The Poems of Ossian, Volume 1 (Google eBook)

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J. D. Dewick, 1803 - Bards and bardism
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Page 191 - Tom? whom the foul fiend hath led through fire and through flame, through ford and whirlpool, o'er bog and quagmire; that hath laid knives under his pillow, and halters in his pew; set...
Page 279 - 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.
Page 264 - 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.
Page 251 - Thou frownest in vain : I never fled from the mighty in war. And shall the sons of the wind frighten the king of Morven? No: he knows the weakness of their arms ! Fly to thy land...
Page 132 - 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?
Page 193 - 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...
Page 251 - 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.
Page 182 - I was a lovely tree in thy presence, Oscar, with all my branches round me : but thy death came like a blast from the desert, and laid my green head low : the spring returned with its showers, but no leaf of mine arose.
Page 269 - Why dost thou build the hall, Son of the winged days ? Thou lookest from thy towers to-day; Yet a few years, and the blast of the desert comes ; It howls in thy empty court, And whistles round thy half-worn shield.
Page 177 - As the troubled noise of the ocean when roll the waves on high; as the last peal of the thunder of heaven; such is the noise of the battle.

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