Poems by Denis Florence MacCarthy (great novels txt) 📕

wise, be just, with will as fixed as Fate's,-
Advance!


REMONSTRANCE.

Bless the dear old verdant land,
Brother, wert thou born of it? As thy shadow life doth stand, Twining round its rosy band, Did an Irish mother's hand
Guide thee in the morn of it? Did thy father's soft command
Teach thee love or scorn of it?

Thou who tread'st its fertile breast,
Dost thou feel a glow for it? Thou, of all its charms possest, Living on its first and best, Art thou but a thankless guest,
Or a traitor foe for it? If thou lovest, where the test?
Wouldst thou strike a blow for it?

Has the past no goading sting
That can make thee rouse for it? Does thy land's reviving spring, Full of buds and blossoming, Fail to make thy cold heart cling,
Breathing lover's vows for it? With the circling ocean's ring
Thou wert made a spouse for it!

Hast thou kept, as thou shouldst keep,
Thy affections warm for it, Letting no cold feeling creep, Like the ice breath o'er the deep, Freezing to a stony sleep
Hopes the heart would form for it- Glories that like rainbows weep
Through the darkening storm for it?

What we seek is Nature's right-
Freedom and the aids of it;- Freedom for the mind's strong flight Seeking glorious shapes star-bright Through the world's intensest night,
When the sunshine fades of it! Truth is one, and so is light,
Yet how many shades of it!

A mirror every heart doth wear,
For heavenly shapes to shine in it; If dim the glass or dark the air, That Truth, the beautiful and fair, God's glorious image, shines not there,
Or shines with nought divine in it: A sightless lion in its lair,
The darkened soul must pine in it!

Son of this old, down-trodden land,
Then aid us in the fight for it; We seek to make it great and grand, Its shipless bays, its naked strand, By canvas-swelling breezes fanned.
Oh! what a glorious sight for it! The past expiring like a brand,
In morning's rosy light for it!

Think that this dear old land is thine,
And thou a traitor slave of it; Think how the Switzer leads his kine, When pale the evening star doth shine, His song has home in every line,
Freedom in every stave of it! Think how the German loves his Rhine,
And worships every wave of it!

Our own dear land is bright as theirs,
But, oh! our hearts are cold for it; Awake! we are not slaves but heirs; Our fatherland requires our cares, Our work with man, with God our prayers.
Spurn blood-stained Judas-gold for it, Let us do all that honour dares-
Be earnest, faithful, bold for it!


IRELAND'S VOW.

Come! Liberty, come! we are ripe for thy coming-
Come freshen the hearts where thy rival has trod- Come, richest and rarest!-come, purest and fairest!-
Come, daughter of Science!-come, gift of the God!

Long, long have we sighed for thee, coyest of maidens-
Long, long have we worshipped thee, queen of the brave! Steadily sought for thee, readily fought for thee,
Purpled the scaffold and glutted the grave!

On went the fight through the cycle of ages,
Never our battle-cry ceasing the while; Forward, ye valiant ones! onward, battalioned ones!
Strike for your Erin, your own darling isle!

Still in the ranks are we, struggling with eagerness,
Still in the battle for Freedom are we! Words may avail in it-swords if they fail in it,
What matters the weapon, if only we're free?

Oh! we are pledged in the face of the universe,
Never to falter and never to swerve; Toil for it!-bleed for it!-if there be need for it,
Stretch every sinew and strain every nerve!

Traitors and cowards our names shall be ever,
If for a moment we turn from the chase; For ages exhibited, scoffed at, and gibbeted,
As emblems of all that was servile and base!

Irishmen! Irishmen! think what is Liberty,
Fountain of all that is valued and dear, Peace and security, knowledge and purity,
Hope for hereafter and happiness here.

Nourish it, treasure it deep in your inner heart-
Think of it ever by night and by day; Pray for it!-sigh for it!-work for it!-die for it!-
What is this life and dear freedom away?

List! scarce a sound can be heard in our thoroughfares-
Look! scarce a ship can be seen on our streams; Heart-crushed and desolate, spell-bound, irresolute,
Ireland but lives in the bygone of dreams!

Irishmen! if we be true to our promises,
Nerving our souls for more fortunate hours, Life's choicest blessings, love's fond caressings,
Peace, home, and happiness, all shall be ours!


A DREAM.

I dreamt a dream, a dazzling dream, of a green isle far away, Where the glowing West to the ocean's breast calleth the dying day; And that island green was as fair a scene as ever man's eye did see, With its chieftains bold and its temples old, and its homes and its
altars free! No foreign foe did that green isle know, no stranger band it bore, Save the merchant train from sunny Spain, and from Afric's golden shore! And the young man's heart would fondly start, and the old man's eye
would smile, As their thoughts would roam o'er the ocean foam to that lone and "holy
isle!"

Years passed by, and the orient sky blazed with a newborn light, And Bethlehem's star shone bright afar o'er the lost world's darksome
night; And the diamond shrines from plundered mines, and the golden fanes of
Jove, Melted away in the blaze of day at the simple spellword-Love! The light serene o'er that island green played with its saving beams, And the fires of Baal waxed dim and pale like the stars in the morning
streams! And 'twas joy to hear, in the bright air clear, from out each sunny
glade, The tinkling bell, from the quiet cell, or the cloister's tranquil
shade!

A cloud of night o'er that dream so bright soon with its dark wing came, And the happy scene of that island green was lost in blood and shame; For its kings unjust betrayed their trust, and its queens, though fair,
were frail, And a robber band, from a stranger land, with their war-whoops filled
the gale; A fatal spell on that green isle fell, a shadow of death and gloom Passed withering o'er, from shore to shore, like the breath of the foul
simoom; And each green hill's side was crimson dyed, and each stream rolled red
and wild, With the mingled blood of the brave and good-of mother and maid and
child!

Dark was my dream, though many a gleam of hope through that black night
broke, Like a star's bright form through a whistling storm, or the moon through
a midnight oak! And many a time, with its wings sublime, and its robes of saffron light, Would the morning rise on the eastern skies, but to vanish again in
night! For, in abject prayer, the people there still raised their fettered
hands, When the sense of right and the power to smite are the spirit that
commands; For those who would sneer at the mourner's tear, and heed not the
suppliant's sigh, Would bow in awe to that first great law, a banded nation's cry!

At length arose o'er that isle of woes a dawn with a steadier smile, And in happy hour a voice of power awoke the slumbering isle! And the people all obeyed the call of their chief's unsceptred hand, Vowing to raise, as in ancient days, the name of their own dear land! My dream grew bright as the sunbeam's light, as I watched that isle's
career, Through the varied scene and the joys serene of many a future year; And, oh! what a thrill did my bosom fill as I gazed on a pillared pile, Where a senate once more in power watched o'er the rights of that lone
green isle!


THE PRICE OF FREEDOM.

Man of Ireland, heir of sorrow,
Wronged, insulted, scorned, oppressed, Wilt thou never see that morrow
When thy weary heart may rest? Lift thine eyes, thou outraged creature;
Nay, look up, for man thou art, Man in form, and frame, and feature,
Why not act man's god-like part?

Think, reflect, inquire, examine,
Is it for this God gave you birth- With the spectre look of famine,
Thus to creep along the earth? Does this world contain no treasures
Fit for thee, as man, to wear?- Does this life abound in pleasures,
And thou askest not to share?

Look! the nations are awaking,
Every chain that bound them burst! At the crystal fountains slaking
With parched lips their fever thirst! Ignorance the demon, fleeing,
Leaves unlocked the fount they sip; Wilt thou not, thou wretched being,
Stoop and cool thy burning lip?

History's lessons, if thou'lt read 'em,
All proclaim this truth to thee: Knowledge is the price of freedom,
Know thyself, and thou art free! Know, O man! thy proud vocation,
Stand erect, with calm, clear brow- Happy! happy were our nation,
If thou hadst that knowledge now!

Know thy wretched, sad condition,
Know the ills that keep thee so; Knowledge is the sole physician,
Thou wert healed if thou didst know! Those who crush, and scorn, and slight thee,
Those to whom thou once wouldst kneel, Were the foremost then to right thee,
Didst thou but feel as thou shouldst feel!

Not as beggars lowly bending,
Not in sighs, and groans, and tears, But a voice of thunder sending
Through thy tyrant brother's ears! Tell him he is not thy master,
Tell him of man's common lot, Feel life has but one disaster,
To be a slave, and know it not!

Didst but prize what knowledge giveth,
Didst but know how blest is he Who in Freedom's presence liveth,
Thou wouldst die, or else be free! Round about he looks in gladness,
Joys in heaven, and earth, and sea, Scarcely heaves a sigh of sadness,
Save in thoughts of such as thee!


THE VOICE AND PEN.

Oh! the orator's voice is a mighty power,
As it echoes from shore to shore, And the fearless pen has more sway o'er men
Than the murderous cannon's roar! What burst the chain far over the main,
And brighten'd the captive's