diğer baskılar - Tümünü görüntüle
Sık kullanılan terimler ve kelime öbekleri
agus ancient poetry arms authenticity bards battle beautiful bhuil biodh cath ceann Chaidh chief Chuir collection Committee Conal copy Cuthullin daoine DEAR SIR death Edinburgh edition eile Eirin Erin fame fein Fhinn Fingal Fingalians fome Fraoch fuaim fubject fuch gach Gaelic language Gaelic poetry Gaul Ghuill give hand heard heroes Highland Society Hill honour iomadh Ireland Isles James Macpherson Kenn Labhair lamh land language laoch letter Lochlin M'Don M'Lag Macdonald Macpherson maid manuscript mentioned mhic mighty Miss Brooke Morven moſt Nuair Offian Oisein original Oscar Ossian's poems paffages Patrick persons poems of Ossian published recited rehearsers repeat Reverend righ robh Scotland shield sluagh songs spear Staffa sword Temora thainig thee thofe Thog thoſe thou Thuit tion translation uair waves wind words
Popüler pasajlar
Sayfa 226 - O Oscar! bend the strong in arms; 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.
Sayfa 209 - Like autumn's dark storms, pouring from two echoing hills, towards each other approached the heroes. Like two deep streams from high rocks meeting, mixing, roaring on the plain; loud, rough and dark in battle meet Lochlin and Innis-fail.
Sayfa 166 - A blast came from the mountain, on its wings was the spirit of Loda. He came to his place in his terrors, and shook his dusky spear. His eyes appear like flames in his dark face; his voice is like distant thunder. Fingal advanced his spear in night and raised his voice on high. Son of night, retire: call thy winds, and fly!
Sayfa 257 - But behold the king of Morven! He moves, below, like a pillar of fire. His strength is like the stream of Lubar, or the wind of the echoing Cromla; when the branchy forests of night are torn from all their rocks! Happy are thy people, O Fingal! thine arm shall finish their wars. Thou art the first in their dangers; the wisest in the days of their peace. Thou speakest, and thy thousands obey: armies tremble at the sound of thy steel.
Sayfa 171 - He lifted high his shadowy spear! He bent forward his dreadful height. Fingal, advancing, drew his sword; the blade of dark-brown Luno.* The gleaming path of the steel winds through the gloomy ghost. The form fell shapeless into air, like a column of smoke, which the staff of the boy disturbs, as it rises from the half-extinguished furnace.
Sayfa 229 - To thee I fly," with sighs she said, " O prince of mighty men ! To thee I fly, chief of the generous shells, supporter of the feeble hand ! The king of Craca's echoing isle owned me the sun-beam of his race.
Sayfa 210 - Helmets are cleft on high. Blood bursts and smokes around. Strings murmur on the polished yews. Darts rush along the sky, spears fall like the circles of light which gild the face of night.
Sayfa 170 - And shall the sons of the wind frighten the king of Morven? No: he knows the weakness of their arms!' 'Fly to thy land,' replied the form: 'receive the wind and fly! The blasts are in the hollow of my hand: the course of the storm is mine. The king of Sora is my son, he bends at the stone of my power. His battle is around Carric-thura; and he will prevail! Fly to thy land, son of Comhal, or feel my flaming wrath!
Sayfa 211 - Cormac's hundred bards were there to give the fight to song; feeble was the voice of a hundred bards to send the deaths to future times! For many were the deaths of heroes; wide poured the blood of the brave!
Sayfa 191 - I beheld their chief," says Moran, " tall as a glittering rock. His spear is a blasted pine; his shield the rising moon. He sat on the shore! like a cloud of mist on the silent hill! Many, chief of heroes! I said, many are our hands of war. Well art thou named the Mighty Man, but many mighty men are seen from Tura's windy walls.