For the Death of Sir Maurice Fitzgerald, Knight, of Kerry, who was killed in Flanders, 1642.
FROM THE IRISH, BY CLARENCE MANGAN
There was lifted up one voice of woe,
One lament of more than mortal grief,
Through the wide South to and fro,
For a fallen Chief.
In the dead of night that cry thrilled through me,
I looked out upon the midnight air?
My own soul was all as gloomy,
As I knelt in prayer.
O'er Loch Gur, that night, once--twice-yea, thrice--
Passed a wail of anguish for the Brave
That half curled into ice
Its moon-mirroring wave.
Then uprose a many-toned wild hymn in
Choral swell from Ogra's dark ravine,
And Mogeely's Phantom Women
Mourned the Geraldine!
Far on Carah Mona's emerald plains
Shrieks and sighs were blended many hours,
And Fermoy in fitful strains
Answered from her towers.
Youghal, Keenalmeaky, Eemokilly,
Mourned in concert, and their piercing keen
Woke wondering life the stilly
Glens of Inchiqueen.
For the high Milesian race alone
Ever flows the music of her woe!
For slain heir to bygone throne,
And for Chief laid low!
Hark! ... Again, methinks, I hear her weeping
Yonder! is she near me now, as then?
Or was but the night-wind sweeping
Down the hollow glen?
