TRANSLATIONS BY S. FERGUSON, M.R.I.A.*

DEIRDRE'S LAMENT FOR THE SONS OF USNACH.†

The lions of the hill are gone,
And I am left alone-alone;

Dig the grave both wide and deep,

For I am sick, and fain would sleep.

* As all the remaining pieces are by this gentleman, the repetition of the name at each is unnecessary.

It would far exceed the due limits of a note to give a detailed account of the story of Deirdre, and the death of the three sons of Usneach, or Usnoth. It forms one of three famous tragic stories of Irish history. The three brothers, Naoise, Ainle, and Ardan, noticed in this volume, pp. 13-16, as the kinsmen of Cuchullin, were among the most renowned of the knights of the Red Branch. As there has never been any great event in the world's history, from the siege of Troy downwards, without having a daughter of Eve at the bottom of it, so it was in the present story. Deirdre was a lady of extraordinary beauty, of whom it was foretold at her birth that her charms would be fatal to the royal house of Emania. The king, Conor Mac Nessa, however, supposing that this could only be by her marrying some dangerous rival, resolved (in order to prevent such a catastrophe, and to get possession of such charms) to wed her himself. With this view, he had her confined from childhood in a solitary tower, without being permitted to have intercourse with any human being except her attendants. Just, however, as the king contemplated making her his bride, she eloped, by the aid of her attendant, with one of the sons of Usnoth, who fled with her to the Hebrides, accompanied by his two brothers, and a chosen band of faithful followers. After they had remained there for some time, the king professed to have become reconciled, and sent over a pardon, and a pledge of safety, if they returned to Emania. Deirdre was induced by the sons of Usnoth, very reluctantly, to comply, as she had a presentiment of treachery. Meantime, the king had made arrangements by which he knew they must inevitably break the letter of the terms of free conduct which he had offered. On this pretext, when they arrived at Emania, an attack was made upon them at great disadvantage, and they and their followers, after a gallant defence, were barbarously murdered. This infamous proceeding alienated from the king the best supporters of his throne, and ultimately accomplished the prediction in the downfall of his house.

The falcons of the wood are flown,
And I am left alone-alone;
Dig the grave both deep and wide,
And let us slumber side by side.

The dragons of the rock are sleeping—
Sleep that wakes not for our weeping;
Dig the grave, and make it ready,
Lay me on my true love's body.

Lay their spears and bucklers bright
By the warriors' sides aright;
Many a day the three before me
On their linked bucklers bore me.

Lay upon the low grave floor,
'Neath each head, the blue claymore;

Many a time the noble three
Reddened these blue blades for me.

Lay the collars, as is meet,

Of their greyhounds at their feet;
Many a time for me have they
Brought the tall red deer to bay.

In the falcon's jesses throw
Hook and arrow, line and bow;
Never again by stream or plain
Shall the gentle woodsmen go.

Sweet companions, were ye ever
Harsh to me, your sister?-never.
Woods, and wilds, and misty valleys,
Were with you as good's a palace.

Oh! to hear my true love singing,
Sweet as sounds of trumpets ringing;
Like the sway of ocean swelling,

Rolled his deep voice round our dwelling.

Oh! to hear the echoes pealing
Round our green and fairy shealing,
When the three, with soaring chorus,
Made the sky-lark silent o'er us.

Echo, now sleep morn and even—
Lark, alone enchant the heaven;
Ardan's lips are scant of breath,
Naisi's tongue is cold in death.

Stag, exult on glen and mountain,
Salmon, leap from loch to fountain;
Heron, in the free air warm ye,
Usnach's sons no more will harm ye.

Erin's stay no more ye are,
Rulers of the ridge of war;
Never more 'twill be your fate
To keep the beam of battle straight.

Woe is me! by fraud and wrong,
Traitors false, and tyrants strong,
Fell Clan Usnach bought and sold,
For Barach's feast and Conor's gold.

Woe to Eman, roof and wall!
Woe to Red Branch, hearth and hall!
Tenfold woe and black dishonour
To the foul and false Clan Conor.

Dig the grave both wide and deep,
Sick I am, and fain would sleep!
Dig the grave and make it ready,

Lay me on my true love's body.

O'BYRNE'S BARD TO THE CLANS OF

WICKLOW.

God be with the Irish host!
Never be their battle lost!
For, in battle, never yet
Have they basely earned defeat.

Host of armour, red and bright,
May ye fight a valiant fight!
For the green spot of the earth,
For the land that gave you birth.

Who in Erin's cause would stand,
Brothers of the avenging band,
He must wed immortal quarrel,
Pain, and sweat, and bloody peril.

On the mountain, bare and steep,
Snatching short, but pleasant sleep,
Then, ere sunrise, from his eyrie,
Swooping on the Saxon quarry.

What although you've failed to keep
Liffey's plain or Tara's steep,

P

Cashel's pleasant streams to save,
Or the meads of Cruachan Maev.

Want of conduct lost the town,
Broke the white-walled castle down;
Moira lost, and old Taltin,

And let the conquering stranger in.

"Twas the want of right command, Not the lack of heart or hand,

Left your hills and plains to-day 'Neath the strong Clan Saxon's sway.

Ah, had heaven never sent
Discord for our punishment,
Triumphs few o'er Erin's host
Had Clan London now to boast.

Woe is me, 'tis God's decree
Strangers have the victory:
Irishmen may now be found
Outlaws upon Irish ground.

Like a wild beast in his den,
Lies the chief, by hill and glen,
While the strangers, proud and savage
Creevan's richest valleys ravage.

Woe is me, the foul offence,
Treachery and violence,

Done against my people's rights—
Well may mine be restless nights!