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
... Swaran , King of Lochlin , by Moran , the son of Fithil , one of his scouts . He convenes the chiefs ; a council is held , and disputes run high about giving battle to the enemy . Connal , the petty king of Togorma , and an intimate ...
... Swaran , King of Lochlin , by Moran , the son of Fithil , one of his scouts . He convenes the chiefs ; a council is held , and disputes run high about giving battle to the enemy . Connal , the petty king of Togorma , and an intimate ...
Side 158
... Swaran's sea - borne heroes brave . ” " Why tremble , son of Fithil , why ? Thy fears have magnified the foe ; Great Morven's mighty king it is , Whose ships toward green Erin row . " " " Tis Swaran's self , I saw the chief , ' Tis ...
... Swaran's sea - borne heroes brave . ” " Why tremble , son of Fithil , why ? Thy fears have magnified the foe ; Great Morven's mighty king it is , Whose ships toward green Erin row . " " " Tis Swaran's self , I saw the chief , ' Tis ...
Side 159
... Swaran in this land ? Before me heroes sink to earth , And dare not in my presence stand . " Who in the fight can Swaran meet ? Who but great Fingal , king of storms ! On Malmor's hill we wrestled hard , With strength surpassing ...
... Swaran in this land ? Before me heroes sink to earth , And dare not in my presence stand . " Who in the fight can Swaran meet ? Who but great Fingal , king of storms ! On Malmor's hill we wrestled hard , With strength surpassing ...
Side 163
... Swaran leads his train ! " Roar ! with a voice of thunder , roar ! And scatter all their ranks of pride ; Cuthullin , in his father's strength , Will pour out blood on every side . " Rise , ye dark winds of Erin , rise ! Rage ...
... Swaran leads his train ! " Roar ! with a voice of thunder , roar ! And scatter all their ranks of pride ; Cuthullin , in his father's strength , Will pour out blood on every side . " Rise , ye dark winds of Erin , rise ! Rage ...
Side 166
... Swaran appear on 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 ...
... Swaran appear on 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 ...
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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.