When up there crept and swiftly leapt
A man who stabbed behind--
"'Tis you," he cried, "who stole my bride,
This night shall be your last!" ...
When Fergus fell, the warm, red tide
Of life came ebbing fast ...

_His linen robes are pure and white,
For Fergus More must die to-night!_




CONN, SON OF THE RED.


The Fians sojourned by the shore
Of comely Cromarty, and o'er
The wooded hill pursued the chase
With ardour. 'Twas a full moon's space
Ere Beltane[1] rites would be begun
With homage to the rising sun--
Ere to the spirits of the dead
Would sacrificial blood be shed
In yon green grove of Navity--[2]
When Conn came over the Eastern Sea,
His heart aflame with vengeful ire,
To seek for Goll, who slew his sire
When he was seven years old.