He walked home tranquilly and slow,
Secure, and unaware,
That there was murder in the hush
Of the still midnight air.
"Tis morning," said he, knowing not
That he had done with time;
That a bloody hand would our country stain
With another useless crime.
He stood before a portal closed
To him for evermore,
Behind him with uncreaking hinge
Oped the eternal door.
And ere the east grew red again,
His life blood's purple flow
Had made that pavement holy ground,
And filled the land with woe.
My country! Oh my country!
What is to thee the gain?
Wilt nourish trees of liberty
In blood so foully slain?
LINES TO A SHAMROCK
A SONG OF EXILE
A withered shamrock, yet to me 'tis fair
As the sweet rose to other eyes might be,
Because its leaves spread in my native air,
And the same land gave birth to it and me.
They were as plentiful as drops of dew
In our green meadows sprinkled everywhere,
Heedless I wandered o'er them life was new,
Now as a friend I greet thee shamrock fair
Because I dwelt with my own people then,
Erin's bright eyes, and kindly hearts and true,
That from my cradle loved me, and again
We'll never meet--spoken our last adieu
I am a stranger here, I have not seen
One friendly face of all that I have known,
And my heart mourns for thee my island green,
Because I am a stranger and alone
So thou art welcome as a friend to me,
Tell me where lay the sod that brought thee forth,
Idly I wonder as I look at thee
If thou hast come, as I did, from the North?
From the green glens that he beside the sea
From cloud capt Sleive mis of the shamrock vest?
From near old castles, where the dread banshee
Waits for the native lords when laid to rest?
Or did the tartaned stranger call thee where
Mount Cashel's Lord rules o'er a fair domain?
Or grass grown ruin all that's left to bear
Of a lost race the all but fading name?
The lovely Maine lingers in flowing through
The peaceful place that was my childhood's home,
Myriads of shamrocks on its margin grew,
Was it from these thy sisters thou hast come?
Such fair broad meadows by Maine water lay,
Erin her mantle green for carpet spread,
In merry childhood there we met to play,
Dashing the dew from many a shamrock's head.
Pages:
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58