Report of the Committee of the Highland Society of Scotland, Appointed to Inquire Into the Nature and Authenticity of the Poems of Ossian

Printed at the University Press; for Archibald Constable & Company, Edinburgh, and Longman, Hurst, Rees & Orme, London, 1805 - 498 páginas

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Página 192 - No!" replied the blue-eyed chief, "I never yield to mortal man ! Dark Cuthullin shall be great or dead ! Go, son of Fithil, take my spear. Strike the sounding shield of Semo.* It hangs at Tura's rustling gate. The sound of peace is not its voice ! My heroes shall hear and obey.
Página 169 - 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 the air, like a column of smoke, which the staff of the boy disturbs as it rises from the half-extinguished furnace.
Página 256 - Their dark-brown shields are cleft in twain. Their steel flies, broken, from their helms. They fling their weapons down. Each rushes to his hero's grasp : Their sinewy arms bend round each other : they turn from side to side, and strain and stretch their large spreading limbs below. But when the pride of their strength arose, they shook the hill with their heels. Rocks tumble from their places on high ; the green-headed bushes are overturned. At length the strength of Swaran fell : the king of the...
Página 255 - But behold the king of Morven! He moves, below, like a pillar of fire. His strength is like the stream of Lubar, or the wind of the echoing Cromla; when the branchy forests of night are torn from all their rocks! Happy are thy people, O Fingal! thine arm shall finish their wars. Thou art the first in their dangers; the wisest in the days of their peace. Thou speakest, and thy thousands obey: armies tremble at the sound of thy steel.
Página 164 - Son of night, retire : call thy winds, and fly ! Why dost thou come to my presence, with thy shadowy arms ? Do I fear thy gloomy form, spirit of dismal Loda ? Weak is thy shield of clouds : feeble is that meteor, thy sword ! The blast rolls them together ; and thou thyself art lost. Fly from my presence, son of night! call thy winds and fly ! Dost thou force me from my place, replied the hollow voice ? The people bend before me.
Página 189 - 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 cloud of mist on the silent hill! Many, chief of heroes! I said, many are our hands of war. Well art thou named the Mighty Man, but many mighty men are seen from Tura's windy walls.
Página 237 - Dairo of the happy deeds : Dala, the battle's bulwark in the narrow way ! The sword flamed in the hand of Cormac. Graceful was the look of the hero ! Eight were the heroes of Ossian. Ullin stormy son of war. Mullo of the generous deeds.
Página 66 - the greatest contempt and disdain for those who " thought him the fabricator of them. If there " was any person who asserted that Macpherson " had owned it to himself, even that would not " shake my faith, for I know him to be of a tem" per, when he was teased and fretted, to carry
Página 168 - Thou frownest in vain: I never fled from the mighty in war. And shall the sons of the wind frighten the king of Mo.rven? No: he knows the weakness of their arms! Fly to thy land, replied the form : receive thy wind, and fly!

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