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,