Ossian Collection > Fingal

The songs of SELMA.
213
Morar. She retired from the fong of Ullin, like the moon in the
weft, when fhe forefees the fliowcr, and hides her fair head in a
eloud. — I touched the harp, with UlHn ; the fong of mourning rofe.
Ryno.
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 incon-
ftant fun. Red through the ftony vale comes down the ftream of
the hill. Sweet are thy murmurs, O ftream ! but more fweet is
the voice I hear. It is the voice of Alpin, the fon of the fong,
mourning for the dead. Bent is his head of age, and red his tear-
ful eye. Alpin, thou fon of the fong, why alone on the fdent hill ?
why complaineft thou, as a blaft in the wood i as a wave on the
lonely fliore ?
Alpin.
My tears, O Ryno ! are for the dead ; my voice, for the inhabi-
tants of the grave. Tall thou art on the hill ; fair among the fons
of the plain. But thou flialt fall like Morar * ; and the mourner
£hall fit on thy tomb. The hills fliall know thee no more j thy
bow fliall lie in the hall, unftrung.
Thou wert fwift, O Morar ! as a roe on the hill ; terrible as a
meteor of fire. Thy wrath was as the ftorm. Thy fword in battle,
as lightning in the field. Thy voice was like a ftream after rain;
like thunder on diftant hills. Many fell by thy arm ; they were con-
fumed in the flames of thy wrath.
But when thou didll return from war, how peaceful was thy
brow ! Thy face was like the fun after rain ; like the moon in the
* Morer, guat man,
filcnce-