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, In the temple lighted their banquet up, '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, 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 And grasped Ulvfagre's arm. Then uprose the Danes at last to deliver Their chief, and shouting with one accord, They drew the shaft from its rattling quiver, They lifted the spear and sword, And levelled their spears in rows; But down went axes, and spears, and bows, — The archer's hand on the string was stopped, 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. And the pauses amidst his speech Were as awful as the sound: "Go back, ye wolves, to your dens," he cried, "And tell the nations abroad, 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 "Tell me, captive, why in anguish Foes have dragged thee here to dwell, Where poor Christians as they languish Hear no sound of Sabbath bell?" ""Twas on Transylvania's Bannat, When the Crescent shone afar, Like a pale disastrous planet O'er the purple tide of war "In that day of desolation, "Captive! could the brightest jewel From my turban set thee free?" "Lady, no! the gift were cruel, Ransomed, yet if reft of thee. Say, fair princess! would it grieve thee Nay, bold knight! I would not leave thee Now in Heaven's blue expansion "Fly we then, while none discover! Soon at Rhodes the British lover THE BRAVE ROLAND. THE brave Roland! - the brave Roland! False tidings reached the Rhenish strand, That he had fallen in fight; And thy faithful bosom swooned with pain, 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! |