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
... Connal , the petty king of Togorma , and an intimate friend of Cuthullin , was for retreating , till Fingal , king of those Caledo- nians who inhabited the northwest coast of Scotland , whose aid had been previously solicited , should ...
... Connal , the petty king of Togorma , and an intimate friend of Cuthullin , was for retreating , till Fingal , king of those Caledo- nians who inhabited the northwest coast of Scotland , whose aid had been previously solicited , should ...
Side 162
... Connal ! speak , thou first of men , Wisdom doth from thy counsel flow ! " Oft with proud Lochlin hast thou fought , Now lift thy valiant father's spear ! Alone thy strong and powerful arm Would quell a host ; -thou canst not fear ...
... Connal ! speak , thou first of men , Wisdom doth from thy counsel flow ! " Oft with proud Lochlin hast thou fought , Now lift thy valiant father's spear ! Alone thy strong and powerful arm Would quell a host ; -thou canst not fear ...
Side 163
... Connal said , " My fame in battle is but small , But I have fought at Fingal's side , And never fled my country's call . " Oh ! son of Semo , hear my voice ! Regard young Cormac's ancient throne ! Give wealth , and half the land for ...
... Connal said , " My fame in battle is but small , But I have fought at Fingal's side , And never fled my country's call . " Oh ! son of Semo , hear my voice ! Regard young Cormac's ancient throne ! Give wealth , and half the land for ...
Side 179
... Connal , speak of blood and war , I dare not think upon her charms ! " No second bidding Connal waits , — " I warn THE SIX BOOKS OF FINGAL . 179.
... Connal , speak of blood and war , I dare not think upon her charms ! " No second bidding Connal waits , — " I warn THE SIX BOOKS OF FINGAL . 179.
Side 180
Margaret Miller Davidson. No second bidding Connal waits , — " I warn thee to beware the foe ! Haste , send thy troop of night abroad , To guard each pass full well they know ; - " Cuthullin , I am still for peace ! Till Fingal comes ...
Margaret Miller Davidson. No second bidding Connal waits , — " I warn thee to beware the foe ! Haste , send thy troop of night abroad , To guard each pass full well they know ; - " Cuthullin , I am still for peace ! Till Fingal comes ...
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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.