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XXXI.

Again, like spray from mountain rill,
Up started Con: — " By Collum Kille,
And by the blessed light of day,
This matter brooketh no delay.
The moon is down — the morn is up —
Come, kinsmen, drain a parting cup,
And swear to hold our next carouse,
With John Mac John Mac Donnell's spouse!

XXXII

" We've heard the song the Bard has sung,
And as a healing herb among
Most poisonous weeds may oft be found,
So of this woman, steed, and hound,
The song has burned into our hearts,
And yet a lesson it imparts,
Had we but sense to read aright
The galling words we heard to-night.

XXXIII

" What lesson does the good hound teach?
Oh! to be faithful each to each!
What lesson gives the noble steed?
Oh! to be swift in thought and deed!
What lesson gives the peerless wife?
Oh! there is victory after strife;
Sweet is the triumph, rich the spoil,
Pleasant the slumber after toil! "

XXXIV.

They drain the cup, they leave the hall,
They seek the armoury and stall,
The shield re-echoing to the spear
Proclaims the foray far and near;
And soon around the castle gate
Full sixty steeds impatient wait,
And every steed a knight upon —
The strong small-powerful force of Con!

XXXV.

Their lances in the red dawn flash,
As down by Easky's side they dash;
Their quilted jackets shine the more,
From gilded leather broidered o'er;
With silver spurs, and silken rein,
And costly riding-shoes from Spain; —
Ah! much thou hast to fear, Mac John,
The strong small-powerful force of Con!

XXXVI.

As borne upon autumnal gales,
Wild whirring gannets pierce the sails
Of barks that sweep by Arran's shore,
Thus swept the train through Barnesmore
Through many a varied scene they ran,
By Castle Fin, and fair Strabane,
By many a hill, and many a clan,
Across the Foyle and o'er the Bann: —

XXXVII.

Then stopping in their eagle flight,
They waited for the coming night,
And then, as Antrim's rivers rush
Straight from their founts with sudden gush,
Nor turn their strong, brief streams aside,
Until the sea receives their tide, —
Thus rushed upon the doomed Mac John
The swift small-powerful force of Con!

XXXVIII.

They took the castle by surprise,
No star was in the angry skies,
The moon lay dead within her shroud
Of thickly folded ashen cloud;
They found the steed within his stall,
The hound within the oaken hall,
The peerless wife of thousand charms,
Within her slumbering husband's arms:

XXXIX.

The Bard had pictured to the life
The beauty of Mac Donnell's wife.
Not Evir could with her compare
For snowy hand and shining hair;
The glorious banner morn unfurls
Were dark beside her golden curls,
And yet the blackness of her eye
Was darker than the moonless sky!

XL.

If lovers listen to my lay,
Description is but thrown away;
If lovers read this antique tale,
What need I speak of red or pale?
The fairest form and brightest eye
Are simply those for which they sigh;
The truest picture is but faint
To what a lover's heart can paint.
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