Part 2

At the breath of its rider the green earth is blasted, And childhood's frail form droops down pallid, and wasted; The soft sunny hair falleth dank on the arm Of the mother, whose love shields no longer from harm. For strength is scarce left her to weep o'er the dying, Ere dead by the loved one the mother is lying.

VII.

But can we only weep, when above us thus lour The death-bearing wings of the angels of power; When around are the arrows of pestilence flying-- Around, the pale heaps of the famine-struck lying --No, brother of sorrow, when life's light is weakest, Look up, it is nigh the redemption thou seekest.

VIII.

Still +WORK+, though the tramp of the weird spirit-horses, Fall dull on the ear, like the clay upon corses; Still Freedom must send forth her young heroes glowing, Though her standard be red with their life-current flowing; Still the preacher must cast forth the seed, as God's sower Though he perish like grass at the scythe of the mower.

IX.

Still do the Lord's work through life's tragical drama, Though weeping goes upward like weeping at Rama; The path may be thorny, but Spirit eyes see us; The cross may be heavy, but Death will soon free us: Still, strong in Christ's power we'll chant the Hosanna, Fling down Christ's defiance--[Greek: Upage Satana]!

X.

I see in a vision the shadowy portal, That leadeth to regions of glory immortal; I see the pale forms from the seven wounds bleeding, Which up to God's Throne the bright angels are leading; I see the crown placed on each saint bending lowly, While sounds the Trisagion--Holy, thrice Holy!

XI.

I have Paradise dreams of a band with palm-branches, Whose wavings give back their gold harps' resonances, And a jewelled-walled city, where walketh in splendour Each one who his life for God's truth did surrender. Who would weep their death-doom, if such bliss we inherit, When the veil of the human falls off from the spirit?

XII.

The Christian may shrink from the last scenes of trial, And the woes yet unknown of each mystical vial; But the hosts of Jehovah will gather beside him, The rainbow-crowned angel stoop downward to guide him; And to him, who as hero and martyr hath striven, Will the Crown, and the Throne, and the Palm-branch be given.

TO A DESPONDENT NATIONALIST.

I.

Wherefore wail you for the harp? Is it broken? Have the bold hands that once struck it weaker grown? Can false words, by false traitors spoken, Blight a cause which we know is God's own? No coward hearts are with us that would falter, Tho' a thousand tyrants strove to crush us low; No coward pen the daring words to alter, That we fling in haughty scorn 'gainst the foe.

II.

Who has doomed, or can dare "doom us to silence?" In the conscious pride of truth and right we stand. Let them rave like the ocean round the islands, Firm as they we stand unmoved for Fatherland. Ay, we'll "till," spite of banded foes who hate us-- But to rear the tree of Freedom God hath given; Ay, we'll toil--but for triumphs that await us, If not leading to the Capitol--to Heaven.

III.

Shall we mourn if we're martyrs for the truth? God has ever tried His noblest by the cross-- Let us bless Him that we're worthy in our youth, For Country, truth, and right to suffer loss. So the word that we have spoken be immortal, Little reck we tho' no glory may be won; If of God, it will scorn ban of mortal-- Standing ever as the archetypal sun.

IV.

True, the path is dark, but ever sunward, In faith, and love, and hope we journey on; We may pause in the desert passing onward. Lay our weary heads to rest upon the stone; But ever in our visions, low and faintly, Come the voices of the far-off angel band, To earnest souls, in prophecy all saintly, That the good cause will yet triumph in the land.

V.

Fear not, oh! my brother, then, that any Will hush Ierne's harp at man's command; For phylacteries of misery too many, Are bound upon all foreheads in the land. Let others bow in abject genuflexion-- Sue from _Pity_ what they ought to claim as right; By God's grace we'll stand by our election-- Freedom, Knowledge, Independence, Truth, and Light!

SIGNS OF THE TIMES.

I.

When mighty passions, surging, heave the depth of life's great ocean-- When the people sway, like forest trees, to and fro in wild commotion-- When the world-old kingdoms, rent and riven, quiver in their place, As the human central fire is upheaving at their base, And throbbing hearts, and flashing eyes, speak a language deep and cryptic; Yet he who runs may read aright these signs apocalyptic: Then rise, ye crownéd Elohim[1]--rise trembling from your thrones; Soon shall cease the eternal rhythm betwixt them and human groans.

II.

Ah! ye thought the nations, faint and weary, lay for ever bound; They were sleeping like Orestes, with the Furies watching round; Soon they'll spring to vengeance, maddened by the whisperings divine, That breathed of human freedom, as they knelt before God's shrine. See you not a form advancing, as the shadow of the Gnomon, Step by step, in darkness, onward--can ye read the fatal omen! Coarse the hand, and rude the raiment, and the brow is dark to see, But flashes fierce the eye as those of vengeful Zincali.

III.

On its brow a name is written--France read it once before, And like a demon's compact, it was written in her gore-- A fearful name--thrones trembled as the murmur passed along-- +RETRIBUTION+, proud oppressors, for your centuries of wrong. From the orient to the ocean, from the palm-tree to the pine, From Innisfail, by Tagus, to the lordly Appenine-- From Indus to the river by which pale Warsaw bleeds-- Souls are wakening--hands are arming--God is blessing noble deeds.

IV.

Bravely done, ye Roman Eagles, ye are fluttering at last; Spread your broad wings brave and proudly, as in old times, to the blast; Never furl them--never flag, till with the Austrian's slaughter, Ye crimson the full tide of the Danube's rolling water. Who will falter now? Who'll stand like a trembling coward dumb! _Plaudite!_ Freedom stands again on the Janiculum! From the Tiber to the Adige her vatic words are waking, Italy! fair Italy! arise the dawn is breaking!

V.

The Russian breathed on Poland, and she changed to a Zahara; The jewels of her ancient crown adorn the Czar's tiara. Her princes, and her nobles, tread the land with footsteps weary, And her people cry to Heaven with ceaseless _Miserere_. On her pale brow, thorn crownéd, ye may read her shame and loss; See, foreign rule has branded there the fatal _Thanatos_. But her agony and bloody sweat the Lord from Heaven will see, And a resurrection morn heal the wounds of Calvary.

VI.

By our prophets God is speaking, in Sinai's awful thunders, By pestilence and famine, in fearful signs and wonders; By our great poet-priesthood, the sacred race immortal, Whose words go forth triumphant, as through a golden portal; By our patriots and martyrs, who, for Freedom's holy law, Have hearts to dare, a hand to burn, like Mutius Scævola. Then, courage, Brothers! lock your shields, like the old Spartan band, Advance! and be your watchword ever--God for Ireland!

THE OLD MAN'S BLESSING.

Mine eye is dull, my hair is white, This arm is powerless for the fight, Alas! alas! the battle's van Suits not a weak and aged man. Thine eye is bright, thine arm is strong-- 'Tis Youth must right our country's wrong. Arise, my son, and proudly bear This sword that I was wont to wear; Firm grasp the hilt, fling down the sheath-- A thousand years their wrongs bequeath To thy young heart, thy hot revenge-- Kneel down, and swear thou wilt avenge.

May thy hand be fierce as Até's, Fighting for our old Penates; May thy glance be lightning flashes, May thy words be thunder crashes, May that earnest, haughty frown, Like weapon, strike the foeman down. May thy smile of scorn be Blasting as the Upas tree; Boldly like Olympian God, Hurl the tyrants from our sod, Let their wail be Ichabod!

Be to them destruction glooming-- Be to them a vengeance looming, Hair-suspended o'er their race, Like the sword of Damoclés, Let thy daring right hand free us, Like that son of old Ægeus, Who purged his land for evermore From the blood-stained Minotaur. Fear not death, but fear dishonour; Yield thy country all but honour. What more fitting warrior's shroud Than the foeman's standard proud? Heed ye not their glozing words; Fear ye not their myriad swords; Never make ye peace with them 'Till ye chant their requiem. Ha! I hear thy heart's pulsation Throbbing vengeance for our nation; Ha! I see thy dark eyes shine With a fury leonine-- Burning brow and clenchéd hand-- Quivering lip and naked brand-- Arise! arise! my patriot son, By hearts like thine is Freedom won!

MAN'S MISSION.

I.

Human lives are silent teaching, Be they earnest, mild, and true-- Noble deeds are noblest preaching From the consecrated Few. Poet-Priests their anthems singing, Hero-sword on corslet ringing, When Truth's banner is unfurled; Youthful preachers, genius-gifted, Pouring forth their souls uplifted, Till their preaching stirs the world;

II.

Each must work as God has given Hero hand or poet soul; Work is duty while we live in This weird world of sin and dole. Gentle spirits, lowly kneeling, Lift their white hands up appealing To the Throne of Heaven's King-- Stronger natures, culminating, In great actions incarnating What another can but sing.

III.

Pure and meek-eyed as an angel, We must strive--must agonise; We must preach the saints' evangel Ere we claim the saintly prize. Work for all, for work is holy, We fulfil our mission solely When, like Heaven's arch above, Blend our souls in one emblazon, And the social diapason Sounds the perfect chord of love.

IV.

Life is combat, life is striving, Such our destiny below; Like a scythéd chariot driving Through an onward pressing foe. Deepest sorrow, scorn, and trial Will but teach us self-denial; Like the alchymists of old, Pass the ore through cleansing fire If our spirits would aspire To be God's refinéd gold.

V.

We are struggling in the morning With the spirit of the night; But we trample on it scorning-- Lo! the eastern sky is bright. We must watch. The day is breaking; Soon, like Memnon's statue waking With the sunrise into sound, We shall raise our voice to Heaven, Chant a hymn for conquest given, Seize the palm, nor heed the wound.

VI.

We must bend our thoughts to earnest, Would we strike the idols down; With a purpose of the sternest Take the Cross, and wait the Crown. Sufferings human life can hallow, Sufferings lead to God's Valhalla; Meekly bear, but nobly try, Like a man with soft tears flowing, Like a God with conquest glowing So to love, and work, and die!

A LAMENT.

I.

Gone from us--dead to us--he whom we worshipped so! Low lies the altar we raised to his name; Madly his own hand hath shattered and laid it low-- Madly his own breath hath blasted his fame. He whose proud bosom once raged with humanity, He whose broad forehead was circled with might, Sunk to a time-serving, driv'lling inanity-- God! why not spare our loved country the sight?

II.

Was it the gold of the stranger that tempted him? Ah! we'd have pledged to him body and soul; Toiled for him--fought for him--starved for him--died for him-- Smiled, tho' our graves were the steps to his goal. Breathed he one word in his deep, earnest whispering, Wealth, crown, and kingdom, were laid at his feet; Raised he his right hand, the millions would round him cling-- Hush! 'tis the Sassenach ally you greet.

III.

Leaders have fallen--we wept, but we triumphed, too-- Patriot blood never sinks in the sod; He falls, and the jeers of the nation he bent to sue Rise like accusing weird spirits to God. Weep for him--weep for him---deep is the tragedy-- Angels themselves now might doubt of God's truth; Souls from their bloody graves, shuddering, rise to see How he avenges their lost, murdered youth.

IV.

Tone, and Fitzgerald, and the pale-brow'd enthusiast-- He whose heart broke, but shrank not from the strife; Davis, the latest loved--he who in glory passed, Kindling Hope's lamp with the chrism of life. Well may they wail for him--power and might were his-- Loved as no mortal was loved in the land-- What has he sold them for? Sorrow and shame it is, Fair words and false from a recreant band.

V.

Time's shade was on him; what matter? we loved him yet; Aye, would have torn the veins with our teeth, Made him a bath of our young blood to pay the debt-- Purchased his life, tho' we brough it by death. Pray for him--pray: an archangel has fallen low; There's a throne less in Heaven, there is sorrow on earth. Weep, angels--laugh, demons! When his hand could strike the blow, Where shall we seek for truth, honour, or worth?

THE YOUNG PATRIOT LEADER.

Oh! he stands beneath the sun, that glorious Fated One Like a martyr or conqueror, wearing On his brow a mighty doom, be it glory, be it gloom, The shadow of a crown it is bearing.

At his Cyclopean stroke the proud heart of man awoke. Like a king from his lordly down-lying; And whereso'er he trod, like the footstep of a God, Was a trail of light the gloom outvying.

In his beauty and his youth, the Apostle of the Truth, Goes he forth with the words of salvation, And a noble madness falls on each spirit he enthralls, As he chants his wild Pæans to the nation.

As a tempest in its force, as a torrent in its course, So his words fiercely sweep all before them, And they smite like two-edged swords, those undaunted thunder-words, On all hearts, as tho' angels did implore them.

See our pale cheeks how they flush, as the noble visions rush On our soul's most dark desolation, And the glorious lyric words, Right, Freedom, and our Swords! Wake the strong chords of life to vibration.

Aye; right noble, in good sooth, seemed he battling for the truth, When he poured the full tide of his scorn Down upon the tyrant's track, like an Alpine cataract: All! such men wait an Æon to be born.

So he stood before us then, one of God's eternal men, Flashing eye, and hero mould of stature, With a glory and a light circling round his brow of might, That revealed his right royal kingly nature.

Lo! he leadeth on our bands, Freedom's banner in his hands, Let us aid him, not with words, but doing; With the marches of the brave, prayers of might that strike and save, Not a slaving spirit's abject suing.

Thus in glory is he seen, tho' his years are yet but green, The anointed as head of our nation; For high Heaven hath decreed that a soul like his must lead, Let us kneel, then, in deep adoration.

Oh! his mission is divine; dash down the Lotus wine-- Too long is your trancéd sleep abiding; For by Him who gave us life, we shall conquer in the strife, So we follow but that Young Chief's guiding.

ATTENDITE POPULE.

Oh! that I stood upon some lofty tower, Before the gathered people, face to face, That, like God's thunder, might my words of power Roll down the cry of Freedom to its base! Oh! that my voice, a storm above all storms, Could cleave earth, air, and ocean, rend the sky With the fierce earthquake shout: "To arms! to arms! For Truth, Fame, Freedom, Vengeance, Victory!"

The mountains, could they speak, would cry in thunder, "Too long we've borne the tyrant's trampling hoof;" The stars would fight from Heaven with signs of wonder; The tempest waves dash back a stern reproof: But ye, writhing like worms beneath the tyrant's spurning, Dragged in the dust behind his chariot-wheel, Is there no vengeance in your strong hearts burning, Tho' God, and man, and earth, and heaven appeal? Oh! for some prophet's voice to rouse and warn-- Some angel's hand to strike them branch and root! Oh! for Christ's strength to bid, in Godlike scorn, The very stones cry out, should ye be mute!

FORWARD!

I.

What though Freedom's hosts are parted, Yet, beneath one banner fighting, Strong in love and hero-hearted, All, their Country's wrongs are righting With the weapon that each deemeth best to strike oppression down

II.

And one battle-cry resoundeth From your ranks, success presaging; And one heart within you boundeth With a martyr's faith, engaging Each to bind upon his forehead cypress wreath or laurel crown.

III.

For a power without you urges That can brook no more delaying, And the heaving myriad surges, To and fro in tumult swaying, Threaten death to all who vainly would oppose them in their might.

IV.

Thrilling words, that burn like fire, Ye have preached to hut and hovel, Till they leap up in their ire From the death-dust where they grovel, These men of many sufferings, to die or win their right.

V.

Pass the word that bands together-- Word of mystic conjuration-- And, as fire consumes the heather, So the young hearts of the nation Fierce will blaze up, quick and scathing, 'gainst the stranger and the foe.

VI.

Hand to hand with them confronted, Looking death and danger gravely In the face, with brow undaunted; Doing nobly, dying bravely, Stern as men resolved to conquer or to perish in their woe.

VII.

For the God-breath speaketh in you, Dare ye not belie your mission; And the beck'ning angels win you On with many a radiant vision, Up the thorny path of glory, where the hero gains his crown.

VIII.

Fling abroad our Country's banner, Foremost march to Freedom leading, Let the breath of millions fan her, Not alone the wine-press treading, For a Nation is arising from her long and ghastly swoon.

IX.

Go with lips that dare not falter, Offer up, with exaltations, On your country's holy altar, Youth, with all its fervid passions, And your life, if she demands it--Can a patriot fear to die?

X.

What is life that ye should love it More than manlike deeds of duty? There's a glory far above it Crowns your brow with nobler beauty-- 'Tis to die, with cheers heroic, lifting Freedom's standard high.

XI.

Through the darkness and the dunlight, Of this sorrow-night of weeping, Ye shall trail the radiant sunlight, And, like strong men armed, leaping Forth to wondrous deeds of glory, make Humanity sublime.

XII.

Rising higher still, and higher, Till the Angel who stands nighest To the Throne shall tune his lyre To your praise before the Highest, And the Crown of Fame Immortal shall be yours throughout all time.

HAVE YE COUNTED THE COST?

I.

Will our Leaders faint and falter At the foes they have to bind-- The Ignorance and Prejudice, Bigot heart and shallow mind? Do they tremble at the ordeal That is looming from afar-- The battle, and the hero-death, And vict'ry's fiery car?

II.

Ah! the brave ones! Lion-hearted! They whose prophet-accents rung, As if pentecostal fires Had been kindled on their tongue; Some with words of soft persuasion, Melting hearts of stern and strong, Like the minor chord that waketh All our tears in Irish song.

III.

Some with glance, like eagles, fearless, And great thoughts that kindle deeds, Bowing souls of men before them As the storm-wind sweeps the reeds. Will they sink down, pale and weary? Vain is preaching to the wind, Burning words and supplications-- Slavish souls are deaf and blind.

IV.

Never! Like the protomartyr, Ages since on Judah's plains, While around him, furious raging, Stood the fierce, unbranded Cains; So, sublime in holy daring, Stand our Leaders calmly there, Though such grief their spirit's clouding As might quickly fade young hair.

V.

Grief for the idiot people, Who, with suicidal hand, Strive to the bind the fetters closer On their prostrate, bleeding land. But a silver cord of gladness Is inwoven in the gloom-- Through the midnight of our sadness, Brightest stars from heaven loom.

VI.

Morning comes when night is darkest, Near to evil good will spring, As the Indian serpent resteth On the leaf that heals its sting. Braver spirits will enkindle, To redeem our abject race; Noble hearts will beat yet nobler, To retrieve our past disgrace.

VII.

Brighter still, and brighter shining, Seems the glory of the few, Who, in face of earth and heaven, Swear to God they dare be true. Let the masses pass on scorning, Seek not courage in their mind; Self-devotion, patriot fervour, Spring not from the craven kind.

VIII.

Abject tears, and prayers submissive-- Have they eyes, and cannot see? Never country gained her freedom When she sued on bended knee. Be our Leaders, then, still daring, Bold in word, and brave in fight; And when comes the day of trial, Then, may God defend the Right!

THE YEAR OF REVOLUTIONS.

I.

Lift up your pale faces, ye children of sorrow, The night passes on to a glorious to-morrow! Hark! hear you not sounding glad Liberty's pæan, From the Alps to the Isles of the tideless Ægean? And the rhythmical march of the gathering nations, And the crashing of thrones 'neath their fierce exultations, And the cry of Humanity cleaving the ether, With hymns of the conquering rising together-- God, Liberty, Truth! How they burn heart and brain-- These words shall they burn--shall they waken in vain?

II.

No! soul answers soul, steel flashes on steel, And land wakens land with a grand thunder-peal. Shall we, oh! my Brothers, but weep, pray, and groan, When France reads her rights by the flames of a Throne? Shall we fear and falter to join the grand chorus, When Europe has trod the dark pathway before us? Oh, courage! and we, too, will trample them down, The minions of power, the serfs of a crown. Oh, courage! but courage, if once to the winds Ye fling Freedom's banner, no tyranny binds.

III.

At the voice of the people the weak symbols fall, And Humanity marches o'er purple and pall, O'er sceptre and crown, with a glorious disdain, For the symbol must fall and Humanity reign. Onward! then onward! ye brave to the vanguard, Gather in glory round Liberty's standard! Like France, lordly France, we shall sweep from their station All, all who oppose the stern will of a nation; Like Prussia's brave children will stoop to no lord, But demand our just rights at the point of the sword.

IV.

We'll conquer! we'll conquer! No tears for the dying, The portal to Heaven be the field where they're lying. We'll conquer! we'll conquer! No tears for the slain, God's angels will smile on their death-hour of pain. On, on in your masses dense, resolute, strong To war against treason, oppression, and wrong; On, on with your chieftains, and Him we adore most, Who strikes with the bravest and leads with the foremost, Who brings the proud light of a name great in story, To guide us through danger unconquered to glory.

V.