Corpus of Electronic Texts Edition
The Captivity of the Gaels (Author: James Clarence Mangan)

p.52

1
  1. 'Twas by sunset . . . I walked and wandered
    Over hill-sides . . . and over moors,
    With a many sighs and tears.
    Sunk in sadness . . . I darkly pondered
    All the wrongs our . . . lost land endures
    In these latter night-black years.
    'How,' I mused, 'has her worth departed!'
    What a ruin . . . her fame is now!
    We, once freest of the Free,
    We are trampled . . . and broken-hearted;
    Yea, even our Princes . . . themselves must bow
    Low before the vile Shane Bwee!'2
  2. Nigh a stream, in . . . a grassy hollow,
    Tired, at length, I . . . lay down to rest—
    There the birds and balmy air
    Bade new reveries . . . and cheerier follow
    Waking newly . . . within my breast
    Thoughts that cheated my despair.
    Was I waking . . . or was I dreaming?
    I glanced up, and . . . behold! there shone
    Such a vision over me!
    A young girl, bright . . . as Erin's beaming
    Guardian spirit—now sad and lone,
    Through the spoiling of Shane Bwee!

    3. p.53

  3. O, for pencil . . . to paint the golden
    Locks that waved in . . . luxuriant sheen
    To her feet of stilly light!
    (Not the Fleece . . . in ages olden
    Jason bore o'er . . . the ocean green
    Into Hellas, gleamed so bright.)
    And the eyebrows . . . thin arched over
    Her mild eyes, and . . . more, even more
    Beautiful, methought, to see,
    Than those rainbows . . . that wont to hover
    O'er the blue island-lakes of yore
    Ere the spoiling by Shane Bwee!
  4. 'Bard!' she spake, 'deem . . . not this unreal.'
    I was niece of . . . a Pair whose peers
    None shall see on earth again—
    Aeongus Con, and . . . the Dark O'Niall3,
    Rulers over . . . Iern in years
    When her sons as yet were Men.
    Times have darkened . . . and now our holy
    Altars crumble, . . . and castles fall;
    Our groans ring through Christendee.
    Still, despond not! He comes, though slowly
    He, the Man, who shall disenthral
    The Proud Captive of Shane Bwee!'
  5. Here she vanished; . . . and I, in sorrow,
    Bent with joy, rose . . . and went my way
    Homeward over moor and hill.
    O Great God! Thou . . . from whom we borrow
    Life and strength, unto Thee I pray!
    Thou, who swayest at Thy will

    p.54

    Hearts and councils, . . . thralls, tyrants, freemen,
    Wake through Europe . . . the ancient soul,
    And on every shore and sea,
    From the Blackwater to the Dniemen,
    Freedom's Bell will . . . ere long time toll
    The deep death-knell of Shane Bwee!