more: End is, and here is end, and end is sore, And to all lamentation be there end: If I might come on thee, O howling friend! Knowing that sails were drumming on the sea Westward to Eiré, and that help would be Trampling for her upon a Spanish deck, I'd ram thy lamentation down thy neck. 

 

 

 THE LAND OF FÁL 

 If all must suffer equally, and pay In equal share for that sin wrought by Eve, O Thou, if Thou wilt deign to answer, say: Why are the poor tormented? why made grieve The innocent? why are the free enslaved? Why have the wicked peace tho' void of ruth? Why are there none to pity, when, dismayed, And sick with fear, the lamb bleats to the tooth That tears him down? why is the cry unheard Of lonely anguish? why, when the land of Fál Had loved Thee long and well, was she not spared The ruin that hath stamped her under all That mourn and die? 

 

 

 INIS FÁL 

 Now may we turn aside and dry our tears, And comfort us, and lay aside our fears, For all is gone—all comely quality, All gentleness and hospitality, All courtesy and merriment is gone; Our virtues all are withered every one, Our music vanished and our skill to sing: Now may we quiet us and quit our moan, Nothing is whole that could be broke; no thing Remains to us of all that was our own. 

 

 

 OWEN O'NÉILL 

 If poesy have truth at all, If some great lion of the Gael Shall rule the lovely land of Fál; O yellow mast and roaring sail! Carry the leadership for me, Writ in this letter, o'er the sea To great O'Néill. 

 

 

 EGAN O'RAHILLY 

 Here in a distant place I hold my tongue; I am O'Rahilly: When I was young, Who now am young no more, I did not eat things picked up from the shore. The periwinkle, and the tough dogfish At even-time have got into my dish! The great, where are they now! the great had said— This is not seemly, bring to him instead That which serves his and serves our dignity— And that was done. 

 I am O'Rahilly: Here in a distant place I hold my tongue, Who once said all his say, when he was young! 

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