Above thee in splendour
A love that could render
Brave service, burned star-like
And constant and tender.

With fearing my name,
With hearing my fame,
O none would dare combat
With Goll till Conn came? ...

O great was thine ire--
The fate of thy sire,
Awaiting thy coming,
Consumed thee like fire.

O Son of The Red,
Undone and laid dead--
The blood of a hero
My cold blade hath shed.




THE BLUE MEN OF THE MINCH.


When the tide is at the turning and the wind is fast asleep,
And not a wave is curling on the wide, blue Deep,
O the waters will be churning on the stream that never smiles,