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| O MOURNFUL, O forsaken pile, | |
| What desolation dost thou dree! | |
| How tarnished is the beauty that was thine erewhile, | |
| Thou mansion of chaste melody! | |
| |
| Demolished lie thy towers and halls; | 5 |
| A dark, unsightly, earthen mound | |
| Defaces the pure whiteness of thy shining walls, | |
| And solitude doth gird thee round. | |
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| Fair fort! thine hour has come at length, | |
| Thine older glory has gone by. | 10 |
| Lo! far beyond thy noble battlements of strength, | |
| Thy corner-stones all scattered lie! | |
| |
| Where now, O rival of the gold | |
| Emania, be thy wine-cups all? | |
| Alas! for these thou now hast nothing but the cold, | 15 |
| Cold stream that from the heavens doth fall! | |
| |
| Thy clay-choked gateways none can trace, | |
| Thou fortress of the once bright doors! | |
| The limestones of thy summit now bestrew thy base, | |
| Bestrew the outside of thy floors. | 20 |
| |
| Above thy shattered window-sills | |
| The music that to-day breaks forth | |
| Is but the music of the wild winds from the hills, | |
| The wild winds of the stormy North! | |
| |
| What spell o’ercame thee, mighty fort, | 25 |
| What fatal fit of slumber strange, | |
| O palace of the wine! O many-gated court! | |
| That thou shouldst undergo this change? | |
| |
| Thou wert, O bright-walled, beaming one, | |
| Thou cradle of high deeds and bold, | 30 |
| The Tara of Assemblies to the sons of Con, | |
| Clan-Connell’s Council-hall of old! | |
| |
| Thou wert a new Emania, thou! | |
| A northern Cruachan in thy might,— | |
| A dome like that which stands by Boyne’s broad water now, | 35 |
| Thou Erin’s Rome of all delight! | |
| |
| In thee were Ulster’s tributes stored, | |
| And lavished like the flowers in May; | |
| And into thee were Connaught’s thousand treasures poured, | |
| Deserted though thou art to-day! | 40 |
| |
| How often from thy turrets high, | |
| Thy purple turrets, have we seen | |
| Long lines of glittering ships, when summer-time drew nigh, | |
| With masts and sails of snow-white sheen! | |
| |
| How often seen, when gazing round | 45 |
| From thy tall towers, the hunting trains, | |
| The blood-enlivening chase, the horseman and the hound, | |
| Thou fastness of a hundred plains! | |
| |
| How often to thy banquets bright | |
| We have seen the strong-armed Gaels repair, | 50 |
| And when the feast was over, once again unite | |
| For battle, in thy bass-court fair! | |
| |
| Alas for thee, thou fort forlorn! | |
| Alas for thy low, lost estate! | |
| It is my woe of woes, this melancholy morn, | 55 |
| To see thee left thus desolate! * * * * * | |
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