The poems of Ossian, tr. by J. Macpherson. To which are prefixed dissertations on the æra and poems of Ossian, Zväzok 11807 |
Vyhľadávanie v obsahu knihy
Výsledky 1 - 5 z 55.
Strana vii
... storms , the troubled torrents pour down his sides . Joining , as they roar along , they bear the Torno , in foam , to the main . Grey on the bank , and far from men , half- covered , by ancient pines , from the wind , a lonely pile ...
... storms , the troubled torrents pour down his sides . Joining , as they roar along , they bear the Torno , in foam , to the main . Grey on the bank , and far from men , half- covered , by ancient pines , from the wind , a lonely pile ...
Strana viii
... , his rugged forehead rears , And , o'er the warfare of his storms , appears Abrupt and vast . - White - wandering down his side , A thousand torrents , gleaming as they glide , Unite below ; and , pouring through the plain , viii PREFACE .
... , his rugged forehead rears , And , o'er the warfare of his storms , appears Abrupt and vast . - White - wandering down his side , A thousand torrents , gleaming as they glide , Unite below ; and , pouring through the plain , viii PREFACE .
Strana ix
... storm . To this fierce Sigurd fled , from Norway's lord , When fortune settled , on the warrior's sword ; In that rude field , where Suecia's chiefs were slain , Or forc'd to wander o'er the Bothnic main . Dark was his life , yet ...
... storm . To this fierce Sigurd fled , from Norway's lord , When fortune settled , on the warrior's sword ; In that rude field , where Suecia's chiefs were slain , Or forc'd to wander o'er the Bothnic main . Dark was his life , yet ...
Strana 93
... storm of swords , he stands always ready to oppose it ? He only regrets " this life , who hath never known distress . The " timorous man allures the devouring eagle to " the field of battle . The coward , wherever he 66 comes , is ...
... storm of swords , he stands always ready to oppose it ? He only regrets " this life , who hath never known distress . The " timorous man allures the devouring eagle to " the field of battle . The coward , wherever he 66 comes , is ...
Strana 110
... Even a mountain , a sea , or a lake , which he has occasion to mention , though only in a simile , are for the most part particularized ; it is the hill of Cromla , the storm of the sea of 110 A CRITICAL DISSERTATION ON.
... Even a mountain , a sea , or a lake , which he has occasion to mention , though only in a simile , are for the most part particularized ; it is the hill of Cromla , the storm of the sea of 110 A CRITICAL DISSERTATION ON.
Časté výrazy a frázy
ancient Annir antiquity appears arms art thou Balclutha bards battle beam beautiful behold blast Caledonians Carthon Cathmor Celtic Celtic nations character chief Clessámmor cloud Clutha Comala Connal Crimora Cuthullin Dargo dark daugh daughter death descended distant dost Druids Dunthalmo dwells eyes fame father feast fell Fillan Fingal Fion Firbolg Frothal Gaul genius ghosts grief hall hand harp heard heath heroes hill Homer Iliad Ireland Irish king of Morven language lift Lochlin Loda maid Malvina manners meteor midst mighty mist moon Morni Morven mournful nations night Odin Oithona Oscar Ossian Picts poem poet poetical poetry race renowned rise roar rock rolled rose rushed Scandinavia Scotland Scots Selma sentiment shew shield sigh silent song soul sound spear spirit Starno storm strangers stream sublime Swaran sword tears Temora thee thou tion tomb tradition Trenmor vale voice warrior wave winds youth
Populárne pasáže
Strana 312 - 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.
Strana 425 - 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 ! from behind thy clouds.
Strana 280 - 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.
Strana 140 - In thoughts from the visions of the night, When deep sleep falleth on men, Fear came upon me, and trembling, Which made all my bones to shake. Then a spirit passed before my face; The hair of my flesh stood up: It stood still, but I could not discern the form thereof: An image was before mine eyes, There was silence, and I heard a voice, saying, Shall mortal man be more just than God?
Strana 206 - Lycidas ? For neither were ye playing on the steep, Where your old bards, the famous Druids, lie, Nor on the shaggy top of Mona high, Nor yet where Deva spreads her wizard stream. Ay me, I fondly dream ! Had ye been there...
Strana 423 - OTAR of descending night! fair is thy light in the west ! thou liftest thy unshorn head from thy cloud : thy steps are stately on thy hill. What dost thou behold in the plain? The stormy winds are laid. The murmur of the torrent comes from afar. Roaring waves climb the distant rock.
Strana 295 - 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.
Strana 201 - The land, through which we have gone to search it, is a land that eateth up the inhabitants thereof; and all the people that we saw in it are men of a great stature. And there we saw the giants, the sons of Anak, which come of the giants : and we were in our own sight as grasshoppers, and so we were in their sight.
Strana 426 - O my brother! my brother! why hast thou slain my Salgar? why, O Salgar! hast thou slain my brother? Dear were ye both to me! what shall I say in your praise? Thou wert fair on the hill among thousands! he was terrible in fight. Speak to me; hear my voice; hear me, sons of my love!
Strana 163 - The flower hangs its heavy head, waving, at times, to the gale. Why dost thou awake me, O gale, it seems to say, I am covered with the drops of heaven? The time of my fading is near, and the blast that shall scatter my leaves. Tomorrow shall the traveller come, he that saw me in my beauty shall come; his eyes will search the field, but they will not find me?