Chapter III: Part I

Can it be true this thing they say?
That she and I beyond that day
At home here may no longer stay?
_Mary, queen of earth and sea,
Dear Mary, have mercy on her and me!_

Since my father died six months are gone,
Brothers and sisters have I none.
My lady and I live here alone.
_Castle towers, you are stout and tall,
And the Boyne flows close to your outer wall!_

Thirteen winters hath she lain
Pallet-held in woeful pain,
Small hope she ever will rise again!
_Mary, queen of earth and sea,
Sweet Mary, look down upon her and me!_

* * * * *

Old Murrough swears they shall not in,
But my lord is dead; our force is thin;
More blood to spill methinks were sin.

Here ’neath our Trysting Oak, I weep.
All round and round the grass rolls deep,
Sweet Saints! How sound the cattle sleep!