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 109
... threshing - floor , As her fond mother bade . When Boaz left the merry feast , The straw a couch supplied ; She from his feet the covering raised , And laid her by his side . At midnight he awoke from sleep- The brave man shook RUTH 109.
... threshing - floor , As her fond mother bade . When Boaz left the merry feast , The straw a couch supplied ; She from his feet the covering raised , And laid her by his side . At midnight he awoke from sleep- The brave man shook RUTH 109.
Side 157
... feast by his bard 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 ...
... feast by his bard 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 ...
Side 164
... feasts , The grave now shrouds thy manly form ! " Hail , son of Rossa ! arm of death ! Like bounding roe thy step ; What cloud now shades the soul of war ? Where do my heroes sleep ? " " Four stones , " the valiant chief replied ...
... feasts , The grave now shrouds thy manly form ! " Hail , son of Rossa ! arm of death ! Like bounding roe thy step ; What cloud now shades the soul of war ? Where do my heroes sleep ? " " Four stones , " the valiant chief replied ...
Side 175
... youths collect the heath , Ten warriors wake the sleeping fire , Three hundred choose the polished stones , To spread the feast which they require . Cuthullin , chief of Erin's war , Again resumed his THE SIX BOOKS OF FINGAL . 175.
... youths collect the heath , Ten warriors wake the sleeping fire , Three hundred choose the polished stones , To spread the feast which they require . Cuthullin , chief of Erin's war , Again resumed his THE SIX BOOKS OF FINGAL . 175.
Side 176
... feast spread for me alone , While Lochlin's king is on our shores ? The stranger must our banquet share , Though on the morn the battle roars ! " Carril , these words to Swaran bear ; Tell him Cuthullin gives his feast— Bid him come ...
... feast spread for me alone , While Lochlin's king is on our shores ? The stranger must our banquet share , Though on the morn the battle roars ! " Carril , these words to Swaran bear ; Tell him Cuthullin gives his feast— Bid him come ...
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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.