It is night, I am alone; forlorn on the hill of storms. The wind is
heard on 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 'round 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 there the tree!
Here is the roaring stream! Thou didst promise with night to be here.
Ah! whither is 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 awhile! Let my
voice be heard around. Let my wanderer hear me! Salgar, it is Colma who
calls. Here is the tree and the rock. Salgar, my love! I am here. Why
delayest thou thy coming? Lo, the calm moon comes forth. The flood is
bright in the vale. The rocks are gray on the steep; I see him not on
the brow. His dogs come not before him with tidings of his near
approach. Here I must sit alone!
Who lie on the heath beside me? Are they my love, and my brother? Speak
to me, O my friends! To Colma they give no reply. Speak to me; I am
alone! 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 the fight! Speak to me; hear my voice;
hear me, sons of my love! They are silent; silent forever! Cold, cold
are their breasts of clay! Oh! from the rock on the hill—from the top of
the windy steep, 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 the departed? No feeble voice is on the gale; no answer
half-drowned in the storm!