XI.

Now on the oaks of Faughanvail,
Dashed in cold globules by the gale,
The pendant thunder-drops of night
Glittered like gems in orient light.
Now vanished from the chieftain's room
The winking lamp's propitious gloom,
And on the fair one as she lay,
Morn's golden tell-tale shot his ray.
Ah! when did sun declining leave
No swain forsworn 'twixt dawn and eve?
When did the day-spring's glimmer find,
'Twixt eve and dawn, no woman's mind
Had veered, like Dunfanaghy's wind?
Bent blushing o'er the chieftain's neck,
Thus spoke the Lady of the Wreck: —

XII.

" Oh! mighty chief! oh! potent man!
Send me not now to Thady Rann!
What though (when from my native Isle
He sailed, where he had moored awhile)
I rashly pledged my maiden truth
To follow soon that Ulster youth;
Then left my home, his home to seek,
Near the cascades of moist Belleek;
What though he hoped the last night's tide
Would waft into his arms a bride;
If now such silly bonds I burst,
'Twas he was the deceiver first;
'Twas Thady Rann decoyed and played
Upon the greenness of a maid;
Who by her ancient parents mewed
Scarce any face but his had viewed;
And gazed, in ignorant surprise,
On his red locks and vacant eyes.
Sudden my change! but tell me true,
(For, oh! I feel 'tis wrought by you!)
Does female judgment, as 'tis called
By all the wrinkled and the bald,
Creep o'er the mind by dull degrees?
Is judgment slow in growth as trees?
Or comes it not, like lightning's flame,
Darting direct into our frame?
Sure 'tis the last; and sure since night
My hour's arrived to judge aright.
And why, discernment's heights to climb,
Must woman mount the steps of time?
Age grasps, with her experienced lore,
But what young talent grasps before;
And no more knows the matron dunce
Than penetration shows at once.
Oh! chief! since shipwrecked on your shore,
I feel myself myself no more,
Since I am now another I,
Here let me ever live and die? "

XIII.

The hunter who upon the sands
Of Innisfallen's islet stands,
And marks the stag from steepy wood
Plunge panting in Killarney's flood,
While mountains on whose shaggy head
Clouds from the vast Atlantic spread,
Re-echo to the mellow sounds
Of merry horns and opening hounds,
The hunter then feels less delight
Than now did Blarneygig's gay knight.
" Darling! " he said, " when Thady Rann
Bothered you in the Isle of Man,
You knew not, 'tis exceeding plain,
Sir Tooleywhagg O'Shaughnashane;
Knew not what difference must be
'Twixt that Belleek Spalpeen and me;
Then let not on your conscience fall
The smallest qualm at all, at all;
For your request, I know not I,
How while you ever live you'll die;
Unless you make (the heart o'erful)
What strangers call an Irish bull;
If so, then live with me you may,
And living, die the Irish way. "
The castle's mistress now arrayed,
The Lady of the Wreck was made;
Soon did the deep Cream Crutin twang,
And thus as loud the chorus rang,
The vassals at the banquet sang.