Yet, blest be the name of the Lord!

His martyrs shall go into bliss for ever,
Lochlin,* appalled, shall put up her steel,
And thou shalt embark on the bounding keel;
Safe shalt thou pass through her hundred ships,
With the Saint and a remnant of the Gael,
And the Lord will instruct thy lips

To preach in Innisfail.Ӡ

The sun, now about to set,
Was burning o'er Tiriee,
And no gathering cry rose yet

O'er the isles of Albyn's sea,
Whilst Reullura saw far rowers dip
Their oars beneath the sun,

And the phantom of many a Danish ship,
Where ship there yet was none.
And the shield of alarm was dumb,
Nor did their warning till midnight come.
When watchfires burst from across the main
From Rona and Uist and Skey,

To tell that the ships of the Dane

And the red-haired slayers were nigh.

Our islemen arose from slumbers,
And buckled on their arms;
But few, alas! were their numbers
To Lochlin's mailed swarms.
And the blade of the bloody Norse
Has filled the shores of the Gael

With many a floating corse,

And with many a woman's wail.

They have lighted the islands with ruin's torch
And the holy men of Iona's church

† Ireland.

shield was an ancient mode of convocation to war

* Denmark.

* Striking the among the Gael.

1

In the temple of God lay slain;
All but Aodh, the last culdee,
But bound with many an iron chain,
Bound in that church was he.

And where is Aodh's bride?
Rocks of the ocean flood!

Plunged she not from your heights in pride,
And mocked the men of blood?
Then Ulvfagre and his bands

In the temple lighten their banquet up,
And the print of their blood-red hands
Was left on the altar cup.

'Twas then that the Norseman to Aodh said,
"Tell where thy church's treasure's laid,
Or I'll héw thee limb from limb."

As he spoke the bell struck three,

And every torch grew dim

That lighted their revelry.

But the torches again burnt bright,
And brighter than before,

When an aged man of majestic height

Entered the temple door.

Hushed was the reveller's sound,

They were struck as mute as the dead,

And their hearts were appalled by the very sound
Of his footstep's measured tread.

Nor word was spoken by one beholder,

[der,

While he flung his white robe back on his shoul

And stretching his arms-as eath

Unriveted Aodh's bands,

As if the gyves had been a wreath
Of willows in his hands.

All saw the stranger's similitude
To the ancient statue's form;

Q

The Saint before his own image stood,
And grasped Ulvfagre's arm.

Then uprose the Danes at last to deliver

Their chief, and shouting with one accord,
They drew the shaft from its rattling quiver,
They lifted the spear and sword,
And levelled their spears in rows.
But down went axes and spears and bows,
When the Saint with his crosier signed,

The archer's hand on the string was stopt,
And down, like reeds laid flat by the wind,
Their lifted weapons dropt.

The Saint then gave a signal mute,
And though Ulvfagre willed it not,
He came and stood at the statue's foot,
Spell-riveted to the spot,

Till hands invisible shook the wall,
And the torturing image was dashed
Down from its lofty pedestal.

On Ulvfagre's helm it crashed-
Helmet, and skull, and flesh, and brain,
It crushed as millstone crushes the grain.
Then spoke the Saint, whilst all and each
Of the Heathen trembled round,

And the pauses amidst his speech

Were as awful as the sound:

"Go back, ye wolves, to your dens," (he cried,)

"And tell the nations abroad,

How the fiercest of your herd has died

That slaughtered the flock of God.

Gather him bone by bone,

And take with you o'er the flood

The fragments of that avenging stone
That drank his heathen blood.

These are the spoils from Iona's sack,
The only spoils ye shall carry back;
For the hand that uplifteth spear or sword
Shall be withered by palsy's shock,

And I come in the name of the Lord
To deliver a remnant of his flock."

A remnant was called together,

A doleful remnant of the Gael,

[hither

And the Saint in the ship that had brought him

Took the mourners to Innisfail.

Únscathed they left Iona's strand,

When the opal morn first flushed the sky, For the Norse dropt spear, and bow, and brand, And looked on them silently;

Safe from their hiding-places came

Orphans and mothers, child and dame :

But, alas! when the search of Reullura spread,

No answering voice was given,

For the sea had gone o'er her lovely head,
And her spirit was in heaven.