II.

Hearken to my tale of woe— ’Twas thus to weeping Ellen Con, Her sister said in accents low, Her only sister, Una bawn: ’Twas in their bed before the dawn, And Ellen answered sad and slow,— “Oh Una, Una, be not drawn (Hearken to my tale of woe)— To this unholy grief I pray, Which makes me sick at heart to know, And I will help you if I may: —The Fairy Well of Lagnanay— Lie nearer me, I tremble so,— Una, I’ve heard wise women say (Hearken to my tale of woe)— That if before the dews arise, True maiden in its icy flow With pure hand bathe her bosom thrice, Three lady-brackens pluck likewise, And three times round the fountain go, She straight forgets her tears and sighs.” Hearken to my tale of woe!