By Grainne, Of high Ben Gulbain in the north, Was Diarmuid lost. 

 The strong sons of Ushna, Who never submitted, They fell by Deirdre. 

 

 

 NANCY WALSH 

 It is not on her gown She fears to tread; It is her hair Which tumbles down And strays About her ways That she must care. 

 And she lives nigh this place: The dead would rise If they could see her face; The dead would rise Only to hear her sing: But death is blind, and gives not ear nor eye To anything. 

 We would leave behind Both wife and child, And house and home; And wander blind, And wander thus, And ever roam, If she would come to us In Erris. 

 Softly she said to me— Be patient till the night comes, And I will go with thee. 

 

 

 ANTHONY O'DALY 

 Since your limbs were laid out The stars do not shine, The fish leap not out In the waves. On our meadows the dew Does not fall in the morn, For O'Daly is dead: Not a flower can be born, Not a word can be said, Not a tree have a leaf; Anthony, after you There is nothing to do, There is nothing but grief. 

 

 

 MARY RUANE 

 The sky-like girl whom we knew! She dressed herself to go to the fair In a dress of white and blue; A white lace cap, and ribbons white She wore in her hair; She does not hear in the night Her mother crying for her, Where, Deep down in the sea, She rolls and lingers to and fro Unweariedly. 

 

 

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