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This glee gained a Catch Club prize medal in 1792.

Lyrics: Ossian (James MacPherson)

Father of heroes, high dweller of eddying winds,
Where the dark red thunder marks the troubled clouds,
Open thou thy stormy halls; let the bards of old be near.
We sit at the rock, but there is no voice;
No light, but the meteor of fire.
O from the rock on the hill,
From the top of the windy steep,
O speak, ye ghosts of the dead.
O whither are ye gone to rest?
In what cave of the hill shall we find the departed?
No feeble voice is on the gale;
No answer half-drowned in the storm.
Father of heroes, the people bend before thee;
Thou tumblest the battle in the field of the brave.
Thy terrors pour the blast of death,
Thy tempests are before thy face.
But thy dwelling is calm; above the clouds,
The fields of thy rest are pleasant.

John Wall Callcott
(1766 - 1821)

Callcott : Father of heroes : illustration


Father of heroes

(A.T.T.B.B. + reduction)

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