Ossian Collection > Poems of Ossian

152 THE SONGS OF SELMA.
and tearful eye. Her hair flew slowly on the blast, that
rushed unfrequent from the hill. The souls of the heroes
were sad when she raised the tuneful voice. Often had
they seen the grave of Salgar, the dark dwelling of white-
bosomed Colma. Colma left alone on the hill, with all
her voice of song ! Salgar promised to come : but the
night descended around. Hear the voice of Colma, when
she sat alone on the hill !
Colma.
It is night ; I am alone, forlorn on the hill of storms.
The wind is heard in the mountain. The torrent pours
down the rock. No hut receives me from the rain ;
forlorn on the hill of winds !
Rise, moon ! from behind thy clouds. Stars of the
night arise ! Lead me, some light, to the place, where
my love rests from the chase alone ! his bow near him,
unstrung : his dogs panting around him. But here I
must sit alone, by the rock of the mossy stream. The
stream and the wind roar aloud. I hear not the voice of
my love ! Why delays my Salgar, why the chief of the
hill, his promise ? Here is the rock, and here the tree !
here is the roaring stream ! Thou didst promise with
night to be here. Ah ! whither is my Salgar gone ?
With thee I would fly, from my father ; with thee, from
my brother of pride. Our race have long been foes ; we
are not foes, O Salgar !
Cease a little while, O wind ! stream, be thou silent a
while ! let my voice be heard around. Let my wanderer
hear me ! Salgar ! it is Colma who calls. Here is the