Ossian Collection > Morison's edition of the Poems of Ossian, the son of Fingal

252 THE SONGS OF SELMA.
Colma. It is night ; I am alone, forlorn on the
hill of ftorms. The wind is heard in the moun-
tain. The torrent fhrieks down the rook. No
hut receives me from the rain ; forlorn on the hill
of winds.
Rife, moon ! from behind thy clouds ; liars of
the night appear ! Lead me, fome light, to the
place where my love refts from the toil of the chafe |
his bow near him, unftrung ; his dogs panting a-
round him. But here I n\n\\ fit alone, by the rock
of the mofTy 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 pro-
mife .'' Here is the rock, and the tree ; and here
the roaring flream. Thou didft promif'i with night
to be here. Ah ! whither is my Salgar gone ?
With thee would I fly, my father •, with thee, my
brother of pride. Our race have long been foes j
but we are not foes, O Salgar !
Ceafe 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 ti-ee, and the rock. Salgar,
my love ! I am here. Why delayeft thou thy
coming ? Lo ! the moon appeareth. The flood is
bright in the vale. The rocks are gray on the
face of the hill. But I fee him not on the brow ■,
his