James Macpherson

Those who have doubted my veracity have paid a compliment to my genius.

— James Macpherson

Often does the memory of former times come, like the evening sun, on my soul.

— James Macpherson

Go, view the settling sea: the stormy wind is laid. The billows still tremble on the deep. They seem to fear the blast.

— James Macpherson

Hast thou left thy blue course in heaven, golden-haired son of the sky? The west has opened its gates; the bed of thy repose is there. The waves come to behold thy beauty. They lift their trembling heads. They see thee lovely in thy sleep; they shrink away with fear. Rest, in thy shadowy cave, O sun! let thy return be in joy.

— James Macpherson

The people bend before me. I turn the battle in the field of the brave. I look on the nations, and they vanish: my nostrils pour the blast of death. I come abroad on the winds: the tempests are before my face. But my dwelling is calm, above the clouds; the fields of my rest are pleasant.

— James Macpherson

They stood in silence, in their beauty: like two young trees of the plain, when the shower of spring is on their leaves, and the loud winds are laid.

— James Macpherson

Sorrow, like a cloud on the sun, shades the soul of Clessammor.

— James Macpherson

The music was like the memory of joys that are past, pleasant and mournful to the soul.

— James Macpherson

Whither hast thou fled, O wind?" said the king of Morven. "Dost thou rustle in the chambers of the south? pursuest thou the shower in other lands? Why dost thou not come to my sails? to the blue face of my seas?

— James Macpherson

I was a lovely tree, in thy presence, Oscar, with all my branches round me; but thy death came like a blast from the desert, and laid my green head low.

— James Macpherson

Why should Ossian sing of battles? For never more shall my steel shine in war. I remember the days of my youth with grief; when I feel the weakness of my arm. Happy are they who fell in their youth, in the midst of their renown! They have not beheld the tombs of their friends, or failed to bend the bow of their strength.

— James Macpherson

O lay me, ye that see the light, near some rock of my hills! let the thick hazels be around, let the rustling oak be near. Green be the place of my rest; let the sound of the distant torrent be heard. Daughter of Toscar, take the harp, and raise the lovely song of Selma, that sleep may overtake my soul in the midst of joy; that the dreams of my youth may return, and the days of the mighty Fingal.

— James Macpherson

The stream and the wind roar aloud. I hear not the voice of my love! Why delays my Salgar, why the chief of the hill, his promise? Here is the rock, and here the tree! here is the roaring stream! Thou didst promise with night to be here. Ah! whither is my Salgar gone? With thee I would fly from my father; with thee, from my brother of pride.

— James Macpherson

Far before the rest, the son of Ossian comes; bright in the smiles of youth, fair as the first beams of the sun. His long hair waves on his back: his dark brows are half hid beneath his helmet of steel. His sword hangs loose on the hero's side. His spear glitters as he moves. I fled from his terrible eyes, King of high Temora!

— James Macpherson

Where art thou, beam of light? Hunters, from the mossy rock, saw ye the blue-eyed fair?

— James Macpherson

Then rose the strife of kings about the hill of night; but it was soft as two summer gales, shaking their light wings on a lake.

— James Macpherson

Can I forget that beam of light, the white-handed daughter of kings?

— James Macpherson

Whence is the stream of years? Whither do they roll along? Where have they hid, in mist, their many-coloured sides?I look into the times of old, but they seem dim to Ossian's eyes, like reflected moon-beams, on a distant lake.

— James Macpherson

I look down from my height on nationsAnd they become ashes before me.

— James Macpherson

I beheld their chief, tall as a glittering rock. His spear is a blasted pine. His shield the rising moon! He sat on the shore, like a cloud of mist on the silent hill!

— James Macpherson

As roll a thousand waves to the rocks, so Swaran's host came on. As meets a rock a thousand waves, so Erin met Swaran of spears.

— James Macpherson

Pleasant are the words of the song," said Cuthullin, "and lovely are the tales of other times. They are like the calm dew of the morning on the hill of roes, when the sun is faint on its side, and the lake is settled and blue in the vale.

— James Macpherson

The gloom of the battle roared.

— James Macpherson

The groan of the people spread over the hills; it was like the thunder of night, when the cloud bursts on Cona; and a thousand ghosts shriek at once on the hollow wind.

— James Macpherson

Hail, Carril of other times! Thy voice is like the harp in the halls of Tura.

— James Macpherson