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

'Our nimble stag-hounds track'd the way,

Of day-spring rush'd we thro' the glade,

' And saw at dawn the lofty bawn 13

'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, that 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;

• Up-list'ning 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 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!

XI.

• Warm in his death-wounds sepulchred,

Alas! my warrior's spirit brave,

'Dragg'd to their hated mansion back,

How long in thraldom's grasp I lay, 'I know 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,

'Twas but when those grim visages, 'The angry brothers of my race,

Glar'd on each eye-ball's aching throb,

'And check'd my bosom's pow'r to sob;

'Or when my heart with pulses drear,

'Beat like a death-watch to my ear.

14 The Irish lamentation for the dead.

XII.

But Heav'n, 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 rang'd, 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 ravag'd 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,