Part 9 — CAROLAN’S PROPHECY.
Reading edition
———
BY WILLIAM H. C. HOSMER.
———
(INSCRIBED TO SAMUEL LOVER, ESQ.)
The castle hall is lighted—
Its roof with music rings,
For Carolan is sweeping
The clairsheck’s quivering strings;
And, catching inspiration
From faces fair around,
His voice is richer far than gush
Of instrumental sound.
Of Erin’s banner, green and bright,
Of Tara’s mighty kings,
Who never to invader knelt,
Exultingly he sings;
And on the glittering sands that edge
The blue and bellowing main,
Beneath the blade of Bryan falls
The yellow-bearded Dane.
The master touches other chords—
His brow is overcast—
And tears, from his old, withered orbs,
Are falling warm and fast:
In soul he looks on Athunrée,
Disastrous field of gore!
The glory of O’Conner’s house
Expires to wake no more.
As died, in mournful echoings,
The wond’rous strain away,
Approving smile and word requite
The minstrel for his lay;
And by the hand of high-born maid
The golden cup was filled,
Commotion in a heart to hush
By grief too wildly thrilled.
When tuned to lighter airs of love
His harp of magic tone,
Quoth Carolan—“What bard will not
The sway of Beauty own?
Kind hostess! I will now compose
A planxty, promised long,
In honor of thy daughter fair,
Oh! matchless theme for song!”
A few preluding notes he woke,
So clear and passing sweet,
That, timing to the melody,
The heart of listener beat;
But when the white-haired bard began
His tributary lay,
The Soul of Music from the strings
Wild Discord drove away.
Thrice, with the same result, his hand
Upon the chords he laid—
He turned the keys, but harsher sound
The trembling clairsheck made:
In honor of the mother, then,
A planxty he composed,
And perfect was the harmony
Until the strain was closed.
Then other ladies urged the bard
To celebrate their charms,
But he replied—“No rapture now
My fainting spirit warms;
By shadows from another world
My soul is clouded o’er—
Oh! would that I might never see
The light of morning more!”
“What gives a paleness to thy cheek,
Meet only for the dead—
What sorrow weighs upon thy heart?”
His noble hostess said:
The minstrel whispered in reply—
“The daughter of thy heart,
Before the flowers of summer-time
Are faded, will depart.”
Ere morning dawned, old Carolan
Went sadly on his way;
To bid green Erin’s Flower farewell
He could not, would not stay;
But sought, ere vanished many days,
That lordly hall again,
And through its gateway, moving slow,
Defiled a funeral train.