The Works of Ossian, the Son of Fingal, Том 2J.Fr. Valade and sold by Theophilus Barrois, 1783 |
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Стр. 4
... shield of Fingal that echoes to the blaft , it hangs in Offian's hall , and he feels it fometimes with his hands . Yes ! I hear thee , my friend : long has thy voice been abfent from mine ear ! What brings thee , on thy cloud , to ...
... shield of Fingal that echoes to the blaft , it hangs in Offian's hall , and he feels it fometimes with his hands . Yes ! I hear thee , my friend : long has thy voice been abfent from mine ear ! What brings thee , on thy cloud , to ...
Стр. 10
... shield on the wall , and it was bloody ( 2 ) . She knew that her hero died , and her forrow was heard on Mora . Art thou pale , on thy rock , Cuthona befide the fallen chiefs ? The night comes , and the day returns , but none appears to ...
... shield on the wall , and it was bloody ( 2 ) . She knew that her hero died , and her forrow was heard on Mora . Art thou pale , on thy rock , Cuthona befide the fallen chiefs ? The night comes , and the day returns , but none appears to ...
Стр. 23
... shield . And let the blaft of the defart come ! we shall be renowned in our day . The mark of my arm shall be in the battle , and my name in the fong of bards . - Raife the fong ; fend round the shell : and let joybe heard in hall ...
... shield . And let the blaft of the defart come ! we shall be renowned in our day . The mark of my arm shall be in the battle , and my name in the fong of bards . - Raife the fong ; fend round the shell : and let joybe heard in hall ...
Стр. 24
... mail rattled on his breast . The heroes rofe around . They looked , in filence , on each other , marking the eyes of Fingal . They faw the battle in his face : the death -- 25 his fpear . A thousand shields , at 24 CARTH ON :
... mail rattled on his breast . The heroes rofe around . They looked , in filence , on each other , marking the eyes of Fingal . They faw the battle in his face : the death -- 25 his fpear . A thousand shields , at 24 CARTH ON :
Стр. 25
-- 25 his fpear . A thousand shields , at once , are placed on their arms ; and they drew a thou- fand fwords . The hall ... shield Borne ev'n or high ; for this day will pour down If I conjecture right , no drizling shower But rattling ...
-- 25 his fpear . A thousand shields , at once , are placed on their arms ; and they drew a thou- fand fwords . The hall ... shield Borne ev'n or high ; for this day will pour down If I conjecture right , no drizling shower But rattling ...
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Часто встречающиеся слова и выражения
againſt arms arofe art thou Balclutha bards battle beam behold bends blaft breaft Cairbar Calmar car-borne Carthon Cathmor chief cloud Clutha coaft Colla Conlath Connal Cormac courfe Crimora Cuchullin Dar-thula Dargo dark darkneſs daughter death defart defcended diftant doft thou Dunthalmo Etha eyes faid fallen fame father feaft feeble fell fide figh filent Fingal flain fleep fome fon of Morni fong foul fpear fpirit fpread friends fteel fteps ftood ftorm ftranger ftream ftrength fword Gaul ghoft gray grief hair hall harp hear heard heath heroes hill hoft king laft Lathmon Lego lift maid midft mift mighty moffy moon Morven mournful Nathos night Nuath Ofcar Offian Oithóna paffed poem prefence raiſed reft renown returned rife roar rock rofe rolled roſe Selma shield ſon ſpear ſteps tears Temora thee thouſand tomb trembling Ufnoth Ullin Uthal voice warriors waves weft wind youth
Популярные отрывки
Стр. 84 - Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away. For, lo, the winter is past, The rain is over and gone ; The flowers appear on the earth ; The time of the singing of birds is come, And the voice of the turtle is heard in our land ; The fig tree putteth forth her green figs, And the vines with the tender grape give a good smell. Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away.
Стр. 186 - His renown will be a sun to my soul, in the dark hour of my departure. O that the name of Morni were forgot among the people! that the heroes would only say, " Behold the
Стр. 84 - Rise up, my love, my fair one, and come away ! for, lo ! the winter is past, the rain is over and gone, the flowers appear on the earth, the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land. The fig-tree putteth forth her green figs, and the vines with the tender grapes give a good smell.
Стр. 37 - The oaks of the mountains fall : the \ mountains themfelves decay with years ; the ocean fhrinks and grows again : the moon herfelf is loft in heaven ; but thou art for ever the fame ; rejoicing in the brightnefs of thy courfe. When the world is dark with tempefts ; when thunder rolls, and lightning flies ; thou lookeft in thy beauty, from the clouds, and laugheft at the ftorm.
Стр. 160 - All night I stood on the shore. I saw her by the faint beam 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.
Стр. 23 - I have seen the walls of Balclutha, but they were desolate. The fire had resounded in the halls: and the voice of the people is heard no more. The stream of 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 its head. Desolate is the dwelling of Moina, silence is in the house of her fathers.
Стр. 222 - son of the sightless Crothar! But let others advance before thee that I may hear the tread of thy feet at thy return ; for my eyes behold thee not, fair-haired Fovar-gormo.' He went ; he met the foe ; he fell. Rothmar advances to Croma. He who slew my son is near, with all his pointed spears.
Стр. 144 - What shall she do, hapless maid ! He. bleeds ; her Connal dies ! All the night long she 'cries, and all the day, " O Connal, my love, and my friend!
Стр. 206 - I sit alone, O Gaul ! the dark chief of Cuthal is there. He is there in the rage of his love. What can Oithona do ?" A rougher blast rushed through the oak.
Стр. 211 - Can the hand of Gaul heal thee, youth of the mournful brow ? I have searched for the herbs of the mountains ; I have gathered them on the secret banks of their streams. My hand has closed the wound of the brave, their eyes have blessed the son of Morni.