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IRISH SONGS AND LYRICS 439 |
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Ever they moan on the strand,
And my ear, like a sounding shell,
Chants to me the sorrowful story The moaning billows tell.
For Bala the Sweet-Voiced moan !
Here on the lonely strand Fell Bala, Prince of the Race of Rury,
Slain by no foeman's hand.
Sweet was thy tongue, O Bala,
To win man's love ! Thy voice
Made sigh for thee the maids of Eman ; But nobler was thy choice.
She gave for thy heart her heart
Warm in her swan-white breast,
Aillin of Laigen, Lugah's daughter, The fairest bird of her nest.
Their pledge was here by the shore To meet, come joy or pain ;
And swift in his war-car Bala from Eman Sped o'er Muirthemne plain.
He found her not by the shore, Gloom was o'er sea and sky,
And a man of the Shee with dreadful face On a blast from the South rushed by.
Said Bala : " Stay that man !
Ask him what word he brings ? '' " A woe on the Dun of Lugah ! a woe
On Eman of the Kings ! |
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