Old Goll
Sat musing on a grassy knoll,
They deemed he shared their dread ... Not so
Wise Finn, who spake forth firm and slow--
"Goll, son of Morna, peerless man,
The keen desire of every clan,
Far-famed for many a valiant deed,
Strong hero in the time of need.
I vaunt not Conn ... nor deem that thou
Dost falter, save with meekness, now--
But why shouldst thou not take the head
Of this bold youth, as of The Red,
His sire, in other days?"

Goll spake--
"O noble Finn, for thy sweet sake
Mine arms I'd seize with ready hand,
Although to answer thy command
My blood to its last drop were spilled--
By Crom! were all the Fians killed,
My sword would never fail to be
A strong defence to succour thee."

Upon his hard right arm with haste
His crooked and pointed shield he braced,
He clutched his sword in his left hand--
While round that hero of the band
The Fian warriors pressed, and praised
His valour ... Mute was Goll ... They raised,
Smiting their hands, the battle-cry,
To urge him on to victory.

The one-eyed Goll went forth alone,
His face was like a mountain stone,--
Cold, hard, and grey; his deep-drawn breath
Came heavily, like a man nigh death--
But his firm mouth, with lips drawn thin,
Deep sunken in his wrinkled skin,
Was cunningly crooked; his hair was white,
On his bald forehead gleamed a bright
And livid scar that Conn's great sire
Had cloven when their swords struck fire--
Burly and dauntless, full of might,
Old Goll went humbly forth to fight
With arrogant Conn ... It seemed The Red
In greater might was from the dead,
Restored in his fierce son ...

A deep
Swift silence fell, like sudden sleep,
On all the Fians waiting there
In sharp suspense and half despair ...
The morn was still. A skylark hung
In mid-air flutt'ring, and sung
A lullaby that grew more sweet
Amid the stillness, in the heat
And splendour of the sun: the lisp
Of faint wind in the herbage crisp
Went past them; and around the bare
And foam-striped sand-banks gleaming fair,
The faintly-panting waves were cast
By the wan deep fatigued and vast.

O great was Conn in that dread hour,
And all the Fians feared his power,
And watched, as in a darksome dream,
The warriors meet ... They saw the gleam
Of swift, up-lifted swords, and then
A breathless moment came, as when
The lithe and living lightning's flash
Makes pause, until the thunder's crash
Is splintered th