With locks expos'd to every gust of wind,
And tearful eye, that spoke her anxious mind,"
Stood forth, the tale of hapless love to fing;
To footh the foul of Morven's mighty king.
The feaft forgot, the chiefs no more rejoice;
But mournful liften to her plaintive voice.
For well they knew where Salgar's || corfe was laid,
And Colma's tomb, the fnow-white-hofom'd maid.
Hard was her lot, fair virgin! all alone,

On mountain wilds to vent her fruitless moan;
To chide her lover's abfence, as unkind,
And waste her voice of mufic in the wind:
With tears of death, in anguifh, to deplore
Her fallen friends, who rife, alas! no more.

Her fad complaint the fair Minona fung,
In words that drop'd from Colma's tuneful tongue.

But what behold I, on the heath ?

My love my brother! laid.

O fpeak, my friends! nor hold your breath,
T'affright a trembling maid.

They anfwer not they fleep-they're dead

Alas! the horrid fight

Here lie their angry fwords, ftill red
And bleeding from the fight.

Ah! wherefore lies, by Salgar flain,
My brother, bleeding here?

VOL. IV.

T

Why

Why Salgar murder'd on the plain,
By one to me fo near ?

Friends of my choice! how lov'd were both Į
Who now your fame shall raife?
Who fing my lover's plighted troth;
My brother's fong of praife?

Of thousands lovely, Salgar's face
Was lovelieft to the fight:
Renown'd my brother for the chace,
And terrible in fight.

Sons of my love! fpeak, once again-
Ah no!to death a prey,
Silent they are, and must remain;
For cold their breafts of clay.

But are their fleeting fpirits fled
Acrofs the plain to foon?
Or fhun the fhadows of the dead
The glimpfes of the moon?

So fhall my shivering ghost be feen,
Lamenting o'er the flain;

As homeward hies the hunter keen,
Benighted on the plain.

Yet fhall he, fearlefs, pafs along,
And lend his liftening ear:

For fweet, though fad, fhall be my fong,
For friends I lov'd fo dear.

This Colma's plaint; and thus with mufic's tongue,
The sweetly blufhing maid of Torman fung,
The foft Minona; while her fluttering breast
Bespoke an heart with tender grief opprefs'd;
The fympathetic forrow catch'd around,
And heroes dropp'd their tears upon the ground.

Next Ullin came and touch'd the founding ftring,
And Alpin's well-known fong stood up to fing:
That fong the tuneful bard to Ryno fung,
When Ryno liv'd to hear his tuneful tongue :
Heard now no more! for, in their lowly bed,
Both reft in filence, flumbering with the dead.
But ere they fell, as Ullin took his way,

Home from the chace, he heard, and caught, the lay.
All fad, they fung behind the rolling stream;
Morar, the firft of men, their mournful theme.
Morar, whofe foul with Fingal's might compare,
Whofe fword, like Ofcar's fword, a meteor in the air,
But ah! he fell; his fire, bent down with years,
And blooming fifter fhedding fruitless tears,
Minona fair; who now forfook the throng,
Her heart too full to lift to Ullin's fong.
So, when the shower-prefaging winds are loud,
The moon retires behind the western cloud.

To raise the fong, did I in concert join;
Mixing the founds of Ullin's harp with mine.

The following letter is inferted at the requeft of a correspondent to whom we are under obligations.