VII.

"Ah! brothers, what did it avail,
That fiercely and triumphantly
Ye fought the English of the Pale,
And stemmed De Bourgo's chivalry?
And what was it to love and me,
That barons by your standard rode,
Or beal-fires for your jubilee

Upon a hundred mountains glowed?
What though the lords of tower and dome
From Shannon to the North Sea foam, -
Thought ye your iron hands of pride

-

Could break the knot that love had tied?
No let the eagle change his plume,
The leaf its hue, the flower its bloom;
But ties around this heart were spun
That could not, would not, be undone !

VIII.

"At bleating of the wild watch-fold, Thus sang my love: O, come with me! Our bark is on the lake, behold!

Our steeds are fastened to the tree.
Come far from Castle-Connor's clans,
Come with thy belted forestere;
And I, beside the lake of swans,
Shall hunt for thee the fallow deer,
And build thy hut, and bring thee home
The wild-fowl and the honeycomb,
And berries from the wood provide,
And play my clarshech by thy side.

Then come, my love!' How could I stay?
Our nimble stag-hounds tracked the way,
And I pursued, by moonless skies,
The light of Connocht Moran's eyes.

IX.

"And fast and far, before the star

Of day-spring, rushed we through the glade,
And saw at dawn the lofty bawn
Of Castle Connor fade.

Sweet was to us the hermitage

Of this unploughed, untrodden shore;
Like birds all joyous from the cage,
For man's neglect we loved it more.
And well he knew, my huntsman dear,
To search the game with hawk and spear;
While I, his evening food to dress,
Would sing to him in happiness.
But O, that midnight of despair!
When I was doomed to rend my hair,
The night, to me, of shrieking sorrow!
The night, to him, that had no morrow!

X.

"When all was hushed, at even-tide I heard the baying of their beagle. 'Be hushed!' my Connocht Moran cried; 'Tis but the screaming of the eagle.' Alas! 't was not the eyrie's sound; Their bloody bands had tracked us out.

Up listening starts our couchant hound,
And hark! again, that nearer shout
Brings faster on the murderers.

Spare spare him! Brazil - Desmond fierce!
In vain! no voice the adder charms.

Their weapons crossed my sheltering arms;
Another's sword has laid him low

Another's, and another's;

And every hand that dealt the blow-
Ah me! it was a brother's.

Yes, when his moanings died away,
Their iron hands had dug the clay,
And o'er his burial-turf they trod;
And I beheld-O God! O God!-
His life-blood oozing from the sod. ́

XI.

"Warm in his death-wounds sepulchred,
Alas! my warrior's spirit brave
Nor mass nor ulla-lulla heard,
Lamenting, soothe his grave.

Dragged to their hated mansion back,
How long in thraldom's grasp I lay
I knew not, for my soul was black,
And knew no change of night or day.
One night of horror round me grew;
Or if I saw, or felt, or knew,
'T was but when those grim visages,
The angry brothers of my race,
Glared on each eyeball's aching throb,
And checked my bosom's power to sob,

Or when my heart, with pulses drear,
Beat like a death-watch to my ear.

XII.

"But Heaven, at last, my soul's eclipse Did with a vision bright inspire:

I woke, and felt upon my lips
A prophetess's fire.

Thrice in the east a war-drum beat, -
I heard the Saxon's trumpet sound,
And ranged, as to the judgment-seat,
My guilty, trembling brothers round.
Clad in the helm and shield they came;
For now De Bourgo's sword and flame
Had ravaged Ulster's boundaries,
And lighted up the midnight skies.
The standard of O'Connor's sway
Was in the turret where I lay;
That standard, with so dire a look,
As ghastly shone the moon and pale,

"And go!' I cried, 'the combat seek,

Ye hearts that unappalléd bore

The anguish of a sister's shriek,
Go!and return no more!
For sooner guilt the ordeal brand

Shall grasp unhurt, than ye shall hold
The banner with victorious hand,

Beneath a sister's curse unrolled.'
O stranger, by my country's loss!
And by my love! and by the cross!
I swear I never could have spoke
The curse that severed nature's yoke,
But that a spirit o'er me stood,
And fired me with the wrathful mood;
And frenzy to my heart was given,
To speak the malison of Heaven.

XIV.

They would have crossed themselves, all mute; They would have prayed to burst the spell;

But at the stamping of my foot,
Each hand down powerless fell.
'And go to Athunree!' I cried,
'High lift the banner of your pride!
But know that where its sheet unrolls,
The weight of blood is on your souls!
Go where the havoc of your kerne
Shall float as high as mountain fern!
Men shall no more your mansion know;
The nettles on your hearth shall grow;
Dead, as the green oblivious flood

That mantles by your walls, shall be
The glory of O'Connor's blood!

Away! away to Athunree!

Where, downward when the sun shall fall,

The raven's wing shall be your pall:

And not a vassal shall unlace

The vizor from your dying face!'