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

THE SONGS OF SELMA. 253
liis dogs before him tell not that he is coming.
Here I muft fit alone.
But who are thefe that lie beyond me on the
heath ? Are they my love and my brother ? Speak
to me, O my friends ! they anfwer not. My foul
is tormented with fears. Ah ! they are dead. Their
fwords are red from the fight. O my brother !
my brother ! why hafi: thou flain my Salgar ? why,
O Salgar ! haft thou flain my brother ? Dear were
ye both to me ! what fl^iall 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
forever ! Cold are their breafts 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 Ihall I find you ? No feeble
voice is on the wind : no anfwer half-drowned in
the ftorms of the hill.
I fit in my grief. I wait for morning in my tears.
Rear the tomb, ye friends of the dead ; but clofe
it not till Cdma come. My life flies away like a
dream : why lliould I ftay behind ? Here fliall I
reft with my friends, by tlic ftream of the found-
ing rock. When night comes on the hill; when
the wind is on the heath ; my ghoft fhall ftand in
the