The poems of Ossian, tr. by J. Macpherson. To which are prefixed dissertations on the æra and poems of Ossian, Հատոր 11807 |
From inside the book
Արդյունքներ 100–ի 1-ից 5-ը:
Էջ v
... poetry , as of dress . The truth is , to judge aright requires almost as much genius as to write well ; and good critics are as rare as great poets . Though two hun- dred thousand Romans stood up when Virgil came into the theatre ...
... poetry , as of dress . The truth is , to judge aright requires almost as much genius as to write well ; and good critics are as rare as great poets . Though two hun- dred thousand Romans stood up when Virgil came into the theatre ...
Էջ vi
... poetry , like any other handicraft , may be learned by indus- try ; and he had served his apprenticeship , though in secret , to the muses . It is , however , doubtful , whether the harmony which these poems might derive from rhime ...
... poetry , like any other handicraft , may be learned by indus- try ; and he had served his apprenticeship , though in secret , to the muses . It is , however , doubtful , whether the harmony which these poems might derive from rhime ...
Էջ x
... poets lay claim . Through the medium of version upon ver- sion , they retain , in foreign languages , their native character of simplicity and energy . Genuine poetry , like gold , loses little , when properly transfused ; but when a ...
... poets lay claim . Through the medium of version upon ver- sion , they retain , in foreign languages , their native character of simplicity and energy . Genuine poetry , like gold , loses little , when properly transfused ; but when a ...
Էջ 10
... poet has genius . It is hard to account for it to those who are not made acquainted with the manner of the old Scottish ... poetry ; and when they professedly write of religion , they never mix , with their compositions , the actions of ...
... poet has genius . It is hard to account for it to those who are not made acquainted with the manner of the old Scottish ... poetry ; and when they professedly write of religion , they never mix , with their compositions , the actions of ...
Էջ 12
... poet brought down gods , as Homer had done , to assist his he work had not consisted of eulogiums but of hymns to superior beings . T write in the Gallic language seldo religion in their profane poetry ; they professedly write of ...
... poet brought down gods , as Homer had done , to assist his he work had not consisted of eulogiums but of hymns to superior beings . T write in the Gallic language seldo religion in their profane poetry ; they professedly write of ...
Common terms and phrases
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
Սիրված հատվածներ
Էջ 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.
Էջ 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.
Էջ 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.
Էջ 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?
Էջ 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...
Էջ 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.
Էջ 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.
Էջ 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.
Էջ 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!
Էջ 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?