VII

Ah, brothers! what did it avail,
That fiercely and triumphantly
'Ye fought the English of the pale,
And stemm'd De Bourgo's chivalry?
• And what was it to love and me,

That barons by your standard rode;
Or beal-fires11 for your jubilee,

Upon an hundred mountains glow'd?

"What tho' 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 flow'r its bloom;

11 Fires lighted on May-day on the hill tops by the Irish. Vide the note on stanza VII.

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-" Oh come with me:

"Our bark is on the lake, behold

"Our steeds are fasten'd 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 honey-comb;

"And berries from the wood provide, "And play my clarshech" by thy side.

12 The harp:

"Then come, my love!"- How could I stay?

"Our nimble stag-hounds track'd 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 rush'd we thro' the glade, And saw at dawn the lofty bawn13,

"Of Castle-Connor fade.

'Sweet was to us the hermitage

"Of this unplough'd, untrodden shore: Like birds all joyous from the cage,

For man's neglect we lov'd it more.

' And well he knew, my huntsman dear,

To search the game with hawk and spear;

13. Ancient fortification.

• While I, his evening food to dress, Would sing to him in happiness.

• But oh, thou midnight of despair!

"When I was doom'd to rend my

hair:

"The night, to me of shrieking sorrow!

'The night, to him that had no morrow!

X.

When all was hush'd at even tide,

'I heard the baying of their beagle: 'Be hush'd! my Connocht Moran cried,

''Tis but the screaming of the eagle.

'Alas! 'twas not the eyrie's sound,

Their bloody bands had track'd us out;

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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 cross'd my sheltering arms: 'Another's sword has laid him low

'Another's and another's;

" And every hand that dealt the blow

Aye 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-Oh God! Oh God!

'His life-blood oozing from the sod !