A Book of Irish Verse Part 10

'Here, far from camp and chase removed, Apart in Nature's quiet room, The music that alive she loved Shall cheer her in the tomb.

'The humming of the noontide bees, The lark's loud carol all day long, And, borne on evening's salted breeze, The clanking sea-bird's song,

'Shall round her airy chamber float, And with the whispering winds and streams, Attune to Nature's tenderest note The tenor of her dreams.

'And oft, at tranquil eve's decline, When full tides lip the Old Green Plain, The lowing of Moynalty's kine Shall round her breathe again.

'In sweet remembrance of the days When, duteous, in the lowly vale, Unconscious of my Oscar's gaze, She fill'd the fragrant pail,

'And, duteous, from the running brook Drew water for the bath; nor deem'd A king did on her labour look, And she a fairy seem'd.

'But when the wintry frosts begin, And in their long-drawn, lofty flight, The wild geese with their airy din Distend the ear of night,

'And when the fierce De Danaan ghosts At midnight from their peak come down, When all around the enchanted coasts Despairing strangers drown;

'When, mingling with the wreckful wail, From low Clontarf's wave-trampled floor Comes booming up the burthen'd gale The angry Sand-Bull's roar;

'Or, angrier than the sea, the shout Of Erin's hosts in wrath combined, When Terror heads Oppression's rout, And Freedom cheers behind:--

'Then o'er our lady's placid dream, Where safe from storms she sleeps, may steal Such joy as will not misbeseem A Queen of men to feel:

'Such thrill of free, defiant pride, As rapt her in her battle-car At Gavra, when by Oscar's side She rode the ridge of war,

'Exulting, down the shouting troops, And through the thick confronting kings, With hands on all their javelin loops And shafts on all their strings;

'E'er closed the inseparable crowds, No more to part for me, and show, As bursts the sun through scattering clouds, My Oscar issuing so.

'No more, dispelling battle's gloom, Shall son for me from fight return; The great green rath's ten-acred tomb Lies heavy on his urn.

'A cup of bodkin-pencill'd clay Holds Oscar; mighty heart and limb One handful now of ashes grey: And she has died for him.

'And here, hard by her natal bower On lone Ben Edar's side, we strive With lifted rock and sign of power To keep her name alive.

'That while from circling year to year, Her Ogham-letter'd stone is seen, The Gael shall say, "Our Fenians here Entombed their loved Aideen."

'The Ogham from her pillar-stone In tract of time will wear away; Her name at last be only known In Ossian's echo'd lay.

'The long-forgotten lay I sing May only ages hence revive, (As eagle with a wounded wing To soar again might strive,)

'Imperfect, in an alien speech, When, wandering here, some child of chance Through pangs of keen delight shall reach The gift of utterance,--

'To speak the air, the sky to speak, The freshness of the hill to tell, Who, roaming bare Ben Edar's peak And Aideen's briary dell,

'And gazing on the Cromlech vast, And on the mountain and the sea, Shall catch communion with the past And mix himself with me.

'Child of the Future's doubtful night, Whate'er your speech, whoe'er your sires, Sing while you may with frank delight The song your hour inspires.

'Sing while you may, nor grieve to know The song you sing shall also die; Atharna's lay has perish'd so, Though once it thrill'd this sky,

'Above us, from his rocky chair, There, where Ben Edar's landward crest O'er eastern Bregia bends, to where Dun Almon crowns the west:

'And all that felt the fretted air Throughout the song-distempered clime, Did droop, till suppliant Leinster's prayer Appeased the vengeful rhyme.

'Ah me, or e'er the hour arrive Shall bid my long-forgotten tones, Unknown One, on your lips revive Here by these moss-grown stones,

'What change shall o'er the scene have crossed; What conquering lords anew have come What lore-arm'd, mightier Druid host From Gaul or distant Rome!

'What arts of death, what ways of life, What creeds unknown to bard or seer, Shall round your careless steps be rife, Who pause and ponder here;

'And, haply, where yon curlew calls Athwart the marsh, 'mid groves and bowers, See rise some mighty chieftain's halls With unimagined towers:

'And baying hounds, and coursers bright, And burnish'd cars of dazzling sheen, With courtly train of dame and knight, Where now the fern is green.

'Or, by yon prostrate altar-stone May kneel, perchance, and, free from blame, New holy men with rites unknown New names of G.o.d proclaim.

'Let change as may the Name of Awe, Let right surcease and altar pall, The same One G.o.d remains, a law For ever and for all.

'Let change as may the face of earth, Let alter all the social frame, For mortal men the warp of birth And death are still the same.

'And still, as life and time wear on, The children of the waning days, (Though strength be from their shoulders gone To lift the loads we raise,)

'Shall weep to do the burial rites Of lost ones loved; and fondly found, In shadow of the gathering nights, The monumental mound.

'Farewell! the strength of men is worn: The night approaches dark and chill: Sleep, till perchance an endless morn Descend the glittering hill.'

Of Oscar and Aideen bereft, So Ossian's song. The Fenians sped Three mighty shouts to heaven; and left Ben Edar to the dead.

_Sir Samuel Ferguson_

DEIRDRE'S LAMENT FOR THE SONS OF USNACH

_From the Irish_

The lions of the hill are gone, And I am left alone--alone-- Dig the grave both wide and deep, For I am sick, and fain would sleep!

The falcons of the wood are flown, And I am left alone--alone-- Dig the grave both deep and wide, And let us slumber side by side.

The dragons of the rock are sleeping, Sleep that wakes not for our weeping-- Dig the grave, and make it ready, Lay me on my true-love's body.

Lay their spears and bucklers bright By the warriors' sides aright; Many a day the three before me On their linked bucklers bore me.

Lay upon the low grave floor, 'Neath each head, the blue claymore; Many a time the n.o.ble three Reddened these blue blades for me.

Lay the collars, as is meet, Of their greyhounds at their feet; Many a time for me have they Brought the tall red deer to bay.