Ossian Collection > Poems of Ossian

10' THE SONGS OF SELMA.
O, from the cave within the rock,
Upon the airy hill —
O, from the mountain's windy top,
With voices weak, but shrill,
Ye spirits of the shady dead.
Now speak to me, I pray I
O speak, to ease my heaving heart,
Nor shall I feel dismay.
Alone I sit upon the plain of night,
Mournful and pensive o'er the silent sight.
To your last, secret place of rest.
Say. — whither was your road ?
In what lone cave within the hill
Shall I find your abode? —
No feeble voice is on the wind,
That I'oars along the glade !
Half-drowned in the mountain-storms
No faint reply is made !
Alone I sit upon the plain of night.
Mournful and pensive o'er the silent sight.
In tears amidst my grief I sit,
Expectant of the morn I —
Ye kind survivors of the dead,
The tomb rear and adorn.
Yet close it not, till Colma come
Fast-wasting in her mind I
My fleeting lil'e is Jike a dream!
Why should I stay behind .'
Here, by the rock where streaming waters sound,
My rest shall ever with my friends be found.
When night comes on the dark'ning hill,
And on the heath the wind ;