Ossian Collection > Fingal, an ancient epic poem

232 The SONGS
thou Hain 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 alas! they are filent; filent for
ever 1 Cold are their breads 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
fhall I find you ? No feeble voice is on the wind :
no anfwer 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 f
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 tJie
hill ; when the wind is on the heath ; my ghoft
fhall ftand in the wind, and mourn the death of
my friends. The hunter ftiall hear from his
booth. He fhall fear but love my voice. For
fweet fliall my voice be for my friends ; for plea-
fant were they both to me.
Such was thy fong, Minona foftly-blufhing
maid of Tcrman. Our tears defcended for Col-
ma, 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