_His Lament for O'Kelly_


There's no dew or grass on Cluan Leathan. The cuckoo is not to be seen
on the furze; the leaves are withering and the trees complaining of
the cold. There is no sun or moon in the air or in the sky, or no light
in the stars coming down, with the stretching of O'Kelly in the grave.

My grief to tell it! he to be laid low; the man that did not bring
grief or trouble on any heart, that would give help to those that were
down.

No light on the day like there was; the fruits not growing; no children
on the breast; there's no return in the grain; the plants don't blossom
as they used since O'Kelly with the fair hair went away; he that used
to forgive us a great share of the rent. Since the children of Usnach
and Deirdre went to the grave, and Cuchulain, who as the stories tell
us, would gain victory in every step he would take; since he died,
such a story never came of sorrow or defeat; since the Gael were sold
at Aughrim, and since Owen Roe died, the Branch.




_His Vision of Death_


I had a vision in my sleep last night between sleeping and waking.
A figure standing beside me, thin, miserable, sad and sorrowful; the