THE SONG OF GOLL.

O Son of The Red,

Undone and laid dead —

The blood of a hero

My cold blade hath shed.

Who fought me to-day?

Who sought me to slay?—

The son of yon High King

I slew in the fray.

O blade that yon brave

Low laid in the grave,

Ye gladdened the Fians

But grief to Conn gave.

Stone-hearted and strong,

Lone-hearted with long,

Dark brooding, he sought to

Avenge his deep wrong.

Fair Son of The Red,

Care none thou art dead?—

Old Goll of Clan Morna

Will mourn thou hast bled.

O where shall be found

To share with thee round

The halls of Valhalla

Thy glory renowned?

O true as the blade

That slew thee, and made

My fear and thine anger

For ever to fade —

Ah! when upon earth

Again will have birth

A son of such honour

And bravery and worth?

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.