Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, ed. Poems of Places: An Anthology in 31 Volumes.
Ireland: Vol. V. 1876–79.
Kinkora
By James Clarence Mangan (18031849)
O,
And where is the beauty that once was thine?
O, where are the princes and nobles that sate
At the feast in thy halls, and drank the red wine!
Where, O Kinkora?
O, whither, thou Hospitable! are they gone?
O, where are the Dalcassians of the golden swords?
And where are the warriors Brian led on?
Where, O Kinkora?
The defeater of a hundred, the daringly brave,—
Who set but slight store by jewels and rings,
Who swam down the torrent and laughed at its wave?
Where, O Kinkora?
And where is Conaing, the beautiful chief?
And Kian and Core? Alas! they are gone,—
They have left me this night alone with my grief!
Left me, Kinkora!
The never-vanquished sons of Erin the brave,
The great King of Onaght, renowned for his worth,
And the hosts of Baskinn from the western wave?
Where, O Kinkora?
And where is Kian, who was son of Molloy?
And where is King Lonergan, the fame of whose deeds
In the red battle-field no time can destroy?
Where, O Kinkora?
The faith-keeping Prince of the Scots? Even he,
As wide as his fame was, as great as was his might,
Was tributary, O Kinkora, to thee!
Thee, O Kinkora!
Who plundered no churches, and broke no trust;
’T is weary for me to be living on earth
When they, O Kinkora, lie low in the dust!
Low, O Kinkora!
To rival the Dalcassians of the Cleaving Swords;
I can never dream of meeting afar or anear,
In the east or the west, such heroes and lords!
Never, Kinkora!
Of Brian Borù!—how he never would miss
To give me at the banquet the first bright cup!
Ah! why did he heap on me honor like this?
Why, O Kinkora?
Thither often, to that palace whose beauty is fled,
Came Brian, to ask me, and I went for his sake.
O, my grief! that I should live, and Brian be dead!
Dead, O Kinkora!