LI.

But thirty steeds are in the town,
And some are like the ripe heath, brown,
Some like the alder berries, black,
Some like the vessel's foamy track;
But be they black, or brown, or white,
They are as swift as fawns in flight,
No quicker speed the sea-gull hath
When sailing through the Grey Man's Path!

LII.

Soon are they saddled, soon they stand,
Ready to own the rider's hand —
Ready to dash with loosened rein
Up the steep hill, and o'er the plain —
Ready, without the prick of spurs,
To strike the gold cups from the furze:
And now they start with winged pace —
God speed them in their noble chase!

LIII.

By this time, on Ben Bradagh's height,
Brave Con had rested in his flight,
Beneath him, in the horizon's blue,
Lay his own valleys of Tirhugh
It may have been the thought of home,
While resting on that mossy dome,
It may have been his native trees
That woke his mind to thoughts like these.

LIV.

" The race is o'er, the spoil is won,
And yet what boots it all I've done?
What boots it to have snatched away
This steed, and hound, and cattle prey?
What boots it, with an iron hand
To tear a chieftain from his land,
And dim that sweetest light that lies
In a fond wife's adoring eyes?

LV.

" If thus I madly teach my clan,
What can I hope from beast or man?
Fidelity a crime is found,
Or else why chain this faithful hound?
Obedience, too, a crime must be,
Or else this steed were roaming free;
And woman's love the worst of sins,
Or Anne were queen of Antrim's Glynnes!

LVI.

" If, when I reach my home to-night,
I see the yellow moonbeam's light
Gleam through the broken gate and wall
Of my strong fort of Donegal —
If I behold my kinsmen slain,
My barns devoid of golden grain,
How can I curse the pirate crew
For doing what this hour I do?

LVII.

" Well, in Columba's blessed name,
This day shall be a day of fame —
A day when Con in victory's hour
Gave up the untasted sweets of power —
Gave up the fairest dame on earth,
The noblest steed that e'er wore girth —
The noblest hound of Irish breed,
And all to do a generous deed. "

LVIII.

He turned and loosed Mac Donnell's hand,
And led him where his steed doth stand;
He placed the bride of peerless charms
Within his longing, outstretched arms;
He freed the hound from chain and band,
Which, leaping, licked his master's hand;
And thus, while wonder held the crowd,
The generous chieftain spoke aloud: —

LIX.

" Mac John, I heard in wrathful hour
That thou in Antrim's Glynnes possessed
The fairest pearl, the sweetest flower,
That ever bloomed on Erin's breast.
I burned to think such prize should fall
To any Scotch or Saxon man,
But find that Nature makes us all
The children of one world-spread clan.

LX.

" Within thy arms thou now dost hold
A treasure of more worth and cost
Than all the thrones and crowns of gold
That valour ever won or lost;
Thine is that outward perfect form,
Thine, too, the subtler inner life,
The love that doth that bright shape warm: —
Take back, Mac John, thy peerless wife!