Our isle-men arose from slumbers. And buckled on their arms; And with many a woman's wail. They have lighted the islands with ruin's torch, 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, Then Ulvfagre and his bands In the temple lighted their banquet up, And the print of their blood-red hands Was left on the altar cup. '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, And every torch grew dim That lighted their revelry. But the torches again burnt bright, And brighter than before, When an aged man of majestic height Entered the temple door. Hushed was the revellers' sound, They were struck as mute as the dead, And their hearts were appalled by the very sound Of his footsteps' measured tread. Nor word was spoken by one beholder, While he flung his white robe back o'er his shoulder, And stretching his arms-as each Unriveted Aodh's bands, As if the gyves had been a wreath All saw the stranger's similitude Then uprose the Danes at last to deliver Their chief, and shouting with one accord, The archer's hand on the string was stopped, And down, like reeds laid flat by the wind, Their lifted weapons dropped. The Saint then gave a signal mute, And though Ulvfagre willed it not, Till hands invisible shook the wall, On Ulvfagre's helm it crashed Helmet, and skull, and flesh, and brain, It crushed as millstones crush the grain. Then spoke the Saint, whilst all and each And the pauses amidst his speech "Go back, ye wolves, to your dens," he cried, How the fiercest of your herd has died And take with you o'er the flood 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 called together, A doleful remnant of the Gael, 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 flushed the sky, For the Norse dropped spear, and bow, and brand, And looked 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. THE TURKISH LADY. "Twas the hour when rites unholy Called each Paynim voice to prayer, And the star that faded slowly Left to dews the freshened 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 ""Twas on Transylvania's Bannat, Like a pale disastrous planet "In that day of desolation, 66 Captive! could the brightest jewel From my turban set thee free?" "Say, fair princess! would it grieve thee Christian climes should we behold?". "Nay, bold knight! I would not leave thee Were thy ransom paid in gold!" Now in Heaven's blue expansion "Fly we then, while none discover! Tyrant barks, in vain ye ride!" Soon at Rhodes the British lover Clasped his blooming Eastern bride. THE BRAVE ROLAND. THE brave Roland! - the brave Roland! - For the loss of thine own true knight. But why so rash has she ta'en the veil, For her vow had scarce been sworn, 'Twas her own dear warrior's horn! |