Kolmas Klage, D 217

Colma's lament

(Poet's title: Kolmas Klage)

All translations into English that appear on this website, unless otherwise stated, are by Malcolm Wren. You are free to use them on condition that you acknowledge Malcolm Wren as the translator and schubertsong.uk as the source. Unless otherwise stated, the comments and essays that appear after the texts and translations are by Malcolm Wren and are © Copyright.

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The translation above is basically Ossian / Macpherson’s original text modified to reflect the major changes introduced by the anonymous German translator. The original text was as follows:

It is night; I am alone, forlorn on the hill of storms. The wind is heard in 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 around 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 here the tree! here is the roaring stream! Thou didst promise with night to be here. Ah! whither is my 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 a while! 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 fight. Speak to me; hear my voice;  hear me, sons of my love! They are silent; silent for ever! 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!

I sit in my grief; I wait for morning in my tears!  Rear the tomb, ye friends of the dead. Close it not till Colma come.  My life flies away like a dream! why should I stay behind? Here shall I rest with my friends, 
by the stream of the sounding rock. When night comes on the hill; when the loud winds arise; my ghost shall stand in the blast, and mourn the death of my friends. The hunter shall hear from his booth. He shall fear, but love my voice! For sweet shall my voice be for my friends: pleasant were her friends to Colma!

From The Songs of Selma

‘Ossian’ introduces Colma’s lament at the beginning of The Songs of Selma. The bards assemble before Fingal on the island of Lora. Amongst the bards are ‘grey-haired Ullin, stately Ryno, Alpin with the tuneful voice’ and ‘Minona, softly-blushing daughter of Torman’:

Minona came forth in her beauty; with down-cast look and tearful eye. Her hair flew slowly on the blast, that rushed unfrequent from the hill. The souls of the heroes were sad when she raised the tuneful voice. Often had they seen the grave of Salgar, the dark dwelling of white-bosomed Colma. Colma left alone on the hill, with all her voice of song! Salgar promised to come: but the night descended around. Hear the voice of Colma, when she sat alone on the hill!

"It is night . . . . "

So from the outset the listener knows how the story will end; it is a simple narrative explaining why Salgar and Colma are buried together on the heath. We all accept the convention that the narrator knows what Colma was feeling and saying at each point, even though she was alone and had noone to speak to. The fact that Colma addresses in turn the moon, the stars, the storms, the absent Salgar, Salgar’s dead body, the ghosts of Salgar and her brother and finally her friends does not strike us as being particularly odd and we do not bother to ask how the bard could have ‘heard’ any of this; that is simply the nature of dramatic monologues.

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Original Spelling

Kolmas Klage

Rund um mich Nacht! 
Ich irr' allein,
Verloren am stürmischen Hügel!
Der Sturm braust vom Gebirg.
Der Strom die Felsen hinab,
Mich schützt kein Dach vor Regen,
Verloren am stürmischen Hügel,
Irr' ich allein.

Erschein', o Mond,
Dring durch's Gewölk;
Erscheinet, ihr nächtlichen Sterne,
Geleitet freundlich mich,
Wo mein Geliebter ruht.
Mit ihm flieh' ich den Vater,
Mit ihm meinen herrischen Bruder,
Erschein', o Mond.

Ihr Stürme, schweigt,
O schweige, Strom,
Mich höre, mein liebender Wanderer!
Salgar! ich bin's, die ruft.
Hier ist der Baum, hier der Fels,
Warum verweilst du länger?
Wie, hör' ich den Ruf seiner Stimme?
Ihr Stürme, schweigt!

Doch sieh, der Mond erscheint,
Der Hügel Haupt erhellet,
Die Fluth im Thale glänzt,
Im Mondlicht wallt die Heide.
Ihn seh' ich nicht im Thale,
Ihn nicht am hellen Hügel,
Kein Laut verkündet ihn,
Ich wand'le einsam hier.

Doch wer sind jene dort,
Gestreckt auf dürrer Heide?
Ist's mein Geliebter, Er!
Und neben ihm mein Bruder!
Ach, beid' in ihrem Blute,
Gezückt die wilden Schwerter!
Warum erschlugst du ihn?
Und du, Salgar! warum?

Du warst der Schönste mir
Und er im Kampfe schrecklich.
Wie liebt´ ich beide euch.
Ihr Söhne meiner Liebe!
Ach sprecht noch holde Worte,
Ach höret meine Klagen!
Doch ewig schweigt ihr Mund!
Eiskalt ist ihre Brust!

Geister meiner Todten,
Sprecht vom Felsenhügel,
Von des Berges Gipfel,
Nimmer schreckt ihr mich!
Wo gingt ihr zur Ruhe,
Ach, in welcher Höhle
Soll ich euch nun finden?
Doch es tönt kein Hauch.

Hier in tiefem Grame
Wein' ich bis am Morgen,
Baut das Grab, ihr Freunde,
Schließt's nicht ohne mich.
Wie sollt' ich hier weilen?
An des Bergstroms Ufer
Mit den lieben Freunden
Will ich ewig ruh'n.

Deckt die Nacht den Hügel,
Schüttelt Wind die Heide,
Klagt mein Geist im Winde
Meiner Freunde Tod.
Einsam hört´s der Jäger,
Liebt und scheut die Stimme,
Süß die Freunde klagend,
Beide liebt´ ich sie!

Confirmed with The Poems of Ossian. Translated by James Macpherson, Esq; Vol.I. A new edition, carefully corrected, and greatly improved. London, MDCCLXXIII, pages 207-209.