The Celtic Magazine, Bind 12

Forsideomslag
Alexander Mackenzie, Alexander Macgregor, Alexander Macbain
A. and W. Mackenzie, 1887
 

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Side 117 - The hand of the reaper Takes the ears that are hoary, But the voice of the weeper Wails manhood in glory. The autumn winds rushing Waft the leaves that are searest, But our flower was in flushing, When blighting was nearest. Fleet foot on the correi...
Side 112 - He planted a great preserve for deer, and he laid down laws therewith, that whosoever should slay hart or hind should be blinded. He forbade the harts and also the boars to be killed. As greatly did he love the tall deer as if he were their father.
Side 158 - O'er Roslin all that dreary night A wondrous blaze was seen to gleam ; 'Twas broader than the watch-fire's light, And redder than the bright moonbeam. It glared on Roslin's castled rock, It ruddied all the copse-wood glen ; 'Twas seen from Dryden's groves of oak, And seen from caverned Hawthornden.
Side 159 - There are twenty of Roslin's barons bold Lie buried within that proud chapelle; Each one the holy vault doth hold— But the sea holds lovely Rosabelle!
Side 342 - Scots, who would not consent to grant them upon any other terms than that when any difficulty should arise, they should choose a king from the female royal race rather than from the male ; which custom, as is well known, has been observed among the Picts to this day.
Side 291 - Britons their liberty, which they have now enjoyed for about forty-six years. Among the many English that then either fell by the sword, or were made slaves, or escaped by flight out of the country of the Picts, the most reverend man of God...
Side 341 - Britain, whether indigenous or immigrants, is a question involved in the obscurity usual among barbarians. Their temperament of body is various, whence deductions are formed of their different origin. Thus, the ruddy hair and large limbs of the Caledonians point out a German derivation.
Side 153 - Oscur my son, shall I see thee no more! He fell as the moon in a storm; as the sun from the midst of his course, when clouds rise from the waste of the waves, when the blackness of the storm inwraps the rocks of Ardannider. I, like an ancient oak on Morven, I moulder alone in my place. The blast hath lopped my branches away; and I tremble at the wings of the north.
Side 254 - I make no objection. But there will still be left in the book a residue with the very soul of the Celtic genius in it, and which has the proud distinction of having brought this soul of the Celtic genius into contact with the genius of the nations of modern Europe, and enriched all our poetry by it.
Side 140 - A sword of goldhilt in arrangement of rest on his two thighs : a broad, grey spear on a shaft of wild ash in his hand. A subsharp, aggressive dart near it. A purple shield with an even circle of silver, with loop-animals of gold above his two shoulders. I should think it was a shower of pearls that was flung into his head. Blacker than the side of a black cooking-spit each of his two brows : redder than ruby his lips.

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