Glory (they said) and power and honour
Were in the mansion of O'Connor:
But he, my lov'd one, bore in field
A meaner crest upon his shield.
Ah, brothers! what did it avail,
That fiercely and triumphantly
Ye fought the English of the pale,
And stemm'd De Bourgo's chivalry?
And what was it to love and me,
That barons by your standard rode;
Or beal-fires for your jubilee,
Upon an hundred mountains glow'd.
What tho' the lords of tower and dome
From Shannon to the North sea foam,-
Thought ye your iron hands of pride
Could break the knot that love had tied?
No-let the eagle change his plume,
The leaf its hue, the flow'r its bloom;
But ties around this heart were spun
That could not, would not, be undone!
At bleating of the wild watch-fold
Thus sang my love-" Oh come with me:
"Our bark is on the lake, behold:
"Our steeds are fasten'd to the tree.
"Come far from Castle-Connor's clans-
"Come with thy belted forestere,
"And I, beside the lake of swans,
"Shall hunt for thee the fallow deer;
"And build thy hut and bring thee home
"The wild fowl, and the honey-comb;
"And berries from the wood provide,
"And play my clarsbech by thy side.
"Then come, my love!"-How could I stay?
Our nimble stag-hounds track'd the way,
And I pursued by moonless skies,
The light of Connocht Moran's eyes.
And fast and far, before the star
Of day-spring rush'd we thro' the glade,
And saw at dawn the lofty bawn
Of Castle-Connor fade.
Sweet was to us the hermitage
Of this unplough'd, untrodden shore:
Like birds all joyous from the cage,
For man's neglect we lov'd it more.
Warm in his death-wounds sepulchred,
Alas! my warrior's spirit brave,
Nor mass nor ulla-lulla heard,
Lamenting sooth bis grave.
Dragg'd to their hated mansion back,
How long in thraldom's grasp I lay,
I know not, for my soul was black,
And knew no change of night or day.
One night of horror round me grew;
Or if I saw, or felt, or knew,
'Twas but when those grim visages,
The angry brothers of my race,
Glared on each eye-ball's aching throb,
And check'd my bosom's pow'r to sob;
Or when my heart with pulses drear,
Beat like a death-watch to my ear.
But Heav'n, at last, my soul's eclipse
Did with a vision bright inspire:
I woke, and felt upon my lips
A prophetess's fire.
Thrice in the east a war-drum beat,
I heard the Saxon's trumpet sound,
And rang'd as to the judgment seat
My guilty, trembling brothers round.
Clad in the helm and shield they came;
For now De Bourgo's sword and flaine
Had ravag'd Ulster's boundaries,
And lighted up the midnight skies.
The standard of O'Connor's sway
Was in a turret where I lay :
That standard, with so dire a look,
As ghastly shone the moon and pale,
I gave, that every bosom shook
Beneath its iron mail.
And go! I cried, the combat seek,
Ye hearts that unappalled bore
The anguish of a sister's shriek,
Go!-and return no more!
For sooner guilt the ordeal brand
Shall grasp unhurt, than ye shall hold
The banner with victorious hand,
Beneath a sister's curse unroll'd.
Oh stranger! by my country's loss!
And by my love! and by the cross!
I swear I never could have spoke
The curse that sever'd nature's yoke;
But that a spirit o'er me stood,
And fir'd me with a wrathful mood;
And frenzy to my heart was giv'n,
To speak the malison of heav'n.
They would have cross'd themselves all mute,
They would have pray'd to burst the spell;
But at the stamping of my foot
Each hand down pow'rless fell.
And go to Athunree! I cried,
High lift the banner of your pride!
But know that where its sheets unrolls
The weight of blood is on your souls.
Go where the havoc of the kerne
Shall float as high as mountain fern!
Men shall no more your mansion know!
The nettles on your hearth shall grow!
Dead as the green oblivious flood,
That mantles by your walls, shall be
The glory of O'Connor's blood!
Away! away to Athunree!
Where downward when the sun shall fall
The raven's wing shall be your pall;
And not a vassal shall unlace
The vizor from your dying face!
A bolt that overhung our dome
Suspended till my curse was giv'n,'
Soon as it pass'd these lips of foam
Peal'd in the blood-red heav'n.
Dire was the look that o'er their backs
The angry parting brothers threw;
But now, behold! like cataracts,
Come down the hills in view
O'Connor's plumed partizans,
Thrice ten Innisfallian clans
Were marching to their doom:
A sudden storm their plumage toss'd,
A flash of lightning o'er them cross'd,
And all again was gloom;
But once again in heav'n the bands
Of thunder spirits clapt their hands.
Stranger! I fled the home of grief,
At Connocht Moran's tomb to fall;
I found the helmet of my chief,
His bow still hanging on our wall;
And took it down, and row'd to rove
This desert place a huntress bold;
Nor would I change my buried love
For any heart of living mould.
No! for I am a hero's child,
I'll hunt my quarry in the wild;
And still my home this mansion make,
Of all unheeded and unheeding,
And cherish, for my warrior's sake,
The flower of love lies bleeding."
BIBLICAL AND THEOLOGICAL.
Comprising Biblical Criticism; Theological Criticism; Sacred Morals; Controversial Divinity; Sermons and Discourses; Single Sermons.
I several of our preceding
volumes, we have had occasion to notice the very valuable edition of the New Testament lately published at Halle, by Griesbach, and in a considerable degree patronized and supported with pe. cuniary assistance by a nobleman of our own country. Two subsequent editions of this work have now made their appearance in our own country, independently of an English version; to each of which it becomes us to pay some attention. The first of these productions is entituled "Novum Testamentum Græce. Textum ad fidem Codicum, Versionum, et patrum recensuit, et lectionis varictatem adjecit D. Jo. Jac. Griesbach. Editio secunda, emendatior, multoque completior.
dini apud Petr. Elmsley, et Hale Sax. apud Jo. Jac. Curtii Hæredes." The first edition of this work appeared in two volumes octavo, in 1775 and 1777: the emendations in the copy before ns, adverted to in the title, consist chiefly in the typographical errors which had crept into the preceding text; and its additions are confined almost exclusively to the prolegomena. Every sound scholar and judicious christian must hail an attempt, conducted as the pre
sent is, to settle the sacred text upon a candid and accurate and persevering examination into almost every authority of every country and age. The received edition, which is that of the Elzivirs, published in 1624, has long been known to be erroneous in various places, and suspected to be so in many more; and we are rather surprized, considering the circumstances under which it was arranged, that it should be so free from error, than that it should possess errors of any kind. In the middle ages of the christian church the Greek text was scarcely ever resorted to: the old Italic or the Vulgate, being almost the only forms in which the New Testament was read. To Erasmus we are indebted for a revival of the original in its proper language: he put lished five editions of the New Testament in Greek; the Complutensian Polyglot intervening, under the patronage of Ximenes, and enabling him to correct his two last editions in seve: al places, from its judicious amendments. Erasmus was an excellent scholar, and sound critic, but, his engagement with the printer compelled him to write too hastily, and without sufficient examination. The Complutensian and. the last edition of Erasmus form the basis U
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