We starve by the board, And we thirst amid wassail— And the host is the vassal. Through the woods let us roam, We are exiles in Erin! And Erin's a bark O'er the wide waters driven! And in billows of might Or the billows burst o'er her! (Sir Samuel Ferguson) Egan O'Rahilly LAMENT FOR BANBA O MY land! O my love! What a woe, and how deep, Is thy death to my long mourning soul! Can awake thee from sleep, 18th century Can release thee from bondage and dole! For the once proud people of Banba! As a tree in its prime, Which the ax layeth low, Didst thou fall, O unfortunate land! Not by time, nor thy crime, Came the shock and the blow. They were given by a false felon hand! For the once proud people of Banba! O, my grief of all griefs Is to see how thy throne Is usurped, whilst thyself art in thrall! Have their kings, thou alone For the once proud people of Banba! The high house of O'Neill Is gone down to the dust, The O'Brien is clanless and banned; And the steel, the red steel Of the Faithful and Brave in the land! For the once proud people of Banba! True, alas! Wrong and Wrath Were of old all too rife. Deeds were done which no good man admires Chastened us for the strife And the blood-shedding ways of our sires! For the once proud people of Banba! But, no more! This our doom, While our hearts yet are warm, Let us not over weakly deplore! Shall be raised for our rescue once more! And all our grief shall be turned into joy (James Clarence Mangan) Raferty I AM RAFERTY I AM Raferty the Poet Full of hope and love, With eyes that have no light, With gentleness that has no misery. Going west upon my pilgrimage By the light of my heart, Feeble and tired To the end of my road. Behold me now, And my face to the wall, A-playing music Unto empty pockets. Anonymous d. 1835 (Douglas Hyde) A POEM TO BE SAID ON HEARING THE A FRAGRANT prayer upon the air My child taught me, Awaken there, the morn is fair, The birds sing free; Now dawns the day, awake and pray, And bend the knee; The Lamb who lay beneath the clay (Douglas Hyde) Thomas Moore 1779-1852 HOW OFT HAS THE BANSHEE CRIED How oft has the Banshee cried! How oft has death untied Bright links that Glory wove. Sweet bonds entwined by Love! We're fallen on evil days! Light o'er the land is fled. Dark falls the tear of him that mourneth Wept o'er a hero's bier. Quenched are our beacon lights- So long shall Erin's pride Anonymous THE WEARIN' O' THE GREEN OH, Paddy dear! and did ye hear the news that's goin' round? The shamrock is forbid by law to grow on Irish ground! No more St. Patrick's day we'll keep; his color can't be seen, For there's a cruel law ag'in' the Wearin' o' the Green! I met with Napper Tandy, and he took me by the hand, And he said, "How's poor ould Ireland, and how does she stand?" "She's the most distressful country that ever yet was seen, For they're hanging men and women there for the Wearin' o' the Green." An' if the color we must wear is England's cruel red, Let it remind us of the blood that Ireland has shed; Then pull the shamrock from your hat, and throw it on the sod, An' never fear, 'twill take root there, though under foot 'tis trod. When law can stop the blades of grass from growin' as they grow, An' when the leaves in summer time their color dare not show, Then I will change the color, too, I wear in my caubeen; But till that day, plaise God, I'll stick to the Wearin' o' the Green. Katherine Tynan THE DOVES THE house where I was born, Moan of the cushat dove, 1861 |