The Highland monthly - National Library of Scotland

502 The His[hland Monthly.
" Thy pale form evermore shall stand
Before my eyes, O Diarmad dear,
But I shall miss thy helpful hand,
Thy ever ready cheer.
Drear days and cold remain to me,
My life creeps darkling to its close,
Like thine it ends by treachery.
Not facing valiant foes.
" In war or peace, on land or sea,
No more thou goest where we go ;
The gallant band may cry for thee.
But Diarmad ne'er shall know.
We dig thy grave beside the stream,
Thy spear and shield across tny breast
We go, but thou wilt sleep or dream
For aye in perfect rest."
By River Glass the alders gleam,
By Conas Falls the poplars wave.
The curlews cry, the plovers scream,
Around the hero's grave.
At eve loud sounds come down the glen,
No wind stirs in the listening sky.
And softly speak the aged men :
" The Fians' hunting cry."
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