Ah! wherefore lies my Salgar slain? My Salgar murder'd, on the plain, Friends of my choice! how lov'd were both! Of thousands lovely, Salgar's face Sons of my love! speak, once again- But are their fleeting spirits fled Or shun the shadows of the dead, Speak, where on rock or mountain grave, Or reconcil'd, in some dark cave Ah! where her friends shall Colma find? No muttering anwer brings the wind; Fearless, yet overwhelm'd with grief, When morning light appears. Yet, raise, ye friends of these, the dead; But close not up their narrow bed, For why behind them should we stay, Beside the murmuring stream. So shall my shivering ghost be seen, Yet shall he, fearless, pass along For sweet, tho' sad, shall be my song, For why behind them should we stay, Beside the murmuring stream. So shall my shivering ghost be seen, Yet shall he, fearless, pass along For sweet, tho' sad, shall be my song, |