Except the Bible and Shakespeare, there is not any book that sells better than Ossian. - James Macpherson

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

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.

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