XXX

Their garlands sere, their magic mantles rent;

      The Pilgrim of Eternity, whose fame

      Over his living head like Heaven is bent,

      An early but enduring monument,

      Came, veiling all the lightnings of his song

      In sorrow; from her wilds Ierne sent

      The sweetest lyrist of her saddest wrong,

And Love taught Grief to fall like music from his tongue.