| |
| AH, where, Kincora! is Brian the Great? | |
| And where is the beauty that once was thine? | |
| Oh, where are the princes and nobles that sate | |
| At the feasts in thy halls, and drank the red wine, | |
| Where, O Kincora? | 5 |
| |
| Oh, where, Kincora! are thy valorous lords? | |
| Oh, whither, thou Hospitable! are they gone? | |
| Oh, where are the Dalcassians of the Golden Swords? | |
| And where are the warriors Brian led on? | |
| Where, O Kincora? | 10 |
| |
| And where is Murrough, the descendant of kings— | |
| The defeater of a hundred—the daringly brave— | |
| Who set but slight store by jewels and rings— | |
| Who swam down the torrent and laughed at its wave? | |
| Where, O Kincora? | 15 |
| |
| And where is Donogh, King Brian’s worthy son? | |
| And where is Conaing, the Beautiful Chief? | |
| And Kian, and Core? Alas! they are gone— | |
| They have left me this night alone with my grief! | |
| Left me, Kincora! | 20 |
| |
| And where are the chiefs with whom Brian went forth, | |
| The ne’er-vanquished son of Evin the Brave, | |
| The great King of Onaght, renowned for his worth, | |
| And the hosts of Baskinn, from the western wave? | |
| Where, O Kincora? | 25 |
| |
| Oh, where is Duvlann of the Swift-footed Steeds? | |
| And where is Kian, who was son of Molloy? | |
| And where is King Lonergan, the fame of whose deeds | |
| In the red battlefield no time can destroy? | |
| Where, O Kincora? | 30 |
| |
| And where is that youth of majestic height, | |
| The faith-keeping Prince of the Scots?—Even he, | |
| As wide as his fame was, as great as was his might, | |
| Was tributary, O Kincora, to thee! | |
| Thee, O Kincora! | 35 |
| |
| They are gone, those heroes of royal birth, | |
| Who plundered no churches, and broke no trust, | |
| ’Tis weary for me to be living on earth | |
| When they, O Kincora, lie low in the dust! | |
| Low, O Kincora! | 40 |
| |
| Oh, never again will Princes appear, | |
| To rival the Dalcassians of the Cleaving Swords! | |
| I can never dream of meeting afar or anear, | |
| In the east or the west, such heroes and lords! | |
| Never, O Kincora! | 45 |
| |
| Oh, dear are the images my memory calls up | |
| Of Brian Boru!—how he never would miss | |
| To give me at the banquet the first bright cup! | |
| Ah! why did he heap on me honor like this? | |
| Why, O Kincora? | 50 |
| |
| I am MacLiag, and my home is on the Lake; | |
| Thither often, to that palace whose beauty is fled, | |
| Came Brian to ask me, and I went for his sake. | |
| Oh, my grief! that I should live, and Brian be dead | |
| Dead, O Kincora! |
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