Skip to main content

‹‹‹ prev (143)

(145) next ›››

(144)
130 THE DEATH OF CUCHULLIN: A POEM^
does not behold thy coming. The found of thy Ihield is
ceafed : his foes are gathering round. Soft be thy reft
in thy cave, chief of Erin's wars I Bragela will not hope
thy return, or fee thy fails in ocean's foam. Her fteps
are not on the fhore : nor her ear open to the voice of
thy rowers. She fits in the hall of fliells, and fees the
arms of him that is no more. Thine eyes are full of tears,
daughter of car-borne Sorglan I Bleft be thy foul in deaths
O chief of ftiady Cromla l"
BAR-THl[fLAr

Images and transcriptions on this page, including medium image downloads, may be used under the Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International Licence unless otherwise stated. Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International Licence