Classic Poem

I.

Darkly their glibs o'erhang,
Sharp is their wolf-dog's fang,
Bronze spear and falchion clang —
Brave men might shun them
Heavy the spoil they bear —
Jewels and gold are there —
Hostage and maiden fair —
How have they won them?

II.

From the soft sons of Gaul,
Roman, and Frank, and thrall,
Borough, and hut, and hall, —
These have been torn.
Over Britannia wide,
Over fair Gaul they hied,
Often in battle tried, —
Enemies mourn!

III.

Fiercely their harpers sing, —
Led by their gallant king,
They will to E IRE bring
Beauty and treasure.
Britain shall bend the knee —
Rich shall their households be —
When their long ships the sea
Homeward shall measure.

IV.

Barrow and Rath shall rise,
Towers, too, of wondrous size,
Tailtin they'll solemnize,
Feis-Teamhrach assemble.
Samhain and Beal shall smile
On the rich holy isle —
Nay! in a little while
oetius shall tremble!

V.

Up on the glacier's snow,
Down on the vales below,
Monarch and clansmen go —
Bright is the morning.
Never their march they slack,
Jura is at their back,
When falls the evening black,
Hideous, and warning.

VI.

Eagles scream loud on high;
Far off the chamois fly;
Hoarse comes the torrent's cry,
On the rocks whitening.
Strong are the storm's wings;
Down the tall pine it flings;
Hail-stone and sleet it brings —
Thunder and lightning.

VII.

Little these veterans mind
Thundering, hail, or wind;
Closer their ranks they bind —
Matching the storm
While, a spear-cast or more,
On, the front ranks before,
D ATHI the sunburst bore —
Haughty his form.

VIII.

Forth from the thunder-cloud
Leaps out a foe as proud —
Sudden the monarch bowed —
On rush the vanguard;
Wildly the king they raise —
Struck by the lightning's blaze —
Ghastly his dying gazo,
Clutching his standard!

IX.

Mild is the morning beam,
Gently the rivers stream,
Happy the valleys seem;
But the lone Islanders —
Mark how they guard their king!
Hark, to the wail they sing!
Dark is their counselling —
Helvetia's highlanders.

X.

Gather, like ravens, near —
Shall D ATHI'S soldiers fear
Soon their home-path they clear —
Rapid and daring;
On through the pass and plain,
Until the shore they gain,
And, with their spoil, again,
Landed in E IRINN .

XI.

Little does E IRE care
For gold or maiden fair —
" Where is King D ATHI ? — where,
Where is my bravest? "
On the rich deck he lies,
O'er him his sunburst flies —
Solemn the obsequies,
E IRE ! thou gavest.

XII.

See ye that countless train
Crossing Ros-Comain's plain,
Crying, like hurricane,
Uile liu ai? —
Broad is his carn's base —
Nigh the " King's burial-place, "
Last of the Pagan race,
Lieth King D ATHI !