Listening that wail, was altered, and he spake:
"These were the Voices that I heard when stood
By night beside me in that southern land
God's angel, girt for speed. Letters he bare
Unnumbered, full of woes. He gave me one,
Inscribed, 'The Wailing of the Irish Race;'
And as I read that legend on mine ear
Forth from a mighty wood on Erin's coast
There rang the cry of children, 'Walk once more
Among us; bring us help!'" Thus Patrick spake:
Then towards that wailing paced with forward head.

Ere long they came to where a river broad,
Swiftly amid the dense trees winding, brimmed
The flower-enamelled marge, and onward bore
Green branches 'mid its eddies. On the bank
Two virgins stood. Whiter than earliest streak
Of matin pearl dividing dusky clouds
Their raiment; and, as oft in silent woods
White beds of wind-flower lean along the earth-breeze,
So on the river-breeze that raiment wan
Shivered, back blown. Slender they stood and tall,
Their brows with violets bound; while shone, beneath,
The dark blue of their never-tearless eyes.
Then Patrick, "For the sake of Him who lays
His blessing on the mourners, O ye maids,
Reveal to me your grief--if yours late sent,
Or sped in careless childhood." And the maids:
"Happy whose careless childhood 'scaped the wound:"
Then she that seemed the saddest added thus: