Niall's Dirge

Move, O monk, thy foot away,
Lift it now from Niall's side,
Over-much thou'st cast the clay
Where I would, with him, abide.

Over-long thy task, this day,
Strewing clay o'er Niall slain;
Tread no further, friend, delay, —
Raise it not to meet the plain.

Ah, close not for aye the grave,
Cleric sad, with solemn lay;
From o'er Niall bright and brave
Move, O monk, thy foot away.

Golden King, not thus wert bound
Had I power thy strength to stay,
Leave his pillar, leave his mound,
Move thy foot, O monk, away.

I am Gormlai, who, in gloom,
Sing for him the sorrowing lay;
Stand not there upon his tomb,
Move, O monk, thy foot away.