This was a distinguished company; and it is certain that the sea has not borne and the wind has not wafted in modern times a number of persons in one ship more eminent, illustrious or noble, in point of genealogy, heroic deeds, valour, feats of arms, and brave achievements, than they. Would that God had but permitted them to remain in their patrimonial inheritances until the children should arrive at the age of manhood! Woe to the heart that meditated, woe to the mind that conceived, woe to the council that recommended the project of this expedition, without knowing whether they should, to the end of their lives, be able to return to their native principalities or patrimonies.” AN ELEGY ON THE TIRONIAN AND TIRCONNELLIAN PRINCES BURIED AT ROME. “A bhean fuair faill air an ffeart!” O, Woman of the Piercing Wail, Who mournest o’er yon mound of clay With sigh and groan, Would God thou wert among the Gael! Thou wouldst not then from day to day Weep thus alone. ’Twere long before, around a grave In green Tirconnell, one could find This loneliness; Near where Beann-Boirche’s banners wave Such grief as thine could ne’er have pined Companionless. Beside the wave, in Donegall, In Antrim’s glens, or fair Dromore, Or Killilee, Or where the sunny waters fall, At Assaroe, near Erna’s shore, This could not be. On Derry’s plains--in rich Drumclieff-- Throughout Armagh the Great, renowned In olden years, No day could pass but Woman’s grief Would rain upon the burial-ground Fresh floods of tears! O, no!--from Shannon, Boyne, and Suir, From high Dunluce’s castle-walls, From Lissadill, Would flock alike both rich and poor, One wail would rise from Cruachan’s halls To Tara’s hill; And some would come from Barrow-side, And many a maid would leave her home On Leitrim’s plains, And by melodious Banna’s tide, And by the Mourne and Erne, to come And swell thy strains! O, horses’ hoofs would trample down The Mount whereon the martyr-saint[1] Was crucified. From glen and hill, from plain and town, One loud lament, one thrilling plaint, Would echo wide. There would not soon be found, I ween, One foot of ground among those bands For museful thought, So many shriekers of the _keen_[2] Would cry aloud, and clap their hands, All woe-distraught!