Say why thy tears, like rills, incessant flow?
Why heaves thy bosom with the moanful cry,
Like Lego’s reeds when ghosts among them fly?
MALVINA.
And dost thou ask the cause of all my woe,
When yonder Selma’s mossy tow’rs lie low?
When bats and thistles dwell in Fingal’s hall,
And roes bound fearless o’er its mould’ring wall:
—Besides, I heard upon the distant wind
A sound that rous’d my sadly-musing mind;