THE

SONGS of SELM A.

TAR of defcending night! fair is thy

STA

light in the weft! thou lifteft thy unshorn head from thy cloud: thy steps are stately on thy hill. What doft thou behold in the plain ? The ftormy winds are laid. The murmur of the torrent comes from afar. Roaring waves climb the diftant rock. The flies of evening are on their feeble wings; the hum of their course is on the field. What doft thou behold, fair light? But thou doft smile and depart. The waves come with joy around thee: they bathe thy lovely hair. Farewel, thou filent beam! Let the light of Offian's foul arife!

AND it does arife in its ftrength! I behold my departed friends. Their gathering is on Lora, as in the days of other years. Fingal comes like a watry column of mift; his heroes are around: And fee the bards of fong, grey.

haired

haired Ullin! fately Ryno! Alpin*, with the tuneful voice! the foft complaint of Minona! How are ye changed, my friends, fince the days of Selma's feaft? when we contended, like gales of spring, as they fly along the hill, and bend by turns the feebly-whistling grass.

MINONA came forth in her beauty; with down-caft look and tearful eye. Her hair flew flowly on the blaft, that rushed unfrequent from the hill. The fouls of the heroes were fad when the raised the tuneful voice. Often had they feen the grave of Salgar +, the dark dwelling of white-bofomed Colma . Colma left alone on the hill, with all her voice of fong! Salgar promised to come: but the night defcended around. Hear the voice of Colma, when the fat alone on the hill!

Alpin is from the fame root with Albion, or rather Albin, the ancient name of Britain; Alp, high Island, or country. The prefent name of our island has its origin in the Celtic tongue; so that those who derived it from any other, betrayed their ignorance of the ancient language of our country. Brait or Braid, extenfive; and in, land.

+ Offian introduces Minona, not in the ideal scene in his own mind, which he had described; but at the annual feast of Selma, where the bards repeated their works before Fingal. Sealg-'er, a bunter.

Spl, math, a woman with fine hair.

COLMA.

COLMA.

Ir is night; I am alone, forlorn on the hill of ftorms. The wind is heard in the mountain. The torrent pours down the rock. No hut receives me from the rain; forlorn on the hill of winds!

RISE, moon! from behind thy clouds. Stars of the night arife! Lead me, fome light, to the place, where my love refts from the chace alone! his bow near him, unftrung: his dogs -panting around him. But here I must fit alone, by the rock of the moffy ftream. The ftream and the wind roar aloud. I hear not the voice of love! Why delays my Salgar, why the chief of the hill, his promife? Here is the rock, and here the tree! here is the roaring fiream! Thou didst promife 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. Our race have long been foes; we are not foes, O Salgar!

my

CEASE a little while, O wind! ftream, be -thou filent a while! let my voice be heard around. Let my wanderer hear me !· Salgar ! it is Colma who calls. Here is the tree, and the .rock. Salgar, my love! I am here. Why -delayeft thou thy coming Lo! the calth moon

comes

comes forth. The flood is bright in the vale. The rocks are grey on the steep. I fee him not on the brow. His dogs come not before him, with tidings of his near approach. Here I muft fit alone!

WHO lie on the heath befide me? Are they

my love and my brother? Speak to me, O my friends! To Colma they give no reply. Speak to me: I am alone! My foul is tormented with fears! Ah! they are dead! Their swords are red from the fight. O my brother! my brother! why haft thou flain my Salgar? why, O Salgar haft thou flain my brother? Dear were ye both to me! what fhall I fay in your praise? Thou wert fair on the hill among thousands! he was terrible in fight. Speak to me; hear my voice; hear me, fons of my love! They are filent; filent for ever! Cold, cold are their breafts of clay! Oh! from the rock on the hill; from the top of the windy fteep, fpeak, ye ghofts of the dead! fpeak, I will not be afraid! Whither are ye gone to reft? In what cave of the hill shall I find the departed? No feeble voice is on the gale: no anfwer halfdrowned in the ftorm!

I SIT in my grief! I wait for morning in my tears! Rear the tomb, ye friends of the dead. Close it not till Colma come. My life flies

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away

away like a dream: why fhould I stay behind? Here fhall I reft with my friends, by the ftream of the founding rock. When night comes on the hill; when the loud winds arife; my ghoft fhall ftand in the blaft, and mourn the death of my friends. The hunter thall hear from his. bocth. He fhall fear but love my voice! For fweet fhall my voice be for my friends: pleasant were her friends to Colma !

Our tears defcended for

SUCH was thy fong, Minona, foftly-blushing daughter of Torman. Colma, and our fouls were fad! Ullin came with his harp; he gave the fong of Alpin. The voice of Alpin was pleafant: the foul of Ryno was a beam of fire! But they had rested in the narrow houfe: their voice had ceased in Selma. Ullin had returned, one day, from the chace, before the heroes fell. He heard their ftrife on the hill; their fong was foft but fad! They mourned the fall of Morar, firft of mortal men! His foul was like the foul of Fingal; his sword like the fword of Ofcar. But he fell, and his father mourned: his fifter's eyes were full of tears. Minona's eyes were full of tears, the fifter of car-borne Morar. She retired from the fong of Ullin, like the moon in the weft, when the forefees the fhower, and hides her fair head

VOL. I.

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