Elves and Heroes. Donald Alexander Mackenzie

      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