XXIX.

The war was over when King Mac Ceaght fell
And shouts of triumph filled the battle field
Despite of Danaan valour, charm, and spell,

They were obliged by fate at last to yield,
Though even defeat could not that spirit quell;
And they have left for other times to tell
How fiercely they maintained till their last breath
Their independence till it closed in death!

ODE XVII.

The conclusion.

My task is done, my song is o'er,
My clearsach shall be heard no more,
Its strings are broken and unstrung,
Its last expiring note is sung,
And, Phoenix-like, will sink to rest
With music flowing from its breast;
Though coldness, and neglect, and time
Have robbed it of its sweetest chime,
I could not bear to tear away
Its strings without a closing lay
To those dim records of the past,
That in despite of time still last,
And shine along through Erin's page,
'Mellowed and mystified by age,

Like those old towers, which they say,
Lie'neath the billows of Lough Neagh,
But having closed this votive strain,
I ne'er shall wake its strains again,
And only linger on to say

To those who listened to my lay,
Accept those thanks my feelings tell
Are found within that word farewell!

NOTES.