Chirruped, feeding at thy side,
Taken in their snaring strands,
At the herd-boy's hands she died.

O Thou Framer of our fates,
Not an equal lot have all!
Neighbour's wife and child are spared,
Ours, as though uncared for, fall.

Fairy hosts with blasting death
Breathed on mine a breath abhorred;
Bloodless though their evil ire,
It was direr than the sword.

Woe our wife! and woe our young!
Sorrow-wrung our hearts complain!
Of each fair and faithful one
Tidings none or trace remain!





THE MOTHERS' LAMENT AT THE SLAUGHTER OF THE INNOCENTS

(Probably a poem of the eleventh century. It is written in Rosg metre,
and was first published in _The Gaelic Journal_, May 1891.)


_Then, as the executioner plucked her son from her breast, one of the