the hum of their courfe is on the field. What doft thou behold, fair light? But thou doft fimile and depart. The waves come with joy around thee, and 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 that are past. —Fingal comes like a watry column of mift; his heroes are around. And see the bards of the fong, gray-haired Ullin; stately Ryno ; Alpin (1), with the tuneful voice, and the soft complaint of Minona!- How are ye changed, my friends, fince the days of Selma's feaft! when we contended, like the gales of the fpring, that, flying over the hill, by turns bend the feebly-whistling grass. Minona then came forth in her beauty; with down-caft look and tearful eye; her hair flew flowly on the blast that rushed un (1) Alpin is from the fame root with Albion, or rather Albin, the ancient name of Britain; Alp, high in land or country. The prefent name of our island has its origin in the Celtic tongue; fo that those who derived it from any other, betrayed their ignorance of the ancient language of our country. -Britain comes from Breac't in variegated island fo called from the face of the country, from the natives painting themselves, or from their party-coloured cloaths. : frequent from the hill. The fouls of the heroes were fad when she raised the tuneful voice; for often had they feen the grave of Salgar (1), and the dark dwelling of whitebofomed Colma (2). Colma left alone on the hill, with all her voice of mufic! Salgar promised to come but the night defcended round. Hear the voice of Colma, when she fat alone on the hill! COLMA, - ft is night; I am alone, forlorn on the hill of ftorms. The wind is heard in the mountain. The torrent shrieks down the rock. No hut receives me from the rain; forlorn on the hill of winds. Rife, moon! from behind thy clouds ftars of the night appear! Lead me, fome light, to the place where my love refts from the toil of the chace! 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; nor can I hear the voice of my love. Why delays my Salgar, why the son of (1) Scalg-'er, a hunter. (2) Cul-math, a woman with fine hair. the hill, his promife? Here is the rock and the tree; and here the roaring stream. Thou didst promife with night to be here. Ah! whither is my Salgar gone? With thee I would fly my father; with thee, my brother of pride. Our race have long been foes; but we are not foes, O Salgar. Ceafe a little while, O wind! ftream, be thou filent a while! let my voice be heard over the heath; let my wanderer hear me. Salgar! it is I who call. Here is the tree, and the rock, Salgar, my love! I am here. Why delayeft thou thy coming? Lo the moon appeareth. The flood is bright in the vale. The rocks are grey on the face of the hill. But I fee him not on the brow; his dogs before him tell not that he is coming. Here I muft fit alone. But who are these that lie beyond me on the heath? Are they my love and my brother? Speak to me, O my friends! they answer not. My foul is tormented with fears.-Ah! they are dead. Their fwords 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 shall I fay in your praise? Thou wert fair on the hill among thousands; he was terrible in fight. Speak to me ; hear my voice, fons of my love! But alas! they are filent; filent for ever! Cold are their breafts of clay! top Oh! from the rock of the hill; from the of the windy mountain, 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 you? No feeble voice is on the wind: no answer half drowned in the ftorms of the hill. I fit in my grief. I wait for morning in my tears. Rear the tomb, ye friends of the dead; but clofe it not till Colma come. My life flies away like a dream: why should I ftay behind? Here shall I reft with my friends, by the ftream of the founding rock. When night comes on the hill; when the wind is on the heath; my ghoft shall ftand in the wind, and mourn the death of my friends. The hunter shall hear from his booth. He shall fear, but love, my voice. For fweet: shall my voice be for my friends; for pleafant were they both to me. Such was thy fong, Minona, foftly-blushing maid of Torman. Our tears defcended for Colima, and our fouls were fad.-Ullin came with the harp, and gave the fong of Alpin.-The voice of Alpin was pleasant : the foul of Ryno was a beam of fire. But they Gy had refted in the narrow house and their voice was not heard 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, first 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 she forefees the shower and hides her fair head in a cloud. I touched the harp, with Ullin ; the fong of mourning rose. , RYN O. The wind and the rain are over: calm is the noon of day. The clouds are divided in heaven. Over the green hills flies the inconftant fun. Red through the ftony vale comes down the ftream of the hill. Sweet are thy murmurs, O ftream! but more sweet is the voice I hear. It is the voice of Alpin, the fon of fong, mourning for the dead. Bent is his head of age, and red his tearful eye.. Alpin, thou fon of fong, why alone on the filent hill? why complaineft thou, as a blaft in the wood; as a wave on the lonely shore? |