LONG they pine in weary woe - the nobles of our land -
Long they wander to and fro, proscribed, alas! and banned;
The Nameless One
ROLL forth, my song, like the rushing river,
That sweeps along to the mighty sea;
God will inspire me while I deliver
My soul of thee!
IN Siberia's wastes
The ice-wind's breath
Woundeth like the toothed steel;
Lost Siberia doth reveal
O’hussey’s Ode To The Maguire
Where is my chief, my master, this bleak night, mavrone?
O cold, cold, miserably cold is this bleak night for Hugh!
Its showery, arrowy, speary sleet pierceth one thro’ and thro’,
Pierceth one to the very bone.
Lament For Banba
O MY land! O my love!
What a woe, and how deep,
Is thy death to my long mourning soul!
God alone, God above,