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The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere

De Vere, Aubrey (1814-1902)

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VOL. I. THE SEARCH AFTER PROSERPINE
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RECOLLECTIONS OF GREECE,
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KING HENRY THE SECOND AT THE TOMB OF KING ARTHUR,
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SONNETS.
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MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.
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SONNETS.
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THE YEAR OF SORROW AND OTHER POEMS.
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SONNETS WRITTEN IN TRAVEL.
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MISCELLANEOUS SONNETS.
 I. 
I.
 II. 
II. ON THE DEATH OF A GOOD KING.
 III. 
III. ON THE FALL OF A USURPER.
 IV. 
IV. POLAND.
 V. 
V. TO THE NOBILITY OF ENGLAND, 1848.
 VI. 
VI. ON A CONVENT.
 VII. 
VII. A CONVENT SCHOOL IN A CORRUPT CITY.
 VIII. 
VIII.
 IX. 
IX. TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.—1.
 X. 
X. TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.—2.
 XI. 
XI. ON A PORTRAIT.
 XII. 
XII. FALSE FRIENDSHIP.
 XIII. 
XIII.
 XIV. 
XIV. THE POETRY OF LIFE.
 XV. 
XV.
 XVI. 
XVI.
 XVII. 
XVII. A POET TO A PAINTER.
 XVIII. 
XVIII. THE FALL OF BACON.
 XIX. 
XIX. GRACE DIEU.
 XX. 
XX. TO S. C.
 XXI. 
XXI. FROM PETRARCH.
 XXII. 
XXII. FROM PETRARCH.
 XXIII. 
XXIII. FROM PETRARCH.
 XXIV. 
XXIV. IN MEMORY OF SIR WILLIAM R. HAMILTON.—1.
 XXV. 
XXV. AFTER READING AGAIN HIS LETTERS.—2.
 XXVI. 
XXVI. TRUE AND FALSE LOVE OF FREEDOM. 1860.
 XXVII. 
XXVII. NATIONAL APOSTACY.
 XXVIII. 
XXVIII.
  
TO IRELAND.
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THE BATTLE OF CLONTARF;
 I. 
I.
 II. 
II.
 III. 
III.
 IV. 
IV.
 V. 
V.
 VI. 
VI.
 VII. 
VII.
 VIII. 
VIII.
 IX. 
IX.
 X. 
X.
 XI. 
XI.
 XII. 
XII.
  
THE BARD ETHELL.
  
THE SISTERS; OR, WEAL IN WOE.
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VOL. II.
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VOL. III.
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VOL. IV.
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VOL. V.
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VOL. VI. LEGENDS AND RECORDS OF THE CHURCH AND THE EMPIRE

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XI.

It fell: but as it fell, above
Through lightning-lighted skies on drove
A thousand heavenly standards, dyed
In martyrdom's ensanguined tide;
And every tower, and town, and fane
That blazed of old round Erin's shore,
Down crashed, it seemed, in heaven again;
So dire that thunder's roar!
336

The wrath had come: the Danes gave way;
For Brian's prayer had power that day;
Seaward they rushed, the race abhorred;
The sword of prayer had quelled their sword.
So fled they to the ship-thronged coast;
But, random-borne through Tolga's glade,
A remnant from that routed host
Rushed by where Brian prayed;
And, swinging forth his brand, down leap'd
Black Brodar, he that foremost rode,
And from the kingly shoulders swept
The old head, praising God;
And cried aloud, ‘Let all men tell
That Brodar, he that leagues with Hell,
That Brodar of the magic mail
Slew Brian of the Gael.’
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