anshee robed in green--
She sang yon song the whole night long,
And washed the linen clean;
The linen that would wrap the dead
She beetled on a stone,
She stood with dripping hands, blood-red,
Low singing all alone--

_His linen robes are pure and white,
For Fergus More must die to-night!_

'Twas Fergus More rode o'er the hill,
Come back from foreign wars,
His horse's feet were clattering sweet
Below the pitiless stars;
And in his heart he would repeat--
"O never again I'll roam;
All weary is the going forth,
But sweet the coming home!"

_His linen robes are pure and white,
For Fergus More must die to-night!_

He saw the blaze upon his hearth
Come gleaming down the glen;
For he was fain for home again,
And rode before his men--
"'Tis many a weary day," he'd sigh,
"Since I would leave her side;
I'll never more leave Scotland's shore
And yon, my dark-eyed bride."

_His linen robes are pure and white,
For Fergus More must die to-night!_

So dreaming of her tender love,
Soft tears his eyes would blind--
When up there crept and swiftly leapt
A man who stabbed behind--
"'Tis you," he cried, "who stole my bride,
This night shall be your last!" ...
When Fergus fell, the warm, red tide
Of life came ebbing fast ...

_His linen robes are pure and white,
For Fergus More must die to-night!_

CONN, SON OF THE RED.

The Fians sojourned by the shore
Of comely Cromarty, and o'er
The wooded hill pursued the chase
With ardour. 'Twas a full moon's space
Ere Beltane[1] rites would be begun
With homage to the rising sun--
Ere to the spirits of the dead
Would sacrificial blood be shed
In yon green grove of Navity--[2]
When Conn came over the Eastern Sea,
His heart aflame with vengeful ire,
To seek for Goll, who slew his sire
When he was seven years old.

Finn saw
In dreams, ere yet he came, with awe
The Red One's son, so fierce and bold,
In combat with his hero old--
The king-like Goll of valorous might--
A stormy billow in the fight
No foe could ere withstand.

He knew
The strange ship bore brave Conn, and blew
Clear on his horn the Warning Call;
And round him thronged the Fians all
With wond'ring gaze.

The sun drew nigh
The bale-fires of the western sky,
And faggot clouds with blood-red glare,
Caught flame, and in the radiant air
Lone Wyvis like a jewel shone--
The Fians, as they s