The Poems of Ossian, Band 1Sammer, 1801 - 290 Seiten |
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Seite 9
... thee , chief of Lulan , sport- ing by Loda's hall , when the dark- fkirted night is rolled along the sky . Thou , fometimes , hideft the moon with thy shield . I have seen her dim , in hea- ven . Thou kindleft thy hair into me- teors ...
... thee , chief of Lulan , sport- ing by Loda's hall , when the dark- fkirted night is rolled along the sky . Thou , fometimes , hideft the moon with thy shield . I have seen her dim , in hea- ven . Thou kindleft thy hair into me- teors ...
Seite 10
... thee , Torcul - torno ! It was Starno , dreadful king ! His red eyes rolled on me in love . Dark waved his shaggy brow , above his gathered smile . Where is my father ; I said , he that was migh- ty in war ? Thou art left alone among ...
... thee , Torcul - torno ! It was Starno , dreadful king ! His red eyes rolled on me in love . Dark waved his shaggy brow , above his gathered smile . Where is my father ; I said , he that was migh- ty in war ? Thou art left alone among ...
Seite 11
... thee , the terror of thy foes ! It is not the feel of the feeble , nor of the dark in foul ! The maids are not shut in our ( 3 ) caves of fireams . They tofs not their white arms alone . They bend , fair within their locks , above the ...
... thee , the terror of thy foes ! It is not the feel of the feeble , nor of the dark in foul ! The maids are not shut in our ( 3 ) caves of fireams . They tofs not their white arms alone . They bend , fair within their locks , above the ...
Seite 37
... thee . No boy , on his ferny bed , by Turthor's mur- muring ftream . Here is spread the couch of the mighty , from which they rise to deeds of death ! Hunter of fhaggy boars awaken not the terrible ! Starno came murmuring on . Fingal ...
... thee . No boy , on his ferny bed , by Turthor's mur- muring ftream . Here is spread the couch of the mighty , from which they rise to deeds of death ! Hunter of fhaggy boars awaken not the terrible ! Starno came murmuring on . Fingal ...
Seite 38
... ! Go to thy troubled " dwelling , cloudy foe of the lovely ! Let the ftran- ger fhun thee , thou gloomy in the hall ! A tale of the times of old ! COMÁLA : A DRAMATIC POEM . THIS ARGUMENT . is 38 CATH - LODA : DUAN THIRD .
... ! Go to thy troubled " dwelling , cloudy foe of the lovely ! Let the ftran- ger fhun thee , thou gloomy in the hall ! A tale of the times of old ! COMÁLA : A DRAMATIC POEM . THIS ARGUMENT . is 38 CATH - LODA : DUAN THIRD .
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Häufige Begriffe und Wortgruppen
arms arofe aroſe art thou Balclutha bards battle beam behold blaft bofom breaft Carthon chace chief clouds Clutha Colmar Comála Comhal Connal courſe Crimora Crothar Dargo dark darkneſs daughter death defcended diftant doft thou Dunthalmo Duth-carmor Duth-maruno eyes faid fame fathers feaft feen fell fhall fhield fide figh filent Fingal firangers firft flain fome fong foul fpear Frothal fteel fteps ftone ftood ftorm ftory ftrangers ftreams ftrength fword Gaul ghofts hair hall harp heard heroes Hidallan hill himſelf hoft king Lochlin Loda maid Malvina meteor midft mift mighty Moina moon Morni Morven night Ofcar Offian Oithóna poem race raiſed Rathmor reft renowned rife river Clyde roar rock rofe rolled roſe ruſhed ſaid ſaw Scandinavia Selma ſhall ſhe Shilric ſon ſong ſpear ſpirit ſpread Starno Swaran ſword tears thee theſe thoſe thouſand tomb Trenmor vale voice warriors wave weft winds youth
Beliebte Passagen
Seite 87 - I have seen the walls of Balclutha, but they were desolate. The fire had resounded in the halls : and the voice of the people is heard no more. The stream of Clutha was removed from its place by the fall of the walls. The thistle shook there its lonely head ; the moss whistled to the wind. The fox looked out from the windows, the rank grass of the wall waved round its head. Desolate is the dwelling of Moina, silence is in the house of her fathers.
Seite 261 - Night is alike to me, stormy or gloomy the sky. Night flies before the beam, when it is poured on the hill. The young day returns from his clouds, but we return no more. Where are our chiefs of old? Where our kings of mighty name ? The fields of their battles are silent. Scarce their mossy tombs remain. We shall also be forgot. This lofty house shall fall. Our sons shall not behold the ruins in grass. They shall ask of the aged, " Where stood the walls of our fathers ?" Raise the song, and strike...
Seite 81 - The murmur of thy streams, O Lora ! brings back the memory of the past. The sound of thy woods, Garmallar, is lovely in mine ear. Dost thou not behold, Malvina, a rock with its head of heath? Three aged pines bend from its face; green is the narrow plain at its feet ; there the flower of the mountain grows, and shakes its white head in the breeze.
Seite 82 - ... grows, and shakes its white head in the breeze. The thistle is there alone, shedding its aged heard.
Seite 57 - Didst thou but appear, O my love, a wanderer on the heath! thy hair floating on the wind behind thee...
Seite 60 - But sleep did not rest on the king : he rose in the midst of his arms; and slowly ascended the hill, to behold the flame of Sarno's tower. " The flame was dim and distant ; the moon hid her red face in the east. 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.
Seite 62 - 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!
Seite 58 - When mid-day is filent around, converfe, O my love, with me! come on the wings of the gale! on the blaft of the mountain, come! Let me hear thy voice, as thou pafleft, when mid-day is fiient a*ound.
Seite 19 - His race came forth, in their years ; they came forth to war, but they always fell.
Seite 61 - 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. Dwell in thy pleasant fields, said the king; let Comhal's son be forgot.