The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere | ||
X.
‘O King, the battle goes as though
God weighed two nations in His scale;
And now the fates of Eire sink low,
Now theirs that wear the mail:
God weighed two nations in His scale;
And now the fates of Eire sink low,
Now theirs that wear the mail:
‘O King, thy sons, through God's decree,
Are dead—save one, the best of all,
Murrough—and now, ah woe is me!
I see his standard fall!’
Are dead—save one, the best of all,
Murrough—and now, ah woe is me!
I see his standard fall!’
The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere | ||