The Downfall Of The Gael

By O'Gnivt-, bai d of Shan O Neill, circa 156 a And my soul deep in trouble,- -For the mighty arc low, And abased are the noble. The Sons of the Gael Are in exile and Humming, Worn, weary, and pale, As spent pilgrims re-turring Or men who, in flight From the field of disaster, beseech the black night On their ilight to fall faster When their planks gape asunder, And the waves fierce and fast Tumble through in hoarse thunder , That have got their death-omen Such wretches are we Our nobility...

Eileen Aroon

Carol O'Daly, early thirteenth century. ComEj love, and dwell with me, Eileen aroon I'll roam the world with thee, Eileen aroon Down to Terawley free, From this sad house we'll flee, If thou wilt wed with me, Eileen aroon Eileen aroon All fear and doubt shall cease, Eileen aroon. If thou wilt seek my side, If thou wilt be my bride, All matters not beside, Eileen aroon. Eileen aroon Ah do not say me nay, I come, I come to thee, Life of the world to me, Nought holds me, for I flee Thus to thy...

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And who can marvel o'er thy grief, Or who can blame thy flowing tears, Who knows their source O'Donnell, Dunnasava's chief, Cut off amid his vernal years, Lies here a corse Beside his brother Cathbar, whofn Tyrconnell of the Helmets mourns In deep despair For valour, truth, and comely bloom, For all that greatens and adorns, A peerless pair. Oh, had these twain, and he, the third, The Lord of Mourne, O'Niall's son (Their mate in death, A prince in look, in deed, and word), Had these three...

Lament For The Princes Of Tyrone And Tyrconnel

Buried in San Pietro Montorio at Rome Addressed to Nuala, the O'Donnell's sister, by Owen Roe mac an Bhaird (or Ward), the family Bard, in 1608-9. mound of clay With sigh and groan, Would God thou wert among the Gael Thou would'st not then from day to day Weep thus alone. 'Twere long before one could find This loneliness Near where Beann-Boirche's banners wave, Such grief as thine could ne'er have pined Beside the wave in Donegal, In Antrim's glens, or fair Dromore, Or Killilee, On Derry's...

The Saltair Na Rann

Provided that I fall (jrst the measure) for my sins, for my transgression, clearly the greater mercy will thy God shew towards thee. Greatly have we offended the King, said he, said Adam, without contempt, O Wife, I will not commit murder on thee, though I be famished, thorgh I be naked. I will not lift my hand upon my own blood, my own flesh how great scever thy crime, it is from my body thou art It is not fitting for us in any way to outrage Him igain so th t the true Prince, O wife, may not...

The grief of a girls heart

Some of the verses in thi poem are identical with those found in Donall Oge, and also with the poem called Breed Astore' in Dr. Hyde's Love Sorgs of Connaushi. I have omitted those which occur in the former poem and added one quatraiii from the latter, which it would be a pity to leave out. They seem to have been all parts of the same long poem. Here again we have Donall Oge or ' Young Donall as the lover. 0 Donall Oge, if you will go across the sea, Bring myself with you, and do not forget it...

The Song Of The Seven Archangels

Now, Gabriel, be with my heart On this first day of seven, He, first of the Archangels And Thou, High King of Heaven. Michael be mine, if Monday dawn, Michael I call upon, There is none like thee, Michael, None but Jesu, Mary's Son. And oh if Tuesday sorrow bring, Let Raphael help it forth, One of the seven that hears us weep, Sad women of this earth. And Uriel hear, if Wednesday wake, In his nobility, And heal our wounds and care for us And calm this wind-torn sea. And Sariel, should Thursday...

Ancient Pagan Poems

The Source of Poetic Inspiration (founded on translation by Whitley Stokes) 53 Amorgen's Song (founded on translation by John Greeting to the New-born Babe . . . .61 What is Love 62 Laegh's Description of Fairy-land 65 The Lamentation of Fand when she is about to The Song of the Fairies . . . A. H. Leahy 73 The great Lamentation of Deirdre for the Sons of

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The voice of iovc is alilce in every age. It has no date. Having written so far, we begin to wonder whether it was wise or necessary to set so much prose between the reader and the poems which, as we hope, he wishes to read. In an ordinary anthology, the nterruptien of a long preface is a stake and an intrusion, for, more than any other good art, good poetry must explain itself. The mood in which a poem touches us acutely may be recorded, but it cannot be...