Selections from the Writings of Mrs. Margaret M. Davidson, the Mother of Lucretia Maria and Margaret M. DavidsonLea & Blanchard, 1843 - 272 sider |
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Side 157
... Carril , the son of Kinfena . Swaran refuses to come . Carril relates to Cuthullin the story of Grudar and Brassolis . A party , by Connal's advice , is sent to observe the enemy , which closes the action of the day . BOOK I. By Tura's ...
... Carril , the son of Kinfena . Swaran refuses to come . Carril relates to Cuthullin the story of Grudar and Brassolis . A party , by Connal's advice , is sent to observe the enemy , which closes the action of the day . BOOK I. By Tura's ...
Side 176
... Carril , these words to Swaran bear ; Tell him Cuthullin gives his feast— Bid him come listen to my groves , And on my green turf safely rest ; " For cold and bleak the blustering winds Rush over the foam of his seas ; Here let him ...
... Carril , these words to Swaran bear ; Tell him Cuthullin gives his feast— Bid him come listen to my groves , And on my green turf safely rest ; " For cold and bleak the blustering winds Rush over the foam of his seas ; Here let him ...
Side 177
... Carril , bard of other days ; " To Swaran's self alone ' tis sad- It shall not damp our lays ! " " Come , Carril ! raise thy voice on high , " The son of Semo loudly cried , " Give us the deeds of other days , When heroes brave in ...
... Carril , bard of other days ; " To Swaran's self alone ' tis sad- It shall not damp our lays ! " " Come , Carril ! raise thy voice on high , " The son of Semo loudly cried , " Give us the deeds of other days , When heroes brave in ...
Side 178
... " And here , their sacred manes repose , These lonely yews spread o'er their tomb , And oft , at midnight's solemn hour , Their shadowy ghosts are seen to roam ! " " Oh , Carril , pleasant is thy voice ! 178 MARGARET M. DAVIDSON .
... " And here , their sacred manes repose , These lonely yews spread o'er their tomb , And oft , at midnight's solemn hour , Their shadowy ghosts are seen to roam ! " " Oh , Carril , pleasant is thy voice ! 178 MARGARET M. DAVIDSON .
Side 179
Margaret Miller Davidson. " Oh , Carril , pleasant is thy voice ! " Said Erin's noble , blue - eyed chief , " I love the song of olden time , Sweet to my soul the tale of grief . " Come , strike the harp in praise of her- Who lonely sits ...
Margaret Miller Davidson. " Oh , Carril , pleasant is thy voice ! " Said Erin's noble , blue - eyed chief , " I love the song of olden time , Sweet to my soul the tale of grief . " Come , strike the harp in praise of her- Who lonely sits ...
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arms art thou bards battle beam beautiful blessings blood bosom bound brave breast bright brow Cairbar Calmar Carril chief cloud Connal cried Cromla's Cuthullin dark daughter dear death echoing enemy Erin Erin's eyes fair fame father fear feast feeble fight Fillan Fingal flowing tears Gaul grief hall hand hast hath heart heaven hero's heroes hill Horace Walpole husband king king of swords Lena's heath light Lochlin's lonely Lord loud maid mamma Margaret mighty Morna morning Morven's mother mournful neath night noble o'er Orpah Oscar Ossian pale peace Peru plain Plattsburgh Polly pride raise replied rise roaring rock roll Ruth Ryno scene shield side silent song sons soul sound spear spirit Stanley Starno's storm stream Swaran sweet sword tears thee thine thou tomb trembling Tura's Ullin valiant voice Volumes wagons warriors WASHINGTON IRVING waves wind young youth
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Side 152 - Saviour, who is Christ the Lord ; And this shall be the sign : The heavenly Babe you there shall find To human view displayed, All meanly wrapt in swathing bands, And in a manger laid.
Side 256 - ... promise of never returning to Ireland, in a hostile manner. The night is spent in settling Swaran's departure, in songs of bards, and in a conversation in which the story of Grumal is introduced by Fingal, Morning comes. Swaran departs ; Fingal goes on a hunting party, and finding Cuthullin in the cave of Tura, comforts him, and sets sail, the next day, for Scotland ; which concludes the poem.
Side 230 - Raise, Oscar, rather raise my tomb. I will not yield the war to thee. The first and bloodiest in the strife, my arm shall teach thee how to fight. But remember, my son, to place this sword, this bow, the horn of my deer, within that dark and narrow house, whose mark is one grey stone ! Oscar, I have no love to leave to the care of my son.