CAROLAN’S PROPHECY. BY WILLIAM H. C. HOSMER. (INSCRIBED TO SAMUEL LOVER, ESQ.) The castle hall is lighted— Its roof with music rings, For Carolan is sweeping The clairsheck’s quivering strings; And, catching inspiration From faces fair around, His voice is richer far than gush Of instrumental sound. Of Erin’s banner, green and bright, Of Tara’s mighty kings, Who never to invader knelt, Exultingly he sings; And on the glittering sands that edge The blue and bellowing main, Beneath the blade of Bryan falls The yellow-bearded Dane. The master touches other chords— His brow is overcast— And tears, from his old, withered orbs, Are falling warm and fast: In soul he looks on Athunrée, Disastrous field of gore! The glory of O’Conner’s house Expires to wake no more. As died, in mournful echoings, The wond’rous strain away, Approving smile and word requite The minstrel for his lay; And by the hand of high-born maid The golden cup was filled, Commotion in a heart to hush By grief too wildly thrilled. When tuned to lighter airs of love His harp of magic tone, Quoth Carolan—“What bard will not The sway of Beauty own? Kind hostess! I will now compose A planxty, promised long, In honor of thy daughter fair, Oh! matchless theme for song!” A few preluding notes he woke, So clear and passing sweet, That, timing to the melody, The heart of listener beat; But when the white-haired bard began His tributary lay, The Soul of Music from the strings Wild Discord drove away. Thrice, with the same result, his hand Upon the chords he laid— He turned the keys, but harsher sound The trembling clairsheck made: In honor of the mother, then, A planxty he composed, And perfect was the harmony Until the strain was closed. Then other ladies urged the bard To celebrate their charms, But he replied—“No rapture now My fainting spirit warms; By shadows from another world My soul is clouded o’er— Oh! would that I might never see The light of morning more!” “What gives a paleness to thy cheek, Meet only for the dead— What sorrow weighs upon thy heart?” His noble hostess said: The minstrel whispered in reply— “_The daughter of thy heart,_ _Before the flowers of summer-time_ _Are faded, will depart._” Ere morning dawned, old Carolan Went sadly on his way; To bid green Erin’s Flower farewell He could not, would not stay; But sought, ere vanished many days, That lordly hall again, And through its gateway, moving slow, Defiled a funeral train. NOTE.