Elves and Heroes. Donald Alexander Mackenzie
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
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