THE

SONGS of of SELMA *.

TAR of the defcending night! fair is thy

STA

light in the west thou lifteft thy unthorn head from thy cloud: thy fteps are ftately 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

* This poem fixes the antiquity of a cuftom, which is well known to have prevailed afterwards, in the north of Scotland, and in Ireland. The bards, at an annual feast, provided by the king or chief, repeated their poems, and fuch of them as were thought, by him, worthy of being preserved, were carefully taught to their children, in order to have them tranfmitted to poterity.It was one of thofe occafions that afforded the fubject of the prefent poem to Offian.-It is called in the original, The Songs of Selma, which title it was thought proper to adopt in the tranflation.

The poem is entirely lyric, and has great variety of verfification. The addrefs to the evening ftar, with which it opens, has, in the original, all the harmony that numbers could give it ; flowing down with all that tranquillity and foftnefs, which the fcene described naturally infpires.-Three of the fongs which are introduced in this piece, were published among the fragments of ancient poetry, printed last year.

their feeble wings, and the hum of their course is on the field. What doft thou behold, fair light? But thou doft fmile 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 arise in its ftrength! I behold my departed friends. Their gathering is on Lora, as in the days that are paft.-Fingal comes like a watry column of mift; his heroes are around. And fee the bards of the fong, grayhaired Ullin; ftately Ryno; Alpin*, with the tuneful voice, and the foft 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 feeblywhistling grafs.

MINONA then came forth in her beauty; with down-caft look and tearful eye; her hair flew flowly on the blaft that rushed unfrequent

Alpin is from the fame root with Albion, or rather Albin, the ancient name of Britain; Alp, high in land, or coun'ry. 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, so called from the face of the country, from the natives painting themselves, or from their party-coloured cloaths.

from

from the hill.The fouls of the heroes were fad when the raised the tuneful voice; for often had they feen the grave of Salgar *, and the dark dwelling of white-bofomed Colma . 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 the fat alone on the hill!

COLMA.

Ir is night;---I am alone, forlorn on the hill of ftorms. The wind is heard in the mountain. The torrent fhrieks 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 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 fon of the hill, his promife? Here is the rock, and the tree; and here the roaring ftream. Thou didst * Sealg-'er, a hunter.

+ Cul-math, a woman with fine hair.

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!

CEASE 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.

thou thy coming?

Why delayeft

The flood is

Lo! the moon appeareth. 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 fhall I fay in your praife? Thou wert fair on the hill among thoufands; he was terrible in fight. Speak to me; hear my voice, fons of my love!

But

But alas! they are filent; filent for ever! Cold are their breafts of clay !

OH! from the rock of the hill; from the top 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 thall I find you? No feeble voice is on the wind: no answer half-drowned in the ftorms of the hill.

I SIT 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 fhould I ftay behind? Here fhall 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 fhall ftand in the wind, and mourn the death of my friends. The hunter fhall hear from his booth. He fhall fear but love my voice. For fweet fhall my voice be for my friends; for pleasant were they both to me.

SUCH was thy fong, Minona foftly-bluthing maid of Torman. Our tears defcended for Colma, and our fouls were fad.---Ullin came with the harp, and gave the fong of Alpin.--The voice of Alpin was pleafant: the foul of Ryno was a beam of fire. But they had refted in the narrow houfe: and their voice was not heard

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