 | The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere |  |
XXIX. THE RUINS OF EMANIA, NEAR ARMAGH.
Why seek ye thus the living 'mid the dead?Beneath that mound, within yon circle wide,
Emania's palace, festive as a bride
For centuries six, had found its wormy bed
When here Saint Patrick raised his royal head
And round him gazed. Perhaps the Apostle sighed
Even then, to note the fall of mortal pride:
Full fourteen hundred years since then have fled!
Then, too, old Ulster's hundred kings were clay;
Then, too, the Red Branch warriors slept forlorn;
Autumn, perhaps as now a pilgrim grey,
Counted her red beads on the berried thorn,
Making her rounds; while from the daisied sod
The undiscountenanced lark upsoared, and praised her God.
| The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere | |