n ould one falls to her knees and raises the keening
cry:

"'_Mavrone!_ my sorrow! _Mavrone dhu!_ my black sorrow! _Mo chead vrone
dhu! my_ hundred black sorrows.

"'Is it gone you are, Alan Donn? Is it gone you are in the cruel sea? My
black curse on it. It is between you and the people of your heart,
between you and the land of your desire. Och, sea, isn't it cruel you
are? Ruined Ireland is this day. The star of Ulster is out. And the
little moon of Antrim shines no more. Och, _a 'airrge!_ My sorrow, O
sea!

"'Who will be good to us, now, Alan Donn? You were good to the poor.
God's gain and our loss. Who will make the young maids flush, and the
young men throw back their shoulders, from pride at your having talked
to them? _Avourneen dherelish, mur nAlan Donn_, our Alan! Who will make
the men of the South stand back, and you not striding through a
gathering, ever, any more? And the dealing men of Scotland will miss
you, you they could never get the better of in any fair, night noon or
morning. _Peader agas Pol, Muire. Padraig agas Brighid!_ Peter and Paul,
Mary, Patrick and St. Bride, let you be coming quickly now, and take up
Alan Donn Campbell from the cold sea!

"'Your horse in the stable will miss you, Alan Donn. Poor beastie, he'll
miss you sore. Your servant boys will miss you, they that would jump if
you but dropped your pipe. The green fairways of Portrush will miss you
when spring comes, and you not hitting the ball against the champions of
the world. The lambs will miss you, wee lambs of the fields, and the
colts. They'll be missing you, but't will be nothing to our missing you.
This night your dogs will be crying, and we'll be crying too.

"'Young woman look back of you, and see if the nine glens of Antrim are
there. I wouldn't be surprised if they were gone, now Alan Donn's in the
bitter sea.'

"Then up comes this woman, and she had a great cloak on--"

"What woman, Simon Fraser?"

"The woman there was talk of Alan Donn marrying. The woman from over the
sea."

"'Has anybody seen Mr. Campbell?' And we don't understand.

"It's Alan Donn she means,' says Hughie Rafferty.

"Then the ould one on her knees takes up her keening. And this woman
understands. Her face goes white. She sees the schooner being battered
by the Moyle.

"'Did he go out to that?' she asks.

"'Yes, ma'am, your Ladyship's Honor.'

"'He didn't get there?'

"'The drowning wave caught Alan Donn,' says Hughie Rafferty.

"F