Three Irish Bardic Tales Being Metrical Versions of the Three Tales known as The Three Sorrows of Story-telling. By John Todhunter |
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 | Three Irish Bardic Tales |  |
And fair and terrible she looked that morn. She seemed
A phantom of the morn, as on swiftly she strode,
Singing, over the Green, with feet that trembled not
Nor stayed; o'er gory heaps of dead men, slain for her—
Her own blood on her breast, their blood upon her feet
And on her sweeping skirts. The dead appalled her not—
She saw them not, but still fled from the living eye,
To the hills away. From far she saw where on the plain
They dug in the green grass three black-mouthed graves. She saw,
And shed no tear; but on she hastened by the way
Towards Dundalgan, on, with Gaier in her arms.
A phantom of the morn, as on swiftly she strode,
Singing, over the Green, with feet that trembled not
Nor stayed; o'er gory heaps of dead men, slain for her—
Her own blood on her breast, their blood upon her feet
And on her sweeping skirts. The dead appalled her not—
She saw them not, but still fled from the living eye,
To the hills away. From far she saw where on the plain
They dug in the green grass three black-mouthed graves. She saw,
And shed no tear; but on she hastened by the way
Towards Dundalgan, on, with Gaier in her arms.
| Three Irish Bardic Tales | |