XLI.

Well, she was fair, and Con was bold,
But in the strange, wild days of old;
To one rough hand was oft decreed
The noblest and the blackest deed.
'Twas pride that spurred O'Donnell on,
But still a generous heart had Con;
He wished to show that he was strong,
And not to do a bootless wrong.

XLII.

But now there's neither thought nor time
For generous act or bootless crime;
Far other cares the thoughts demand
Of the small-powerful victor band.
They tramp along the old oak floors,
They burst the strong-bound chamber doors;
In all the pride of lawless power,
Some seek the vault, and some the tower.

XLIII.

And some from out the postern pass,
And find upon the dew-wet grass
Full many a head of dappled deer,
And many a full-eye'd brown-back'd steer,
And heifers of the fragrant skins —
The pride of Antrim's grassy Glynnes, —
Which with their spears they drive along,
A numerous, startled, bellowing throng.

XLIV.

They leave the castle stripped and bare,
Each has his labour, each his share;
For some have cups, and some have plate,
And some have scarlet cloaks of state,
And some have wine, and some have ale,
And some have coats of iron mail,
And some have helms, and some have spears,
And all have lowing cows and steers!

XLV.

Away! away! the morning breaks
O'er Antrim's hundred hills and lakes;
Away! away! the dawn begins
To gild grey Antrim's deepest Glynnes;
The rosy steeds of morning stop
As if to graze on Collin Top:
Ere they have left it bare and grey,
O'Donnell must be far away!

XLVI.

The chieftain, on a raven steed,
Himself the peerless dame doth lead —
Now like a pallid icy corse, —
And lifts her on her husband's horse;
His left hand holds his captive's rein,
His right is on his black steed's mane,
And from the bridle to the ground
Hangs the long leash that binds the hound.

XLVII.

And thus before his victor clan,
Rides Con O'Donnell in the van;
Upon his left the drooping dame —
Upon his right, in wrath and shame,
With one hand free, and one hand tied,
And eyes firm fixed upon his bride,
Vowing dread vengeance yet on Con,
Rides scowling, silent, stern Mac John.

XLVIII.

They move with steps as swift as still,
'Twixt Collin mount and Slemish hill,
They glide along the misty plain,
And ford the sullen muttering Maine;
Some drive the cattle o'er the hills,
And some along the dried-up rills;
But still a strong force doth surround
The chiefs, the dame, the steed, and hound

XLIX.

Thus ere the bright-faced day arose,
The Bann lay broad between the foes.
But how to paint the inward scorn —
The self-reproach of those that morn,
Who waking found their chieftain gone,
Their cattle swept from field and bawn —
Their chieftain's castle stormed and drained,
And, worse than all, their honour stained!

L.

But when the women heard that Anne —
The queen, the glory of the clan,
Was carried off by midnight foes —
Heavens! such despairing screams arose,
Such shrieks of agony and fright,
As only can be heard at night,
When Clough-i-Stookan's mystic rock
The wail of drowning men doth mock!