bird may be. 

 The languid are made strong, the strong grow stronger, There is no grievance here, and no distress, The woeful are not woeful any longer, The rose hath put on her a finer dress, And every girl to bloom adds bloom again, And every man hath heart beyond all men. 

 For the Star of Munster, Pearl of the Golden Bough, Comes joyfully this day of days to wed Her choice of all whom fame hath loved till now, And who chose her from all that love instead: The Joy of the Flock, the Bud of the Branch is she, Crown of the Irish Pride and Chivalry. 

 He is a chief and prince, well famed is he, The love of thousands unto him does run; And all days were before and all will be, He was and will be loved by every one; And she and he be loved by all no less Who courage love, and love, and loveliness. 

 The nobles of the province take their wine, And drink a merry health to groom and bride; They shall be drunken ere the sun decline, And all their merrymaking lay aside In deep, sweet sleep that seals a merry day Until the dawn, when they shall ride away, 

 Leaving those two who now are one behind. O Moon! pour on the silence all thy beams, And for this night be beautiful and kind; Weave in their sleep thy best and dearest dreams; And fortune them in their own land to be Safe from all evil chance, and from all enmity. 

 

 

 CLANN CARTIE 

 My heart is withered and my health is gone, For they who were not easy put upon, Masters of mirth and of fair clemency, Masters of wealth and gentle charity, They are all gone. Mac Caura Mor is dead, Mac Caura of the Lee is finished, Mac Caura of Kanturk joined clay to clay And gat him gone, and bides as deep as they. 

 Their years, their gentle deeds, their flags are furled, And deeply down, under the stiffened world, In chests of oaken wood are princes thrust, To crumble day by day into the dust A mouth might puff at; nor is left a trace Of those who did of grace all that was grace. 

 O Wave of Cliona, cease thy bellowing! And let mine ears forget a while to ring At thy long, lamentable misery: The great are dead indeed, the great are dead; And I, in little time, will stoop my head And put it under, and will be forgot With them, and be with them, and thus be not: Ease thee, cease thy long keening, cry no 

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