THE SONG OF GOLL.
O Son of The Red,
Undone and laid dead—
The blood of a hero
My cold blade hath shed.
Who fought me to-day?
Who sought me to slay?—
The son of yon High King
I slew in the fray.
O blade that yon brave
Low laid in the grave,
Ye gladdened the Fians
But grief to Conn gave.
Stone-hearted and strong,
Lone-hearted with long,
Dark brooding, he sought to
Avenge his deep wrong.
Fair Son of The Red,
Care none thou art dead?—
Old Goll of Clan Morna
Will mourn thou hast bled.
O where shall be found
To share with thee round
The halls of Valhalla
Thy glory renowned?
O true as the blade
That slew thee, and made
My fear and thine anger
For ever to fade—
Ah! when upon earth
Again will have birth
A son of such honour
And bravery and worth?
Above thee in splendour
A love that could render
Brave service, burned star-like
And constant and tender.
With fearing my name,
With hearing my fame,
O none would dare combat
With Goll till Conn came? …
O great was thine ire—
The fate of thy sire,
Awaiting thy coming,
Consumed thee like fire.
O Son of The Red,
Undone and laid dead—
The blood of a hero
My cold blade hath shed.