A Lament For The Princes Of Tyrone And Tyrconnel Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: ABCABCDEFDEF AGAAGHDIFDIF GFAGFAJKFJLF MNJMJJMFJMFJ MJGMJGJFDJFD GJFGJFOFJOFJ DFFDFFPFGPFG JMQJMQMMHMMH FJPFJPDRFDQF GSJGSJJATJAT FUMFGMVFGVFG JJMJJHJAFJAF JJJJHJMJMMJM WFDXFDMJJMJJ FJDFJDDJGDJG HMAHMAJMJJMJ MJFMJFFJJFJJ FFJFFJ| O woman of the piercing wail | A |
| Who mournest o'er yon mound of clay | B |
| With sigh and groan | C |
| Would God thou wert among the Gael | A |
| Thou would'st not then from day to day | B |
| Weep thus alone | C |
| 'Twere long before around a grave | D |
| In green Tyrconnel one could find | E |
| This loneliness | F |
| Near where Beann Boirche's banners wave | D |
| Such grief as thine could ne'er have pined | E |
| Companionless | F |
| - | |
| Beside the wave in Donegal | A |
| In Antrim's glens or fair Dromore | G |
| Or Killilee | A |
| Or where the sunny waters fall | A |
| At Assaroe near Erna shore | G |
| This could not be | H |
| On Derry's plains in rich Drumcliff | D |
| Throughout Armagh the Great renowned | I |
| In olden years | F |
| No day could pass but woman's grief | D |
| Would rain upon the burial ground | I |
| Fresh floods of tears | F |
| - | |
| O no From Shannon Boyne and Suir | G |
| From high Dunluce's castle walls | F |
| From Lissadill | A |
| Would flock alike both rich and poor | G |
| One wail would rise from Cruachan's halls | F |
| To Tara Hill | A |
| And some would come from Barrow side | J |
| And many a maid would leave her home | K |
| On Leitrim's plains | F |
| And by melodious Banna's tide | J |
| And by the Mourne and Erne to come | L |
| And swell thy strains | F |
| - | |
| O horses' hoofs would trample down | M |
| The mount whereon the martyr saint | N |
| Was crucified | J |
| From glen and hill from plain and town | M |
| One loud lament one thrilling plaint | J |
| Would echo wide | J |
| There would not soon be found I ween | M |
| One foot of ground among those bands | F |
| For museful thought | J |
| So many shriekers of the keen | M |
| Would cry aloud and clap their hands | F |
| All woe distraught | J |
| - | |
| Two princes of the line of Conn | M |
| Sleep in their cells of clay beside | J |
| O'Donnell Roe | G |
| Three royal youths alas are gone | M |
| Who lived for Erin's weal but died | J |
| For Erin's woe | G |
| Ah could the men of Ireland read | J |
| The names those noteless burial stones | F |
| Display to view | D |
| Their wounded hearts afresh would bleed | J |
| Their tears gush forth again their groans | F |
| Resound anew | D |
| - | |
| The youths whose relics moulder here | G |
| Were sprung from Hugh high prince and lord | J |
| Of Aileach's lands | F |
| Thy noble brothers justly dear | G |
| Thy nephew long to be deplored | J |
| By Ulster's bands | F |
| Theirs were not souls wherein dull time | O |
| Could domicile decay or house | F |
| Decrepitude | J |
| They passed from earth ere manhood's prime | O |
| Ere years had power to dim their brows | F |
| Or chill their blood | J |
| - | |
| And who can marvel o'er thy grief | D |
| Or who can blame thy flowing tears | F |
| Who knows their source | F |
| O'Donnell Dunnasava's chief | D |
| Cut off amid his vernal years | F |
| Lies here a corse | F |
| Beside his brother Cathbar whom | P |
| Tyrconnell of the Helmets mourns | F |
| In deep despair | G |
| For valour truth and comely bloom | P |
| For all that greatens and adorns | F |
| A peerless pair | G |
| - | |
| Oh had these twain and he the third | J |
| The Lord of Mourne O'Niall's son | M |
| Their mate in death | Q |
| A prince in look in deed and word | J |
| Had these three heroes yielded on | M |
| The field their breath | Q |
| Oh had they fallen on Criffan's plain | M |
| There would not be a town or clan | M |
| From shore to sea | H |
| But would with shrieks bewail the slain | M |
| Or chant aloud the exulting rann | M |
| Of jubilee | H |
| - | |
| When high the shout of battle rose | F |
| On fields where Freedom's torch still burned | J |
| Through Erin's gloom | P |
| If one if barely one of those | F |
| Were slain all Ulster would have mourned | J |
| The hero's doom | P |
| If at Athboy where hosts of brave | D |
| Ulidian horsemen sank beneath | R |
| The shock of spears | F |
| Young Hugh O'Neill had found a grave | D |
| Long must the North have wept his death | Q |
| With heart wrung tears | F |
| - | |
| If on the day of Ballach myre | G |
| The Lord of Mourne had met thus young | S |
| A warrior's fate | J |
| In vain would such as thou desire | G |
| To mourn alone the champion sprung | S |
| From Niall the Great | J |
| No marvel this for all the dead | J |
| Heaped on the field pile over pile | A |
| At Mullach brack | T |
| Were scarce an eric for his head | J |
| If death had stayed his footsteps while | A |
| On victory's track | T |
| - | |
| If on the Day of Hostages | F |
| The fruit had from the parent bough | U |
| Been rudely torn | M |
| In sight of Munster's bands MacNee's | F |
| Such blow the blood of Conn I trow | G |
| Could ill have borne | M |
| If on the day of Ballach boy | V |
| Some arm had laid by foul surprise | F |
| The chieftain low | G |
| Even our victorious shout of joy | V |
| Would soon give place to rueful cries | F |
| And groans of woe | G |
| - | |
| If on the day the Saxon host | J |
| Were forced to fly a day so great | J |
| For Ashanee | M |
| The Chief had been untimely lost | J |
| Our conquering troops should moderate | J |
| Their mirthful glee | H |
| There would not lack on Lifford's day | J |
| From Galway from the glens of Boyle | A |
| From Limerick's towers | F |
| A marshalled file a long array | J |
| Of mourners to bedew the soil | A |
| With tears in showers | F |
| - | |
| If on the day a sterner fate | J |
| Compelled his flight from Athenree | J |
| His blood had flowed | J |
| What numbers all disconsolate | J |
| Would come unasked and share with thee | H |
| Affliction's load | J |
| If Derry's crimson field had seen | M |
| His life blood offered up though 'twere | J |
| On Victory's shrine | M |
| A thousand cries would swell the keen | M |
| A thousand voices of despair | J |
| Would echo thine | M |
| - | |
| Oh had the fierce Dalcassian swarm | W |
| That bloody night of Fergus' banks | F |
| But slain our Chief | D |
| When rose his camp in wild alarm | X |
| How would the triumph of his ranks | F |
| be dashed with grief | D |
| How would the troops of Murbach Mourn | M |
| If on the Curlew Mountains' day | J |
| Which England rued | J |
| Some Saxon hand had left them lorn | M |
| By shedding there amid the fray | J |
| Their prince's blood | J |
| - | |
| Red would have been our warriors' eyes | F |
| Had Roderick found on Sligo's field | J |
| A gory grave | D |
| No Northern Chief would soon arise | F |
| So sage to guide so strong to shield | J |
| So swift to save | D |
| Long would Leith Cuinn have wept if Hugh | D |
| Had met the death he oft had dealt | J |
| Among the foe | G |
| But had our Roderick fallen too | D |
| All Erin must alas have felt | J |
| The deadly blow | G |
| - | |
| What do I say Ah woe is me | H |
| Already we bewail in vain | M |
| Their fatal fall | A |
| And Erin once the great and free | H |
| Now vainly mourns her breakless chain | M |
| And iron thrall | A |
| Then daughter of O'Donnell dry | J |
| Thine overflowing eyes and turn | M |
| Thy heart aside | J |
| For Adam's race is born to die | J |
| And sternly the sepulchral urn | M |
| Mocks human pride | J |
| - | |
| Look not nor sigh for earthly throne | M |
| Nor place thy trust in arm of clay | J |
| But on thy knees | F |
| Uplift thy soul to God Alone | M |
| For all things go their destined way | J |
| As He decrees | F |
| Embrace the faithful crucifix | F |
| And seek the path of pain and prayer | J |
| Thy Saviour trod | J |
| Nor let thy spirit intermix | F |
| With earthly hope with worldly care | J |
| Its groans to God | J |
| - | |
| And Thou O mighty Lord Whose Ways | F |
| Are far above our feeble minds | F |
| To understand | J |
| Sustain us in these doleful days | F |
| And render light the chain that binds | F |
| Our fallen land | J |
James Clarence Mangan
(1)
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A Lament For The Princes Of Tyrone And Tyrconnel is a poem by James Clarence Mangan. This page includes the poem text, poet information, related topics, comments, and similar poems.
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