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In the temple of God lay slain;
All but Aodh, the last culdee,
Bound in that church was he.
And where is Aodh's bride?
Rocks of the ocean flood!
And mocked the men of blood ?
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 hew thee limb from limb."
As he spoke the bell struck three, And every torch grew
And brighter than before,
Entered the temple door.
They were struck as mute as the dead, And their hearts were appalled by the
Of his footstep's measured tread.
Unriveted Aodh’s bands,
Of willows in his hands.
The Saint before his own image stood,
And grasped Ulvsagre's arm.
Their chief, and shouting with one accord,
They lifted the spear and sword,
The archer's hand on the string was stopt,
Their lifted weapons dropt.
And though Ulvfagre willed it not,
Spell-riveted to the spot,
And the torturing image was dashed
On Ulvfagre’s helm it crashed
Of the Heathen trembled round,
Were as awful as the sound :
« Go back, ye wolves, to your dens,” (he cricd,)
“ And tell the nations abroad, How the fiercest of your herd has died
That slaughtered the flock of God. Gather bim 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,
Shall be withered by palsy's shock,
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. Unscathed 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 ;
No answering voice was given,
And her spirit was in heaven.
PLEASURES OF HOPE.
Note (a) And such thy strength-inspiring aid that bore
shore. The following picture of his own distress, given by Byron in his simple and interesting narrative, justifies the description in page 10.
After relating the barbarity of the Indian cacique to his child, he proceeds thus : A day or two aster, we put to sea again, and crossed the great bay I mentioned we had been at the bottom of when we first hauled away to the westward. The land here was very low and sandy, and something like the mouth of a river which discharged itself into the sea, and which had been taken no notice of by us before, as it was so shallow that the -Indians were obliged to take every thing out of their canoes, and carry it over land. We rowed up the river four or five leagues, and then took into a branch of it that ran first to the eastward, and then to the northward; here it became much narrower, and the stream excessively rapid, so that we gained but little way, though we wrought very hard. At night we landed upon its banks, and had a most uncomfortable lodging, it being a perfect swamp; and we had nothing to cover us, though it rained excessively. The Indians were little better off than we, as there was no wood here to make their wigwams; so that all they could do was to prop up the bark, which they carry in the bottom of their canoes, and shelter themselves as well as they could to the leeward of it, Knowing the difficulties they had to encounter here, they had provided themselves with some seal; but we had not a morsel to eat, after the heavy fatigues of the day, excepting a sort of root we saw the Indians make use of,