Ossian Collection > Poems of Ossian
(239)
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THE SONGS OF SELMA. 9
Here I must sit upon the moon-liglit bourn,
Alone and anxious for my love's return.
But, who are these upon the heath —
T/iese, that beyond me he V
Are they my brother and my love? — 115
They give me no reply !
O speak to me, my dearest friends !
. Yet — answer make they none!
m Down shrinks my pained soul with fears !
' Ah ! they are dead and gone ! 120
Their naked swords (a melancholy sight !)
Are stain'd with purple from the fatal fight.
My brother I O my brother ! why
Hast thou my Salgar slain ?
Why, Salgar, with my brother's blood 125
Didst thou thy sabre stain ?
Whilst stately on the hills ye stood,
Ye both to me were dear !
What shall I offer in your praise
Your airy ghosts to cheer? 130
Pair in the hill 'mong thousands to the sight
Wert thou ; — and he was terrible in fight.
Sons of my love, O hear my voice !
I To you it is I cry.
And with your voices, in return, 135
O make to me reply I —
* Yet, borne responsive on the gale.
No voice comes trembling o'er.
Alas ! ye silent still remain,
And silent evermore ! 140
Cold are their breasts af clay upon the ground I
They give no voice, and all is silent 'round.
Here I must sit upon the moon-liglit bourn,
Alone and anxious for my love's return.
But, who are these upon the heath —
T/iese, that beyond me he V
Are they my brother and my love? — 115
They give me no reply !
O speak to me, my dearest friends !
. Yet — answer make they none!
m Down shrinks my pained soul with fears !
' Ah ! they are dead and gone ! 120
Their naked swords (a melancholy sight !)
Are stain'd with purple from the fatal fight.
My brother I O my brother ! why
Hast thou my Salgar slain ?
Why, Salgar, with my brother's blood 125
Didst thou thy sabre stain ?
Whilst stately on the hills ye stood,
Ye both to me were dear !
What shall I offer in your praise
Your airy ghosts to cheer? 130
Pair in the hill 'mong thousands to the sight
Wert thou ; — and he was terrible in fight.
Sons of my love, O hear my voice !
I To you it is I cry.
And with your voices, in return, 135
O make to me reply I —
* Yet, borne responsive on the gale.
No voice comes trembling o'er.
Alas ! ye silent still remain,
And silent evermore ! 140
Cold are their breasts af clay upon the ground I
They give no voice, and all is silent 'round.
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| Early Gaelic Book Collections > Ossian Collection > Poems of Ossian > (239) |
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| Permanent URL | https://digital.nls.uk/77559640 |
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| Description | "Originally translated by James Macpherson. Attempted in English verse by the late Rev. John Shackleton". |
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| Shelfmark | Oss.104 |
| Additional NLS resources: | |
| Attribution and copyright: |
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More information
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| Description | Selected books from the Ossian Collection of 327 volumes, originally assembled by J. Norman Methven of Perth. Different editions and translations of James MacPherson's epic poem 'Ossian', some with a map of the 'Kingdom of Connor'. Also secondary material relating to Ossianic poetry and the Ossian controversy. |
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| Description | Selected items from five 'Special and Named Printed Collections'. Includes books in Gaelic and other Celtic languages, works about the Gaels, their languages, literature, culture and history. |
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