Poems MacCarthy, Florence Denis
Poems MacCarthy, Florence Denis Poems MacCarthy, Florence Denis
120 "Now, by Columba!" Con exclaimed, "Methinks this Scot should be ashamed To snatch at once, in sateless greed, The fairest maid and finest steed; My realm is dwindled in mine eyes, I know not what to praise or prize, And even my noble dog, O Bard, Now seems unworthy my regard!" "When comes the raven of the sea To nestle on an alien strand, Oh! ever, ever will he be The master of the subject land. The fairest dame, he holdeth her-- For him the noblest steed doth bound--; Your dog is but a household cur, Compared to John MacDonnell's hound! "As fly the shadows o'er the grass, He flies with step as light and sure, He hunts the wolf through Trosstan pass, And starts the deer by Lisanoure! The music of the Sabbath bells, O Con, has not a sweeter sound Than when along the valley swells The cry of John MacDonnell's hound. "His stature tall, his body long, His back like night, his breast like snow, His fore-leg pillar-like and strong, His hind-leg like a bended bow; Rough, curling hair, head long and thin, His ear a leaf so small and round: Not Bran, the favourite hound of Fin, Could rival John MacDonnell's hound. "O Con! thy bard will sing no more, There is a fearful time at hand; The Scot is on the northern shore, The Saxon in the eastern land; The hour comes on with quicker flight,
121 When all who live on Irish ground Must render to the stranger's might Both maid and wife, and steed and hound!" The trembling bard again retires, But now he lights a thousand fires; The pent-up flame bursts out at length, In all its burning, tameless strength. You'd think each clansman's foe was by, So sternly flashed each angry eye; You'd think 'twas in the battle's clang O'Donnell's thundering accents rang! "No! by my sainted kinsman,[89] no! This foul disgrace must not be so; No, by the Shrines of Hy, I've sworn, This foulest wrong must not be borne. A better steed!--a fairer wife! Was ever truer cause of strife? A swifter hound!--a better steed! Columba! these are cause indeed!" Again, like spray from mountain rill, Up started Con: "By Collum Kille, And by the blessed light of day, This matter brooketh no delay. The moon is down, the morn is up, Come, kinsmen, drain a parting cup, And swear to hold our next carouse, With John MacJohn MacDonnell's spouse! "We've heard the song the bard has sung, And as a healing herb among Most poisonous weeds may oft be found, So of this woman, steed, and hound; The song has burned into our hearts, And yet a lesson it imparts, Had we but sense to read aright The galling words we heard to-night. "What lesson does the good hound teach?
- Page 69 and 70: 69 And then they braced their two b
- Page 71 and 72: 71 And thus betwixt the twain this
- Page 73 and 74: 73 To fight the fight where my frie
- Page 75 and 76: 75 All these on me in turn shall so
- Page 77 and 78: 77 With such an easy effort that it
- Page 79 and 80: 79 As a huge mill-stone, cracking i
- Page 81 and 82: 81 He to have died and thou to have
- Page 83 and 84: 83 Ah! hapless deed, that still my
- Page 85 and 86: 85 First on the shore, as swift our
- Page 87 and 88: 87 The wave that swallows up the sh
- Page 89 and 90: 89 38. "The plains of Aie" (son of
- Page 91 and 92: 91 This, which it is to be presumed
- Page 93 and 94: 93 Like hooded monks before a dazzl
- Page 95 and 96: 95 I sought the rocky eastern isle,
- Page 97 and 98: 97 At length the long-expected morn
- Page 99 and 100: 99 Hail, spotless Virgin! mildest,
- Page 101 and 102: 101 Knowledge he tracked through ma
- Page 103 and 104: 103 But holding marble basilics and
- Page 105 and 106: 105 Her cold hands chilled the boso
- Page 107 and 108: 107 Bright, even as bright as those
- Page 109 and 110: 109 Rise up to God like morn and ev
- Page 111 and 112: 111 There never falls the rain-clou
- Page 113 and 114: 113 would be always visited and pro
- Page 115 and 116: 115 Sweetly the rising moonbeams pl
- Page 117 and 118: 117 To Desmond of the flowing strea
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- Page 123 and 124: 123 Thus rushed upon the doomed Mac
- Page 125 and 126: 125 Hangs the long leash that binds
- Page 127 and 128: 127 "If, when I reach my home to-ni
- Page 129 and 130: 129 "Thou'st bravely won an Irish b
- Page 131 and 132: 131 MacDonnells was at Glenarm. 85.
- Page 133 and 134: 133 And such was young Paolo! The m
- Page 135 and 136: 135 prayer. At morning when Paolo d
- Page 137 and 138: 137 And are bless'd in the name of
- Page 139 and 140: 139 But the tower in whose shade th
- Page 141 and 142: 141 Burning and withering, its drop
- Page 143 and 144: 143 his soul. For though sweet are
- Page 145 and 146: 145 Still some scenes are yet encha
- Page 147 and 148: 147 Need we say that Maurice loved
- Page 149 and 150: 149 As he sweepeth through the wild
- Page 151 and 152: 151 There's a crowding and a crushi
- Page 153 and 154: 153 100. The lusmore (or fairy cap)
- Page 155 and 156: 155 Advance! Through hope and work
- Page 157 and 158: 157 That can make thee rouse for it
- Page 159 and 160: 159 Still in the battle for Freedom
- Page 161 and 162: 161 Dark was my dream, though many
- Page 163 and 164: 163 Feel life has but one disaster,
- Page 165 and 166: 165 Who all the spring-time of thy
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121<br />
When all who live on Irish ground<br />
Must render to the stranger's might<br />
Both maid and wife, and steed and hound!"<br />
The trembling bard again retires,<br />
But now he lights a thousand fires;<br />
The pent-up flame bursts out at length,<br />
In all its burning, tameless strength.<br />
You'd think each clansman's foe was by,<br />
So sternly flashed each angry eye;<br />
You'd think 'twas in the battle's clang<br />
O'Donnell's thundering accents rang!<br />
"No! by my sainted kinsman,[89] no!<br />
This foul disgrace must not be so;<br />
No, by the Shrines of Hy, I've sworn,<br />
This foulest wrong must not be borne.<br />
A better steed!--a fairer wife!<br />
Was ever truer cause of strife?<br />
A swifter hound!--a better steed!<br />
Columba! these are cause indeed!"<br />
Again, like spray from mountain rill,<br />
Up started Con: "By Collum Kille,<br />
And by the blessed light of day,<br />
This matter brooketh no delay.<br />
The moon is down, the morn is up,<br />
Come, kinsmen, drain a parting cup,<br />
And swear to hold our next carouse,<br />
With John MacJohn MacDonnell's spouse!<br />
"We've heard the song the bard has sung,<br />
And as a healing herb among<br />
Most poisonous weeds may oft be found,<br />
So of this woman, steed, and hound;<br />
The song has burned into our hearts,<br />
And yet a lesson it imparts,<br />
Had we but sense to read aright<br />
The galling words we heard to-night.<br />
"What lesson does the good hound teach?