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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 ... Read full review
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actions ancient antiquity appears arms bards battle beam beautiful behold blast blood called character chief circumstances cloud comes compositions concerning course dark daughter death dwells eyes face fall fame father feast fell field Fingal fire friends Gaul genius ghost give hall hand head hear heard heart heroes hill Homer human ideas imagination Ireland Irish kind king land language lift light lived looked maid manners mighty mind mist moon mournful moved nature never night objects original Ossian plain poem poet poetical poetry presented probable race raised rest rise rock rolled rose rushed Scots sentiment shield side silent song sons soul sound spear spirit steps stood storm strangers stream strength sword tears thou tion tradition turned voice warrior waves whole wind young youth
Page 131 - 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.
Page 277 - 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 262 - 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 249 - 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 267 - 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 - Helmets are cleft on high ; blood bursts, and smokes around. 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 battle.
Page 201 - Roll on, ye dark-brown years; ye bring no joy on your course! Let the tomb open to Ossian; for his strength has failed. The sons of song are gone to rest. My voice remains, like a blast, that roars, lonely, on a sea-surrounded rock, after the winds are laid.
Page 157 - 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 his head. Desolate is the " dwelling of Moina; silence is in the house of her