that lifeless breathless form. It was in vain:—and floods of grief, with the sad rites of a pompous funeral, were all which the afflicted Duke and his sorrowing family had to bestow.
The tenants and peasantry were, according to an ancient custom, admitted to sing the song of sorrow over the body of the child: but no hired mourners were required on this occasion; for the hearts of all deeply shared in the affliction of their master's house, and wept, in bitter woe, the untimely loss of their infant Lord.—It was thus they sung, ever repeating the same monotonous and melancholy strain.
Oh loudly sing the Pillalu,
And many a tear of sorrow shed;
Och orro, orro, Olalu;
Mourn, for the master's child is dead.
At morn, along the eastern sky,
We marked an owl, with heavy wing;
At eve, we heard the benshees cry;
And now the song of death we sing;
Och orro, orro, Olalu.
