Hail, Carril of other times! Thy voice is like the harp in the halls of Tura. - James Macpherson

Where art thou, beam of light? Hunters, from the mossy rock, saw ye the blue-eyed fair?

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.

Go, view the settling sea: the stormy wind is laid. The billows still tremble on the deep. They seem to fear the blast.