21 AUGUST 1886, Page 18



STRONG son of Fergus, with thy latest breath Thou hast lent a joy unto the funeral knell, Welcoming with thy whispered "All is well !"

The awful aspect of the Angel Death.

As strong in life, thou tookest shame to shun The heat and burthen of the fiery day, Fronting defeat with stalwart undismay, And meekly wearing honours largely won.

Pure lips, pure hands, pure heart were thine, as aye Erin demanded of her bards of old, And therefore on thy harp-strings of pure gold Hast thou restored her high heroic lay.

What shoulders now can match the mighty fold Of Ossian's mantle that thou hadst plucked away P ALFRED PERCEVAL GRAVES.