“Dearest, what visions affright you?” said de Ruthven. “When shall the wishes of the people be gratified? What sudden gloom darkens over your countenance?” said her astonished followers. “Say, prophetess, what woe do you denounce against the traitor?” In a low murmuring voice, turning to them, she answered: “When turf and faggots crackling blaze; When fire and torch-lights dimly burn; When kine at morn refuse to graze, And the green leaf begins to turn; Then shall pain and sickness come, Storms abroad, and woes at home. When cocks are heard to crow at ev’n, And swallows slowly ply their wing; When home-bound ships from port are driv’n, And dolphins roll, and mermaids sing; Then shall pain and sickness come, Storms abroad, and woes at home. When the black ox shall tread with his foot On the green growing saplin’s tender root; Then a stranger shall stand in Glenarvon’s hall, And his portals shall blaze and his turrets shall fall. Glenarvon, the day of thy glory is o’er; Thou shalt sail from hence, but return no more. Sound mournfully, my harp; oh, breath a strain, More sad than that which Sion’s daughters sung, When on the willow boughs their harps they hung, And wept for lost Jerusalem! A train More sorrowful before my eyes appear: They come, in chains they come! The hour of fate is near. Erin, the heart’s best blood shall flow for thee. It is thy groans I hear—it is thy wounds I see. Cold sleep thy heroes in their silent grave: The leopard lords it o’er their last retreat. O’er hearts that once were free and brave, See the red banners proudly wave. They crouch, they fall before a tyrant’s feet. The star of freedom sets, to rise no more. Quench’d is the immortal spark in endless night: Never again shall ray so fair, so bright, Arise o’er Erin’s desolated shore.”