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But oh, 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 eventide,
I heard the baying of their beagle :
Be hushed my Connocht Moran cried,
'Tis but the screaming of the eagle.
Alas! 'twas not the eyrie's sound,
Their bloody bands had tracked us out:
Up-list'ning starts our couchant hound—
And hark! again, that nearer shout
Brings faster on the murderers.

Spare-spare him-Bazil-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-Oh God! Oh 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,

*The Irish lamentation for the dead.

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,
Glared on each eyeball's aching throb,
And checked my bosom's pow'r to sob;
Or when my heart with pulses drear,
Beat like a deathwatch to my ear.

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 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,
I gave, that every bosom shook
Beneath its iron mail.

XIII.

"And go! I cried, the combat seek,
Yet hearts that unappalled 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.
Oh 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 giv'n,
To speak the malison of heav'n.

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 pow'rless 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 heart 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;

*Athunrec, the battle fought in 1314, which decided the fate of Ireland.

And not a vassal shall unlace

The vizor from your dying face!

XV.

"A bolt that overhung our dome
Suspended till my curse was given,
Soon as it passed these lips of foam
Pealed in the blood-red heaven.

Dire was the look that o'er their backs
The angry parting brothers threw ;
But now, hehold! like cataracts,
Come down the hills in view.
O'Connor's plumed partisans,
Thrice ten Innisfallian clans
Were marching to their doom:
A sudden storm their plumage tossed,
A flash of lightning o'er them crossed,
And all again was gloom;

But once again in heaven the bands
Of thunder spirits clapt their hands.

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XVI.

Stranger! I fled the home of grief, At Connocht Moran's tomb to fall; I found the helmet of my chief, His bow still hanging on our wall; And took it down, and vowed to rove This desert place a huntress bold; Nor would I change my buried love For any heart of living mould.

No! for I am a hero's child,

I'll hunt my quarry in the wild;
And still my home this mansion make,
Of all unheeded and unheeding,
And cherish for my warrior's sake,
The flower of love lies bleeding."

LOCHIEL'S WARNING

WIZARD-LOCHIEL.

WIZARD,

LOCHIEL! Lochiel, beware of the day When the Lowlands shall meet thee in battle array! For a field of the dead rushes red on my sight, And the clans of Culloden are scattered in fight: They rally, they bleed, for their kingdom and crown; Wo, wo to the riders that trample them down! Proud Cumberland prances, insulting the slain, And their hoof-beaten bosoms are trod to the plain. But hark! through the fast-flashing lightning of war, What steed to the desert flies frantic and far? "Tis thine, oh Glenullin! whose bride shall await, Like a love-lighted watchfire, all night at the gate. A steed comes at morning: no rider is there; But its bridle is red with the sign of despair. Weep, Albin! to death and captivity led! Oh weep! but thy tears cannot number the dead: For a merciless sword on Culloden shall wave, Culloden! that reeks with the blood of the brave.

LOCHIEL.

Go, preach to the coward, thou death telling seer!
Or, if gory Culloden so dreadful appear,
Draw, dotard, around thy old wavering sight!
This mantle, to cover the phantoms of fright,

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