Owl.
Thou truly sayest I lone abide,
I lived with yonder ancient oak,
Whose spreading roots strike deep and wide
Amidst the moss beside the rock;
And long, long years have gone at last,
And thousand moons have o'er me stole,
And many a race before me past,
Still I am Strona's lonely owl!
Hunter.
Now, since old age has come o'er thee,
Confess, as to a priest, thy ways;
And fearless tell thou unto me
The glorious tales of bygone days.
Owl.
Rapine and falsehood ne'er I knew,
Nor grave nor temples e'er have torn,
My youthful mate still found me true—
Guiltless am I although forlorn!
I 've seen brave Britto's son, the wild,
The powerful champion, Fergus, too,
Gray-haired Foradden, Strona's child—
These were the heroes great and true!
Hunter.
Thou hast well began, but tell to me,
And say what further hast thou known!
E'er Donegal abode with thee,
In the Fersaid these all were gone!
Owl.
Great Alexander of the spears,
The mightiest chief of Albyn's race,
Oft have I heard his voice in cheers
From the green hill-side speed the chase;
I saw him after Angus brave—
Nor less a noble warrior he—
Fersaid his home, his work he gave
Unto the Mill of Altavaich.