If on the day a sterner fate Compelled his flight from Athenree, His blood had flowed, What numbers all disconsolate, Would come unasked, and share with thee Affliction's load! If Derry's crimson field had seen His life-blood offered up, though 'twere On Victory's shrine, A thousand cries would swell the _keen_, A thousand voices of despair Would echo thine. O, had the fierce Dalcassian swarm That bloody night on Fergus' banks But slain our chief, When rose his camp in wild alarm-- How would the triumph of his ranks Be dashed with grief! How would the troops of Murbach mourn If on the Curlew Mountains' day, Which England rued, Some Saxon hand had left them lorn, By shedding there, amid the fray, Their prince's blood! Red would have been our warriors' eyes Had Roderick found on Sligo field A gory grave, No Northern Chief would soon arise, So sage to guide, so strong to shield, So swift to save. Long would Leith-Cuinn have wept if Hugh Had met the death he oft had dealt Among the foe; But, had our Roderick fallen too, All Erin must, alas! have felt The deadly blow! What do I say? Ah, woe is me! Already we bewail in vain Their fatal fall! And Erin, once the Great and Free, Now vainly mourns her breakless chain, And iron thrall! Then, daughter of O'Donnell! dry Thine overflowing eyes, and turn Thy heart aside; For Adam's race is born to die, And sternly the sepulchral urn Mocks human pride! Look not, nor sigh, for earthly throne, Nor place thy trust in arm of clay-- But on thy knees Uplift thy soul to God alone, For all things go their destined way As He decrees. Embrace the faithful Crucifix, And seek the path of pain and prayer Thy Saviour trod! Nor let thy spirit intermix With earthly hope and worldly care Its groans to God! And Thou, O mighty Lord! whose ways Are far above our feeble minds To understand, Sustain us in these doleful days, And render light the chain that binds Our fallen land! Look down upon our dreary state, And through the ages that may still Roll sadly on, Watch Thou o'er hapless Erin's fate, And shield at least from darker ill The blood of Conn! _James Clarence Mangan_ A LAMENTATION FOR THE DEATH OF SIR MAURICE FITZGERALD, KNIGHT OF KERRY _From the Irish_