poems.
145
'Who on the heath beside me rest?—
Are they the dearest of my soul?
Hear they the sighs that fill this breast?
Oh, speak, and make this bosom whole.
They speak not; no reply they give
To Colrna, sad and faithful maid.
Oh speak, and tell me that ye live;
I am alone, I am afraid.
Ah, they are dead; their swords are red
With blood. Oh, my brother, brother,
My Salgar's blood why hast thou shed?
Why Salgar, why slay each other?
Are they the dearest of my soul?
Hear they the sighs that fill this breast?
Oh, speak, and make this bosom whole.
They speak not; no reply they give
To Colrna, sad and faithful maid.
Oh speak, and tell me that ye live;
I am alone, I am afraid.
Ah, they are dead; their swords are red
With blood. Oh, my brother, brother,
My Salgar's blood why hast thou shed?
Why Salgar, why slay each other?
Dear were ye both to me; your praise
I still will mingle in my heart.
What shall this feeble voice now raise?
Ah, each shall claim his own true part.
Thou on the hill where thousands shone
Wert fair; he on the battle rose,
Terrible in might. Oh, mine own,
Speak to me,—hear my woes.
Hear me, ye whom I do love.—
Oh, they are silent forever:
Cold, cold is their breast, and may not move;
They are silent forever.
I still will mingle in my heart.
What shall this feeble voice now raise?
Ah, each shall claim his own true part.
Thou on the hill where thousands shone
Wert fair; he on the battle rose,
Terrible in might. Oh, mine own,
Speak to me,—hear my woes.
Hear me, ye whom I do love.—
Oh, they are silent forever:
Cold, cold is their breast, and may not move;
They are silent forever.
