_Sleep, O sleep, I'll sing to thee—
Moolachie, O moolachie.
Sleep, O sleep, like yon grey stone,
Moolachie, mine own.
Sleep, O sleep, nor sigh nor fret ye,
And the goblins will not get ye,
I will shield ye, I will pet ye—
Moolachie, mine own._
The mother sang, the gentle babe made moan—
And Garry heard them with a heart of stone …
With fiendish laugh, he saw the leaping flames
Possess the pyre; he heard the shrieking dames,
And maids and children, wailing in the gloom
Of smothering smoke, e'er they had met their doom.
Then when the high stockade was blazing red,
Ere yet their cries were silenced, Garry fled,
And westward o'er the shouldering hills he sped.
VI.
A broad, faint twilight lingered to unfold
The sun's slow-dying beams of tangled gold,
And the long, billowy hills, in gathering shade,
Their naked peaks and ebon crags displayed
Sharp-rimmed against the tender heaven and pale;
And misty shadows gathered in the vale—
When Caoilte to Knockfarrel came, and saw
Amid the dusk, with sorrow and with awe,
The ruins of their winter dwelling laid
In smouldering ashes; while the high stockade
Around the rocky wall, like ragged teeth,
Was crackling o'er the melting stones beneath,
Still darting flame, and flickering in the breeze.
He sped towards the wood, and through the trees
Called loud for those who perished. On his fair
And gentle spouse he called in his despair.
His sweet son, and his sire, whose hair was white
As Wyvis snow, he called for in the night.
Full loud and long across the Strath he cried—
The echoes mocked him from the mountain side.
Ah! when his last hope faded like the wave
Of twilight ebbing o'er the hills, he gave
His heart to utter grief and deep despair;
And the cold stars peer'd down with pitiless stare,
While sank the wind in silence on its flight
Through the dark hollows of the spacious night;
And distant sounds seem'd near. In his dismay
He heard a Fian calling far away.
The night-bird answered back with dismal cry,
Like to a wounded man about to die—
But Caoilte's lips were silent … Once again
And nearer, came the voice that cried in vain.
Then swift steps climbed Knockfarrel's barren steep,
And Alvin called, with trembling voice and deep,
To Caoilte, crouching low, with bended head,
"Who liveth?" … "I am here alone," he said …
Thus Fian after Fian came to share
Their bitter grief, in silence and despair.
All night they kept lone watch, until the dawn
With stealthy fingers o'er the east had drawn
Its dewy veil and dim. Then Finn arose
From deep and sleepless brooding o'er his woes,
And spake unto the Fians, "Who shall rest
While flees our evil foeman farther west?
Arise!" … "But who hath done this deed?" they sighed;
And Finn made answer, "Garry." … Then they cried
For vengeance swift and terrible, and leapt
To answer Finn's command.
A cold wind swept
From out the gates of morning, moaning loud,
As swift they hastened forth. A ragged shroud
Of gathering tempest o'er Ben-Wyvis cast
A sudden gloom, and round it, falling fast,
It drifted o'er the darkened slopes and bare,
And snow-flakes swirled in the chill morning air—
Then o'er the sea, the sun leapt large and bright,
Scatt'ring the storm. And moor and crag lay white,
As westward o'er the hills the Fians all
In quest of Garry sped.
At even-fall
They found him … On the bald and rocky side
Of steep Scour-Vullin, Garry lay to hide
Within a cave, which, backward o'er the snow,
He entered, that his steps might seem to show
He had fled eastward by the path he came.
All day he sought to flee them in his shame,
Watching from lofty crag or deep ravine,
And crouching in the heath, with haggard mien—
He sought in vain to hide till darkness cast
Its blinding cloak betwixt them.