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LibraryThing ReviewRecenzja użytkownika - hbergander - LibraryThing
The authenticity of Macpherson’s collection was already controversially judged, when it came, translated in several European languages, to the continent. The author was said having written the poems ... Przeczytaj pełną recenzję
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Annir Ardven arms art thou Balclutha bards battle beam behold bend blast blood breast Cairbar Calmar Carril Carthon cave chace chief Clessammor clouds Clutha Comala Comhal Connal Crimora Cromla Cuthullin Dargo dark dark-brown daugh death distant Dunthalmo Duth-maruno echoing echoing isle Erin eyes fame father feast feeble fell Fingal fled friends Frothal Gaul ghosts grief hair hall hand harp hear heard heath heaven heroes Hidallan hill Inistore isle king of Morven king of swords lift Lochlin Loda maid Malvina meteor midst mighty mist moon Morna Morni mournful night Oithona Oscar Ossian poem race raised Rathmor renowned rise roaring rock rolled rose rushed Scandinavia Selma shells shield sigh song sons soul sound spear Starno steel stood storm strangers stream sun-beam Swaran sword tears thee tomb Torman trembling Trenmor Ullin vale voice warriors waves white-bosomed wind youth
Strona 99 - When the world is dark with tempests, when thunder rolls and lightning flies, thou lookest in thy beauty from the clouds, and laughest at the storm. But to Ossian thou lookest in 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.
Strona 98 - O thou that rollest above, round as the shield of my fathers ! Whence are thy beams, O sun ! 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.
Strona 63 - He lifted high his shadowy spear! He bent forward his dreadful height. Fingal, advancing, drew his sword; the blade of darkbrown Luno. The gleaming path of the steel winds through the gloomy ghost. The form fell shapeless into air...
Strona 239 - It is night; I am alone, forlorn on the hill of storms. The wind is heard in the mountain. The torrent pours down the rock. No hut receives me from the rain; forlorn on the hill of winds ! Rise, moon!
Strona 57 - If fall I must in the Field, raise high my Grave, Vinvela. Grey Stones, and heaped-up Earth, shall mark me to future Times. When the Hunter shall sit by the Mound, and produce his Food at Noon, "Some Warrior rests here," he will say; and my Fame shall live in his Praise.
Strona 79 - Two stones half sunk in the ground, shew their heads of moss. The deer of the mountain avoids the place, for he beholds a dim ghost standing there.
Strona 62 - Dost thou force me from my place?' replied the hollow voice. 'The people bend before me. I turn the battle in the field of the brave. I look on the nations, and they vanish ; my nostrils pour the blast of death. I come abroad on the winds ; the tempests are before my face. But my dwelling is calm, above the clouds ; the fields of my rest are pleasant.
Strona 272 - Steel sounds on steel, and helmets are cleft on high : blood bursts and smokes around : strings murmur on the polished yews : darts rush along the sky : spears fall like circles of light which gild the stormy face of night.
Strona 62 - Son of night retire: call thy winds and fly! Why dost thou come to my presence, with thy shadowy arms? Do I fear thy gloomy form, spirit of dismal Loda? Weak is thy shield of clouds; feeble is that meteor, thy sword. The blast rolls them together; and thou thyself art lost. Fly from my presence, son of night! call thy winds and fly!
Strona 248 - ... her by the faint beam of the moon. All night I heard her cries. Loud was the wind; the rain beat hard on the hill. Before morning appeared, her voice was weak; it died away like the evening breeze among the grass of the rocks. Spent with grief, she expired, and left thee, Armin, alone. Gone is my strength in war, fallen my pride among women. When the storms aloft arise, when the north lifts the wave on high, I sit by the sounding shore, and look on the fatal rock. "Often by the setting moon I...