On our brave sires descending, ’Twas then the tempest broke, Their peaceful dwellings rending ’Mid blood, and flame, and smoke. That hallow’d graveyard yonder Swells with the slaughtered dead-- O, brothers! pause and ponder, It was for us they bled; And while their gifts we own, boys-- The fane that tops our hill, O, the Maiden on her throne, boys, Shall be a Maiden still. Nor wily tongue shall move us, Nor tyrant arm affright, We’ll look to One above us, Who ne’er forsook the right; Who will may crouch and tender The birthright of the free, But, brothers, ‘No surrender!’ No compromise for me! We want no barrier stone, boys, No gates to guard the hill, Yet the Maiden on her throne, boys, Shall be a Maiden still! _Charlotte Elizabeth Tonna._ MANGAN CLXXI KINCORA (_From the Irish_) O, where, Kincora! is Brien the Great? And where is the beauty that once was thine? O, where are the princes and nobles that sate At the feast in thy halls, and drank the red wine? Where, O, Kincora? O, where, Kincora! are thy valorous lords? O, whither, thou Hospitable! are they gone? O, where are the Dalcassians of the golden swords? And where are the warriors Brien led on? Where, O, Kincora? And where is Donogh, King Brien’s son? And where is Conàing, the beautiful chief? And Kiàn and Corc? Alas! they are gone; They have left me this night alone with my grief! Left me, Kincora! O, where is Duvlann of the Swift-footed Steeds? And where is Kiàn, who was son of Molloy? And where is king Lonergan, fame of whose deeds In the red battle no time can destroy? Where, O, Kincora! I am MacLaig, and my home is on the lake: Thither often, to that palace whose beauty is fled, Came Brien to ask me, and I went for his sake, O, my grief! that I should live and Brien be dead! Dead, O, Kincora! _James Clarence Mangan._ CLXXII DARK ROSALEEN (_From the Irish_) O! my Dark Rosaleen, Do not sigh, do not weep! The priests are on the ocean green, They march along the deep. There’s wine from the royal Pope, Upon the ocean green; And Spanish ale shall give you hope, My Dark Rosaleen! My own Rosaleen! Shall glad your heart, shall give you hope, Shall give you health, and help, and hope, My Dark Rosaleen! Over hills, and through dales, Have I roamed for your sake; All yesterday I sailed with sails On river and on lake. The Erne at its highest flood I dashed across unseen, For there was lightning in my blood My Dark Rosaleen! My own Rosaleen! O! there was lightning in my blood, Red lightning lightened through my blood, My Dark Rosaleen!