The Poems of Ossian, Volume 2

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Page 280 - maid of Inistore I ! Bend thy fair head over the waves, thou lovelier than the ghost of the hills, when it moves, in a sun-beam, at noon, over the silence of Morven ! He is fallen ! thy youth is low! pale beneath the sword of Cuthullin ! No more shall valour raise thy love to match the blood of
Page 278 - Chief mixes his strokes with chief, and man •with man; steel, clanging, sounds on steel. Helmets are cleft on high. Blood bursts and smokes around. Strings murmur on the polished yews. Darts rush along the sky. Spears fall like the circles of light, which gild the face of night. As the noise of the troubled ocean, when roll
Page 90 - snow, and the world is silent and dark." " Raise *, ye bards," said the mighty Fingal, " the praise of unhappy Moina. Call her ghost, •with your songs, to our hills; that she may rest with the fair of Morven, the sun-beams of other days, the delight of heroes of old. I have seen the walls of Balclutha, but they were desolate.
Page 279 - on high. As the last peal of thunder in heaven, such is the din of war ! Though Cormac's hundred bards were there, to give the fight to song; feeble was the voice of a hundred bards to send the deaths to future times ! For many were the deaths of heroes; wide poured
Page 302 - heath ! Deugala was the spouse of Cairbar, chief of the plains of Ullin. She was covered with the light of beauty, but her heart was the house of pride. She loved that sun-beam of youth, the son of noble Damman. " Cairbar/' said the white-armed Deugala, "give me
Page 256 - 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 see the ghosts of my children. Half-viewless, they walk in mournful conference together. Will none of you speak in pity ? They do not regard their father.
Page 248 - am here. Why delayest thou thy coming ? Lo ! the calm moon comes forth. The flood is bright in the vale. The rocks are grey on the steep. I see him not on the brow. His dogs come not before him, with tidings of
Page 256 - 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
Page 264 - of deserts, with aid to green Erin of streams." "I beheld their chief," says Moran, " tall as a glittering rock. His spear is a blasted pine. His shield the rising moon ! He sat on the shore, like a
Page 246 - And it does arise in its strength ! I behold my departed friends. Their gathering is on Lora, as in the days of other years. Fingal comes like a watery column of mist; his heroes are around: And see the bards of song, grey-haired Ullin ! stately

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