The strong sons of Ushna,
Who never submitted,
They fell by Deirdre.
NANCY WALSH
It is not on her gown
She fears to tread;
It is her hair
Which tumbles down
And strays
About her ways
That she must care.
And she lives nigh this place:
The dead would rise
If they could see her face;
The dead would rise
Only to hear her sing:
But death is blind, and gives not ear nor eye
To anything.
We would leave behind
Both wife and child,
And house and home;
And wander blind,
And wander thus,
And ever roam,
If she would come to us
In Erris.
Softly she said to me—
Be patient till the night comes,
And I will go with thee.
ANTHONY O'DALY
Since your limbs were laid out
The stars do not shine,
The fish leap not out
In the waves.
On our meadows the dew
Does not fall in the morn,
For O'Daly is dead:
Not a flower can be born,
Not a word can be said,
Not a tree have a leaf;
Anthony, after you
There is nothing to do,
There is nothing but grief.