THERE beams no light from thy hall to-night, Oh House of Fame; No mead-vat seethes and no smoke upwreathes O'er the hearth's red flame; No high bard sings for the joy of thy kings, And no harpers play; No hostage moans at thy dungeon rings As in Muircherteach's day. Fallen! fallen! to ruin all in The covering mould; The painted yew, and the curtains blue, And the cups of gold; The linen, yellow as the corn when mellow, That the princes wore; And the mirrors brazen for your queens to gaze in, They are here no more. The sea-bird's pinion thatched Gormlai's grianan; And through windows clear, Without crystal pane, in her Ard-righ's reign She looked forth from here. There were quilts of eider on her couch of cedar; And her silken shoon Were as green and soft as the leaves aloft On a bough in June. Ah, woe unbounded! where the harp once sounded The wind now sings; The grey grass shivers where the mead in rivers Was outpoured for kings; The min and the mether are lost together With the spoil of the spears; The strong dun only has stood dark and lonely Through a thousand years. But I am not in woe for the wine-cup's flow, For the banquet's cheer, For tall princesses with their trailing tresses And their broidered gear; My grief and my trouble for this palace noble With no chief to lead 'Gainst the Saxon stranger on the day of danger Out of Aileach Neid. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...SONGS AND THE POET (FOR SARA TEASDALE) by LOUIS UNTERMEYER BEPPO: A VENETIAN STORY by GEORGE GORDON BYRON L'EAU DORMANTE by THOMAS BAILEY ALDRICH THE INDIAN by ARTHUR STANLEY BOURINOT RICHMOND PARK by PATRICK REGINALD CHALMERS CLAM DIGGERS ON IPSWICH FLATS by JENNIE F. CHASE |