Then, Murdoch, shave with easy art!
Whet, Cathal of the Wine Red Hand,
Thy Victor brand, in peaceful part!

Then our shorn heads from weather wild
Shield, Daughter mild of Joachim!
Preserve us from the sun's fierce power,
Mary, soft Flower of Jesse's Stem!





ON THE FLIGHTINESS OF THOUGHT

(A tenth-century poem. See _Eriu_, vol. iii, p. 13)


Shame upon my thoughts, O shame!
How they fly in order broken,
Therefore much I fear for blame
When the Trump of Doom has spoken.

At my psalms, they oft are set
On a path the Fiend must pave them;
Evermore, with fash and fret,
In God's sight they misbehave them.

Through contending crowds they fleet,
Companies of wanton women,