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 158
... Erin's war- When Moran , Fithil's son appears , The scout of ocean from afar . " Arise , Cuthullin ! " cried the ... Erin row . " " " Tis Swaran's self , I saw the chief , ' Tis royal Starna's valiant son ; His tall form as a ...
... Erin's war- When Moran , Fithil's son appears , The scout of ocean from afar . " Arise , Cuthullin ! " cried the ... Erin row . " " " Tis Swaran's self , I saw the chief , ' Tis royal Starna's valiant son ; His tall form as a ...
Side 159
... Erin's shore . " From Tura's windy walls they come , Men fearless , mighty and renowned , Who , at Cuthullin's ... Erin , stand ; O'er yonder sea my power extends , And shall be felt throughout this land ! " " " Never ! " exclaimed ...
... Erin's shore . " From Tura's windy walls they come , Men fearless , mighty and renowned , Who , at Cuthullin's ... Erin , stand ; O'er yonder sea my power extends , And shall be felt throughout this land ! " " " Never ! " exclaimed ...
Side 160
... Erin's doom ! " Oh ! Ca - olt , as thou movest o'er Lone Mora's dreary whistling heath , Stretch thy white side as sea - foam pure , Tossed by the dark wind's stormy breath . " Behold , they come ! the noble chiefs , In 160 MARGARET M ...
... Erin's doom ! " Oh ! Ca - olt , as thou movest o'er Lone Mora's dreary whistling heath , Stretch thy white side as sea - foam pure , Tossed by the dark wind's stormy breath . " Behold , they come ! the noble chiefs , In 160 MARGARET M ...
Side 162
Margaret Miller Davidson. " Shall we assert our ancient rights , Or yield green Erin to the foe ? Speak , Connal ... Erin's peace , My life to her I here devote Until these furious battles cease ! " Thou first in Cormac's war ...
Margaret Miller Davidson. " Shall we assert our ancient rights , Or yield green Erin to the foe ? Speak , Connal ... Erin's peace , My life to her I here devote Until these furious battles cease ! " Thou first in Cormac's war ...
Side 166
... Erin's coast ? Duchomar ! what of the foe ! ' — " From the hill of the dark - brown hinds I come , Where sports the bounding roe ! " Three deer have I slain with my bended yew , And three with my dogs of chase , One stately buck have I ...
... Erin's coast ? Duchomar ! what of the foe ! ' — " From the hill of the dark - brown hinds I come , Where sports the bounding roe ! " Three deer have I slain with my bended yew , And three with my dogs of chase , One stately buck have I ...
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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.