---------- {175} Nellie Netterville; Or, One Of The Transplanted. CHAPTER III. "Set is the sun of the Netterville's glory! Down in the dust its bright banners are trailing! Hoarse in our anguish we whisper the story, And men, as they listen, like women are wailing. "Woe! woe to us--woe! we shall see him no more; Our tears like the rains of November are flowing; Woe! woe to us--woe! for the chief we deplore Alone to his exile of sorrow is going. "Alone?--not alone! for our dastardly foemen-- As cruel as base in the day of their power-- Have lifted their hands against maidens and women; Uprooted the tree, and then trampled the flower. "And so they have sent her to weep by strange waters-- The joy of our hearts and the light of our eyes-- The latest and fairest of Netterville's daughters, In whom the last link of their destiny lies. "Sad will be, mother, thy waking to-morrow! Waking to weep o'er thy dove-rifled nest; Widowed and childless--two-fold is thy sorrow. And two-edged the sword that is lodged in thy breast. "Well may we mourn her--when we too deplore her-- The vassals and serfs of thy conquering race; If blood could but do it, our blood should restore her-- Restore her to thee and thy loving embrace. "Yet not for her only, or thee, are we weeping; We weep for our country, fast bound in that chain Which in blood from her wrung heart the foeman is steeping, Till it looks as if reddened and rusted by rain. "Oh! when shall a leader to true hearts be given. To fall on the stranger and force him to flee? And when shall the shackles that bind her be riven? And Erin stand up in her strength, and be free!"