THE
SONGS
of
SELMA
This
poem
fixes
the
antiquity
of
a
custom
,
which
is
well
known
to
have
pre
vailed
afterwards
,
in
the
north
of
Scotland
,
and
in
Ireland
.
The
bards
,
at
an
annual
feast
,
provided
by
the
king
or
chief
,
re
peated
their
poems
,
and
such
of
them
as
were
thought
,
by
him
,
worthy
of
being
preserved
,
were
carefully
taught
to
their
children
,
in
order
to
have
them
transmitted
to
posterity
.
—
It
was
one
of
those
occa
sions
that
afforded
the
subject
of
the
present
poem
to
Ossian
.
—
It
is
called
in
the
origi
nal
,
the
songs
of
Selma
,
which
title
it
was
thought
proper
to
adopt
in
the
translation
.
The
poem
is
entirely
lyric
,
and
has
great
variety
of
versification
.
The
address
to
the
evening
star
,
with
which
it
opens
,
has
in
the
original
all
the
harmony
that
num
bers
could
give
it
;
flowing
down
with
all
that
tranquility
and
softness
,
which
the
scene
described
naturally
inspires
.
—
Three
of
the
songs
which
are
introduced
in
this
piece
,
were
published
among
the
fragments
of
ancient
poetry
,
printed
last
year
.
.
STAR
of
the
falling
night
!
fair
is
thy
light
in
the
west
!
thou
liftest
thy
unshorn
head
from
thy
cloud
:
thy
steps
are
stately
on
thy
hill
.
What
dost
thou
behold
in
the
plain
?
The
stormy
winds
are
laid
.
The
murmur
of
the
torrent
comes
from
afar
.
Roaring
waves
climb
the
distant
rock
.
The
flies
of
evening
are
on
their
feeble
wings
,
and
the
hum
of
their
course
is
on
the
field
.
What
dost
thou
behold
,
fair
light
?
But
thou
dost
smile
and
depart
.
The
waves
come
with
joy
around
thee
,
and
bathe
thy
lovely
hair
.
Farewel
,
thou
silent
beam
!
—
Let
the
light
of
Ossian's
soul
arise
.
AND
it
does
arise
in
its
strength
!
I
behold
my
departed
friends
.
Their
gathering
is
on
Lora
,
as
in
the
days
that
are
past
.
—
Fingal
comes
like
a
watry
column
of
mist
;
his
heroes
are
around
.
And
see
the
bards
of
the
song
,
gray-haired
Ullin
;
stately
Ryno
;
Alpin
Alpin
is
from
the
same
root
with
Al
bion
,
or
rather
Albin
,
the
ancient
name
of
Britain
;
Alp
,
high
Inland
,
or
country
.
The
present
name
of
our
island
has
its
origin
in
the
Celtic
tongue
;
so
that
those
who
de
rived
it
from
any
other
,
betrayed
their
ig
norance
of
the
ancient
language
of
our
country
.
—
Breac't
in
,
variegated
island
,
so
called
from
the
face
of
the
country
,
from
the
natives
painting
themselves
,
or
from
their
party-coloured
cloaths
.
,
with
the
tuneful
voice
,
and
the
soft
complaint
of
Minona
!
—
How
are
ye
changed
,
my
friends
,
since
the
days
of
Selma's
feast
!
when
we
contended
,
like
the
gales
of
the
spring
,
that
,
flying
over
the
hill
,
by
turns
bend
the
feebly-whistling
grafs
.
MINONA
Ossian
introduces
Minona
,
not
in
the
ideal
scene
in
his
own
mind
,
which
he
had
described
;
but
at
the
annual
feast
of
Selma
,
where
the
bards
repeated
their
works
be
fore
Fingal
.
came
sorth
in
her
beauty
;
with
down-cast
look
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
;
for
often
had
they
seen
the
grave
of
Salgar
Sealg-'er
,
a
hunter
.
,
and
the
dark
dwelling
of
white-bosomed
Colma
Cul-math
,
a
woman
with
fine
hair
.
.
Colma
left
alone
on
the
hill
,
with
all
her
voice
of
music
!
Salgar
promised
to
come
:
but
the
night
descended
round
.
—
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
shrieks
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
appear
!
Lead
me
,
some
light
,
to
the
place
where
my
love
rests
from
the
toil
of
the
chace
!
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
;
nor
can
I
hear
the
voice
of
my
love
.
WHY
delays
my
Salgar
,
why
the
son
of
the
hill
,
his
promise
?
Here
is
the
rock
,
and
the
tree
;
and
here
the
roaring
stream
.
Thou
didst
promise
with
night
to
be
here
.
Ah
!
whither
is
my
Salgar
gone
?
With
thee
I
would
fly
,
my
father
;
with
thee
,
my
brother
of
pride
.
Our
race
have
long
been
soes*
;
but
we
are
not
foes
,
O
Salgar
!
CEASE
a
little
while
,
O
wind
!
stream
,
be
thou
silent
a
while
!
let
my
voice
be
heard
over
the
heath
;
let
my
wanderer
hear
me
.
Salgar
!
it
is
I
who
call
.
Here
is
the
tree
,
and
the
rock
.
Salgar
,
my
love
!
I
am
here
.
Why
delayest
thou
thy
coming
?
Lo
!
the
moon
appeareth
.
The
flood
is
bright
in
the
vale
.
The
rocks
are
grey
on
the
face
of
the
hill
.
But
I
see
him
not
on
the
brow
;
his
dogs
before
him
tell
not
that
he
is
coming
.
Here
I
must
sit
alone
.
BUT
who
are
these
that
lie
beyond
me
on
the
heath
?
Are
they
my
love
and
my
brother
?
—
Speak
to
me
,
O
my
friends
!
they
answer
not
.
My
soul
is
tormented
with
fears
.
—
Ah
!
they
are
dead
.
Their
swords
are
red
from
the
fight
.
O
my
brother
!
my
brother
!
why
hast
thou
slain
my
Salgar
?
why
,
O
Salgar
!
hast
thou
slain
my
brother
?
Dear
were
ye
both
to
me
!
what
shall
I
say
in
your
praise
?
Thou
wert
fair
on
the
hill
among
thousands
;
he
was
terrible
in
fight
.
Speak
to
me
;
hear
my
voice
,
sons
of
my-love
!
But
alas
!
they
are
silent
;
silent
for
ever
!
Cold
are
their
breasts
of
clay
!
OH
!
from
the
rock
of
the
hill
;
from
the
top
of
the
windy
mountain
,
speak
ye
ghosts
of
the
dead
!
speak
,
I
will
not
be
afraid
.
—
Whither
are
ye
gone
to
rest
?
In
what
cave
of
the
hill
shall
I
find
you
?
No
feeble
voice
is
on
the
wind
:
no
answer
half-drowned
in
the
storms
of
the
hill
.
I
SIT
in
my
grief
.
I
wait
for
morning
in
my
tears
.
Rear
the
tomb
,
ye
friends
of
the
dead
;
but
close
it
not
till
Colma
come
.
My
life
flies
away
like
a
dream
:
why
should
I
stay
behind
?
Here
shall
I
rest
with
my
friends
,
by
the
stream
of
the
sounding
rock
.
When
night
comes
on
the
hill
;
when
the
wind
is
on
the
heath
;
my
ghost
shall
stand
in
the
wind
,
and
mourn
the
death
of
my
friends
.
The
hunter
shall
hear
from
his
booth
.
He
shall
fear
but
love
my
voice
.
For
sweet
shall
my
voice
be
for
my
friends
;
for
pleasant
were
they
both
to
me
.
SUCH
was
thy
song
,
Minona
softly-blushing
maid
of
Torman
.
Our
tears
descended
for
Colma
,
and
our
souls
were
sad
.
—
Ullin
came
with
the
harp
,
and
gave
the
song
of
Alpin
.
—
The
voice
of
Alpin
was
pleasant
:
the
soul
of
Ryno
was
a
beam
of
fire
.
But
they
had
rested
in
the
narrow
house
:
and
their
voice
was
not
heard
in
Selma
.
—
Ullin
had
returned
one
day
from
the
chace
,
before
the
heroes
fell
.
He
heard
their
strife
on
the
hill
;
their
song
was
soft
but
sad
.
They
mourned
the
fall
of
Morar
,
first
of
mortal
men
.
His
soul
was
like
the
soul
of
Fingal
;
his
sword
like
the
sword
of
Oscar
.
—
But
he
fell
,
and
his
father
mourned
:
his
sister's
eyes
were
full
of
tears
.
—
Minona's
eyes
were
full
of
tears
,
the
sister
of
car-borne
Morar
.
She
retired
from
the
song
of
Ullin
,
like
the
moon
in
the
west
,
when
she
foresees
the
shower
,
and
hides
her
fair
head
in
a
cloud
.
—
I
touched
the
harp
,
with
Ullin
;
the
song
of
mourning
rose
.
RYNO
.
THE
wind
and
the
rain
are
over
:
calm
is
the
noon
of
day
.
The
clouds
are
divided
in
heaven
.
Over
the
green
hills
flies
the
incon
stant
sun
.
Red
through
the
stony
vale
comes
down
the
stream
of
the
hill
.
Sweet
are
thy
murmurs
,
O
stream
!
but
more
sweet
is
the
voice
I
hear
.
It
is
the
voice
of
Alpin
,
the
son
of
the
song
,
mourning
for
the
dead
.
Bent
is
his
head
of
age
,
and
red
his
tear
ful
eye
.
Alpin
,
thou
son
of
the
song
,
why
alone
on
the
silent
hill
?
why
complainest
thou
,
as
a
blast
in
the
wood
;
as
a
wave
on
the
lonely
shore
?
ALPIN
.
MY
tears
,
O
Ryno
!
are
for
the
dead
;
my
voice
,
for
the
inhabi
tants
of
the
grave
.
Tall
thou
art
on
the
hill
;
fair
among
the
sons
of
the
plain
.
But
thou
shalt
fall
like
Morar
Mór-ér
,
great
man
.
;
and
the
mourner
shall
sit
on
thy
tomb
.
The
hills
shall
know
thee
no
more
;
thy
bow
shall
lie
in
the
hall
,
unstrung
.
THOU
wert
swift
,
O
Morar
!
as
a
roe
on
the
hill
;
terrible
as
a
meteor
of
fire
.
Thy
wrath
was
as
the
storm
.
Thy
sword
in
battle
,
as
lightning
in
the
field
.
Thy
voice
was
like
a
stream
after
rain
;
like
thunder
on
distant
hills
.
Many
fell
by
thy
arm
;
they
were
con
sumed
in
the
flames
of
thy
wrath
.
BUT
when
thou
didst
return
from
war
,
how
peaceful
was
thy
brow
!
Thy
face
was
like
the
sun
after
rain
;
like
the
moon
in
the
silence
of
night
;
calm
as
the
breast
of
the
lake
when
the
loud
wind
is
laid
.
NARROW
is
thy
dwelling
now
;
dark
the
place
of
thine
abode
.
With
three
steps
I
compass
thy
grave
,
O
thou
who
wast
so
great
before
!
Four
stones
,
with
their
heads
of
moss
,
are
the
only
memo
rial
of
thee
.
A
tree
with
scarce
a
leaf
,
long
grass
which
whistles
in
the
wind
,
mark
to
the
hunter's
eye
the
grave
of
the
mighty
Morar
.
Morar
!
thou
art
low
indeed
.
Thou
hast
no
mother
to
mourn
thee
;
no
maid
with
her
tears
of
love
.
Dead
is
she
that
brought
thee
forth
.
Fallen
is
the
daughter
of
Morglan
.
WHO
on
his
staff
is
this
?
who
is
this
,
whose
head
is
white
with
age
,
whose
eyes
are
red
with
tears
,
who
quakes
at
every
step
.
—
It
is
thy
father
Torman
,
the
son
of
Carthul
,
lord
of
I-mora
,
one
of
the
western
isles
.
,
O
Morar
!
the
father
of
no
son
but
thee
.
He
heard
of
thy
fame
in
battle
;
he
heard
of
foes
dispersed
.
He
heard
of
Morar's
fame
;
why
did
he
not
hear
of
his
wound
?
Weep
,
thou
father
of
Morar
!
weep
;
but
thy
son
heareth
thee
not
.
Deep
is
the
sleep
of
the
dead
;
low
their
pillow
of
dust
.
No
more
shall
he
hear
thy
voice
;
no
more
shall
he
awake
at
thy
call
.
When
shall
it
be
morn
in
the
grave
,
to
bid
the
slumberer
awake
?
FAREWEL
,
thou
bravest
of
men
!
thou
conqueror
in
the
field
!
but
the
field
shall
see
thee
no
more
;
nor
the
dark
wood
be
lightened
with
the
splendor
of
thy
steel
.
Thou
hast
left
no
son
.
But
the
song
shall
preserve
thy
name
.
Future
times
shall
hear
of
thee
;
they
shall
hear
of
the
fallen
Morar
.
THE
grief
of
all
arose
,
but
most
the
bursting
sigh
of
Armin
Armin
,
a
hero
.
He
was
chief
or
petty
king
of
Gorma
,
i.
e.
the
blue
island
,
supposed
to
be
one
of
the
Hebrides
.
.
He
remembers
the
death
of
his
son
,
who
fell
in
the
days
of
his
youth
.
Carmor
Cear-mór
,
a
tall
dark-complexioned
man
.
was
near
the
hero
,
the
chief
of
the
ecchoing
Gal
mal
.
Why
bursts
the
sigh
of
Armin
,
he
said
?
Is
there
a
cause
to
mourn
?
The
song
comes
,
with
its
music
,
to
melt
and
please
the
soul
.
It
is
like
soft
mist
,
that
,
rising
from
a
lake
,
pours
on
the
si
lent
vale
;
the
green
flowers
are
filled
with
dew
,
but
the
sun
re
turns
in
his
strength
,
and
the
mist
is
gone
.
Why
art
thou
sad
,
O
Armin
,
chief
of
sea-surrounded
Gorma
?
SAD
!
I
am
indeed
:
nor
small
my
cause
of
woe
!
—
Carmor
,
thou
hast
lost
no
son
;
thou
hast
lost
no
daughter
of
beauty
.
Colgar
the
valiant
lives
;
and
Annira
fairest
maid
.
The
boughs
of
thy
family
flourish
,
O
Carmor
!
but
Armin
is
the
last
of
his
race
.
Dark
is
thy
bed
,
O
Daura
!
and
deep
thy
sleep
in
the
tomb
.
—
When
shalt
thou
awake
with
thy
songs
?
with
all
thy
voice
of
music
?
RISE
,
winds
of
autumn
,
rise
;
blow
upon
the
dark
heath
!
streams
of
the
mountains
,
roar
!
howl
,
ye
tempests
,
in
the
top
of
the
oak
!
walk
through
broken
clouds
,
O
moon
!
show
by
intervals
thy
pale
face
!
bring
to
my
mind
that
sad
night
,
when
all
my
children
fell
;
when
Arindal
the
mighty
fell
;
when
Dura
the
lovely
failed
.
DAURA
,
my
daughter
!
thou
wert
fair
;
fair
as
the
moon
on
the
hills
of
Fura
Fuar-a
,
cold
island
.
;
white
as
the
driven
snow
;
sweet
as
the
breath
ing
gale
.
Arindal
,
thy
bow
was
strong
,
thy
spear
was
swift
in
the
field
:
thy
look
was
like
mist
on
the
wave
;
thy
shield
,
a
red
cloud
in
a
storm
.
Armar
,
renowned
in
war
,
came
,
and
sought
Daura's
love
;
he
was
not
long
denied
;
fair
was
the
hope
of
their
friends
.
ERATH
,
son
of
Odgal
,
repined
;
for
his
brother
was
slain
by
Armar
.
He
came
disguised
like
a
son
of
the
sea
:
fair
was
his
skiff
on
the
wave
;
white
his
locks
of
age
;
calm
his
serious
brow
.
Fair
est
of
women
,
he
said
,
lovely
daughter
of
Armin
!
a
rock
not
distant
in
the
sea
,
bears
a
tree
on
its
side
;
red
shines
the
fruit
afar
.
There
Armor
waits
for
Daura
.
I
came
to
carry
his
love
along
the
roll
ing
sea
.
SHE
went
;
and
she
called
on
Armar
.
Nought
answered
,
but
the
son
By
the
son
of
the
rock
the
poet
means
the
ecchoing
back
of
the
human
voice
from
a
rock
.
The
vulgar
were
of
opinion
,
that
this
repetition
of
found
was
made
by
a
spi
rit
within
the
rock
;
and
they
,
on
that
ac
count
,
called
it
mac-talla
;
the
son
who
dwells
in
the
rock
.
of
the
rock
.
Armor
,
my
love
!
my
love
!
why
tormentest
thou
me
with
fear
?
hear
,
son
of
Ardnart
,
hear
:
it
is
Daura
who
calleth
thee
!
Erath
the
traitor
fled
laughing
to
the
land
.
She
lifted
up
her
voice
,
and
cried
for
her
brother
and
her
father
.
Arin
dal
!
Armin
!
none
to
relieve
your
Daura
.
HER
voice
came
over
the
sea
.
Arindal
my
son
descended
from
the
hill
;
rough
in
the
spoils
of
the
chace
.
His
arrows
rattled
by
his
side
;
his
bow
was
in
his
hand
:
five
dark
gray
dogs
attended
his
steps
.
He
saw
fierce
Erath
on
the
shore
:
he
seized
and
bound
him
to
an
oak
.
Thick
fly
the
thongs
The
poet
here
only
means
that
Er
ath
was
bound
with
leathern
thongs
.
of
the
hide
around
his
limbs
;
he
loads
the
wind
with
his
groans
.
ARINDAL
ascends
the
deep
in
his
boat
,
to
bring
Daura
to
land
.
Armar
came
in
his
wrath
,
and
let
fly
the
gray-feathered
shaft
.
It
sung
;
it
sunk
in
thy
heart
,
O
Arindal
my
son
!
for
Erath
the
trai
tor
thou
diedst
.
The
oar
is
stopped
at
once
;
he
panted
on
the
rock
and
expired
.
What
is
thy
grief
,
O
Daura
,
when
round
thy
feet
is
poured
thy
brother's
blood
.
THE
boat
is
broken
in
twain
by
the
waves
.
Armar
plunges
into
the
sea
,
to
rescue
his
Daura
or
die
.
Sudden
a
blast
from
the
hill
comes
over
the
waves
.
He
sunk
,
and
he
rose
no
more
.
ALONE
,
on
the
sea-beat
rock
,
my
daughter
was
heard
to
com
plain
.
Frequent
and
loud
were
her
cries
;
nor
could
her
father
re
lieve
her
.
All
night
I
stood
on
the
shore
.
I
saw
her
by
the
faint
beam
of
the
moon
.
All
night
I
heard
her
cries
.
Loud
was
the
wind
;
and
the
rain
beat
hard
on
the
side
of
the
mountain
.
Before
morning
appeared
,
her
voice
was
weak
.
It
died
away
,
like
the
evening-breeze
among
the
grass
of
the
rocks
.
Spent
with
grief
she
expired
.
And
left
thee
Armin
alone
:
gone
is
my
strength
in
the
war
,
and
fallen
my
pride
among
women
.
WHEN
the
storms
of
the
mountain
come
;
when
the
north
lifts
the
waves
on
high
;
I
sit
by
the
sounding
shore
,
and
look
on
the
fatal
rock
.
Often
by
the
setting
moon
I
see
the
ghosts
of
my
chil
dren
.
Half-viewless
,
they
walk
in
mournful
conference
together
.
Will
none
of
you
speak
in
pity
?
They
do
not
regard
their
father
.
I
am
sad
,
O
Carmor
,
nor
small
my
cause
of
woe
!
SUCH
were
the
words
of
the
bards
in
the
days
of
the
song
;
when
the
king
heard
the
music
of
harps
,
and
the
tales
of
other
times
.
The
chiefs
gathered
from
all
their
hills
,
and
heard
the
lovely
sound
.
They
praised
the
voice
Ossian
is
sometimes
poetically
called
the
voice
of
Cona
.
of
Cona
!
the
first
among
a
thousand
bards
.
But
age
is
now
on
my
tongue
;
and
my
soul
has
failed
.
I
hear
,
sometimes
,
the
ghosts
of
bards
,
and
learn
their
pleasant
song
.
But
memory
fails
on
my
mind
;
I
hear
the
call
of
years
.
They
say
,
as
they
pass
along
,
why
does
Ossian
sing
?
Soon
shall
he
lie
in
the
nar
row
house
,
and
no
bard
shall
raise
his
fame
.
ROLL
on
,
ye
dark-brown
years
,
for
ye
bring
no
joy
on
your
course
.
Let
the
tomb
open
to
Ossian
,
for
his
strength
has
failed
.
The
sons
of
the
song
are
gone
to
rest
;
my
voice
remains
,
like
a
blast
,
that
roars
,
lonely
,
on
a
sea-surrounded
rock
,
after
the
winds
are
laid
.
The
dark
moss
whistles
there
,
and
the
distant
mariner
sees
the
waving
trees
.