The clime is Erin's, the green and bland; And it is the time,

These be the days

Of Cáhal Mór of the Wine-red Hand!'

Then I saw thrones

And circling fires,

And a dome rose near me, as by a spell,
Whence flowed the tones

Of silver lyres

And many voices in wreathed swell;
And their thrilling chime

Fell on mine ears

As the heavenly hymn of an angel-band'It is now the time,

These be the years,

Of Cáhal Mór of the Wine-red Hand!

I sought the hall,

And, behold!-a change

From light to darkness, from joy to woe! Kings, nobles, all,

Looked aghast and strange;

The minstrel-group sate in dumbest show!

Had some great crime

Wrought this dread amaze,

This terror? None seemed to understand.

'Twas then the time,

We were in the days,

Of Cáhal Mór of the Wine-red Hand.

I again walked forth;
But lo! the sky

Showed fleckt with blood, and an alien sun

Glared from the north,

And there stood on high,

LAMENT FOR BANBA.

Amid his shorn beams, A SKELETON !

It was by the stream

Of the castled Maine,

One autumn-eve, in the Teuton's land

That I dreamed this dream

Of the time and reign

Of Cáhal Mór of the Wine-red hand!

J. C. MANGAN.

LAMENT FOR BANBA.*

Oн, my land! oh, my love!

What a woe, and how deep

Is thy death to my long-mourning soul!
God alone, God above,

Can awake thee from sleep

Can release thee from bondage and dole!
Alas, alas, and alas,

177

For the once proud people of Banba!

As a tree in its prime,

Which the axe layeth low,

Didst thou fall, O, unfortunate land!

Not by Time, nor thy crime,

Came the shock and the blow.

They were given by a false felon hand!
Alas, alas, and alas,

For the once proud people of Banba!

Oh, my grief of all griefs

Is to see how thy throne

Is usurped, whilst thyself art in thrall!

Other lands have their chiefs,

* Ireland.

Have their kings; thou alone

Art a wife-yet a widow withal.

Alas, alas, and alas,

For the once proud people of Banba!

The high house of O'Neill

Is gone down to the dust,

The O'Brien is clanless and banned;
And the steel, the red steel,

May no more be the trust

Of the faithful and brave in the land!
Alas, alas, and alas,

For the once proud people of Banba!

True, alas! Wrong and wrath

Were of old all too rife,

Deeds were done which no good man admires; And, perchance, Heaven hath

Chastened us for the strife

And the blood-shedding ways of our sires!

Alas, alas, and alas,

For the once proud people of Banba!

But, no more! This our doom,

While our hearts yet are warm,

Let us not over-weakly deplore !
For the hour soon may loom

When the Lord's mighty hand

Shall be raised for our rescue once more!
And our grief shall be turned into joy
For the still proud people of Banba!
Translated by J. C. MANGAN.

THE BRIGHTEST OF THE BRIGHT.

THE BRIGHTEST OF THE BRIGHT.

(ALLEGORICAL.)

179

THE brightest of the bright met me on my path so lonely; The crystal of all crystals was her flashing dark-blue

eye;

Melodious more than music was her spoken language

only;

And glories were her cheeks, of a brilliant crimson dye.

With ringlets above ringlets her hair in many a cluster

Descended to the earth, and swept the dewy flowers; Her bosom shone as bright as a mirror in its lustre ; She seemed like some fair daughter of the celestial

powers.

She chanted me a chant, a beautiful and grand hymn,
Of him who should be shortly Eire's* reigning king—
She prophesied the fall of the wretches who had banned
him ;

And somewhat else she told me which I dare not sing.

Trembling with many fears, I called on Holy Mary,

As I drew nigh this fair, to shield me from all harm ; When, wonderful to tell, she fled far to the fairy

Green mansion of Sliabh Luachra in terror and alarm!

O'er mountain, moor, and marsh, by greenwood, lough, and hollow,

I tracked her distant footsteps with a throbbing heart; Through many an hour and day did I follow on and

( Ow,

Till I reached the magic palace reared of old by Druid

art.

* Erin's.

There a wild and wizard band, with mocking fiendish laughter,

Pointed out me her I sought, who sat low beside a

clown;

And I felt as though I never could dream of pleasure

after

When I saw the maid so fallen whose charms deserved

a crown.

Then, with burning speech and soul, I looked at her, and told her

That to wed a churl like that was for her the shame of shames,

When a bridegroom such as I was longing to enfold her To a bosom that her beauty had kindled into flames.

But answer made she none; she wept with bitter weeping, Her tears ran down in rivers, but nothing could she

say;

She gave me then a guide for my safe and better keeping,— The Brightest of the Bright, whom I met upon the way.

SUMMING UP.

Oh, my misery, my woe, my sorrow and my anguish,
My bitter source of dolor is evermore that she
The Loveliest of the Lovely should thus be left to languish
Amid a ruffian horde till the Heroes cross the sea.
EGAN O'REILLY.

THE FAIR HILLS OF EIRE,* O!

TAKE a blessing from my heart to the land of my birth,
And the fair Hills of Eire, O!

And to all that yet survive of Eibhear's tribe on earth,
On the fair Hills of Eire, O!

* A dissyllable: Erin.