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 In the temple of God lay slain; And where is Aodh's bride? Rocks of the ocean flood! Plunged she not from your heights in pride, In the temple lighted their banquet up, '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, But the torches again burnt bright, And brighter than before, When an aged man of majestic height Enter'd the temple door. Hush'd was the revellers' sound, They were struck as mute as the dead, And their hearts were appall'd by the very sound Of his footsteps' measured tread. Nor word was spoken by one beholder, Whilst he flung his white robe back o'er his shoulder, And stretching his arms-as eath Unriveted Aodh's bands, As if the gyves had been a wreath All saw the stranger's similitude And grasp'd Ulvfagre's arm. Then up rose the Danes at last to deliver Their chief, and shouting with one accord, The archer's hand on the string was stopt, The Saint then gave a signal mute, And though Ulvfagre will'd it not, He came and stood at the statue's foot, Spell-riveted to the spot, Till hands invisible shook the wall, And the tottering image was dash'd Down from its lofty pedestal. On Ulvfagre's helm it crash'd— 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 slaughter'd 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; And I come in the name of the Lord A remnant was call'd together, A doleful remnant of the Gaël, And the Saint in the ship that had brought him hither Took the mourners to Innisfail. Unscathed they left Iona's strand, When the opal morn first flush'd the sky, For the Norse dropt spear, and bow, and brand, And look'd on them silently; Safe from their hiding-places came Orphans and mothers, child and dame: But, alas! when the search for Reullura spread, No answering voice was given, For the sea had gone o'er her lovely head, And her spirit was in Heaven. 1824. THE TURKISH LADY. 'Twas the hour when rites unholy Call'd each Paynim voice to prayer, And the star that faded slowly Left to dews the freshen'd air. Day her sultry fires had wasted, Calm and sweet the moonlight rose; Ev'n a captive spirit tasted Half oblivion of his woes. Then 'twas from an Emir's palace Saw and loved an English knight. "Tell me, captive, why in anguish Foes have dragg'd thee here to dwell, Where poor Christians as they languish Hear no sound of Sabbath bell?" ""Twas on Transylvania's Bannet, When the Crescent shone afar, |