Lament for Eoghan Rua O'Neill

How great the loss is thy loss to me!
A loss to all who had speech with thee: —
On earth can so hard a heart there be
As not to weep for the death of Eoghan?

Och, ochon! 'tis I am stricken,
Unto death the isle may sicken,
Thine the Soul which all did quicken;
— And Thou 'neath the sod!

I stood at Cavan o'er thy tomb,
Thou spok'st no word through all my gloom;
O want! O ruin! O bitter doom!
O great, lost Heir of the House of Niall!

I care not now whom. Death may borrow,
Despair sits by me, night and morrow.
My life henceforth is one long sorrow;
— And Thou 'neath the sod!

O child of heroes, heroic child!
Thou'dst smite our foe in battle wild,
Thou'dst right all wrong, O just and mild!
And who lives now — since dead is Eoghan?

In place of feasts, alas! there's crying,
In place of song, sad woe and sighing,
Alas, I live with my heart a-dying,
— And Thou 'neath the sod!

My woe, was ever so cruel woe?
My heart is torn with rending throe!
I grieve that I am not lying low
In silent death by thy side, Eoghan!

Thou wast skilled all straits to ravel,
And thousands broughtst from death and cavil,
They journey safe who with thee travel,
— And Thou with thy God!

My days shall count but a short, sad space,
Till I, 'mid saints, shall behold thy face;
Nor meet to mourn in that holy place,
In joy before the self-chosen Lamb.

O then I ne'er shall fear to sever,
O from thy side I'll wander never,
Singing the glory and peace for ever;
— And we, with our God!