Songs of the Army of the Night Part 5

"a.n.a.lOGY."

(To D---- L----.)

Had you lived when a tyrant king Strove to make all the slaves of one, With n.o.bles and with churchmen you Had stood unflinching, pure and true, To annihilate that hateful thing Green Runnymeade beat out of John?

Had you lived when a wanton crew, Flash scoundrels of a day outdone, Trod down the toilers birth derides, With Cromwell and his Ironsides The brave days had discovered you, Where Naseby saw the gallants run?

And yet you,-this same knight in list For freedom in her narrow dawn Against that one, against those few, Vile king, vile n.o.bles-you, yet you Stand by the b.l.o.o.d.y Capitalist, Fight with the pandar Gentleman!

IN TRAFALGAR SQUARE.

The stars shone faint through the smoky blue; The church-bells were ringing; Three girls, arms laced, were pa.s.sing through, Tramping and singing.

Their heads were bare; their short skirts swung As they went along; Their scarf-covered b.r.e.a.s.t.s heaved up, as they sung Their defiant song.

It was not too clean, their feminine lay, But it thrilled me quite With its challenge to task-master villainous day And infamous night,

With its threat to the robber rich, the proud, The respectable free.

And I laughed and shouted to them aloud, And they shouted to me!

"_Girls_, _that's the shout_, _the shout we shall utter_ _When with rifles and spades_, _We stand_, _with the old Red Flag aflutter_, _On the barricades_!"

A STREET FIGHT.

(To MR F----.) {38}

Sir, we approve your curling lip and nose At this vile sight.

These men, these women are brute beasts?-Who knows, Sir, but that you are right?

Panders and harlots, rogues and thieves and worse, We are a crew Whose pitiful plunder's honoured in the purse Of gentlemen like you.

Whom holy Compet.i.tion's taught (like us) "What's thine is mine!"- _How we must love you who have made us thus_, _You may perhaps divine_!

IN AN EAST END HOVEL.

TO A WORKMAN, A WOULD-BE SUICIDE.

Man of despair and death, Bought and slaved in the gangs, Starved and stripped and left To the pitiful pitiless night, Away with your selfish thoughts!

Touch not your ignorant life!

Are there no masters of slaves, Jeering, cynical, strong- Are there no brigands (say), With the words of Christ on their lips And the daggers under their cloaks- Is there not one of these That you can steal on and kill?

O as the Swiss mountaineer Dogged on the perilous heights His disciplined conqueror foes: {39a} Caught up one in his arms And, laughing exultantly, Plunged with him to the abyss: So let it be with you!

An eye for an eye, and a tooth For a tooth, and a life for a life!

Tell it, this hateful strong Contemptuous hypocrite world, Tell it that, if we must live As dogs and as worse than dogs, At least we can die like men!

Tell it there is a woe Not for the conquered alone! {39b} _An eye for an eye_, _and a tooth_ _For a tooth_, _and a life for a life_!

DUBLIN AT DAWN.

In the chill grey summer dawn-light We pa.s.s through the empty streets; The rattling wheels are all silent; No friend his fellow greets.

Here and there, at the corners, A man in a great-coat stands; A bayonet hangs by his side, and A rifle is in his hands.

This is a conquered city; It speaks of war not peace; And that's one of the English soldiers The English call "police."

You see, at the present moment That n.o.ble country of mine Is boiling with indignation At the memory of a "crime."

In a path in the Phnix Park where The children romped and ran, An Irish ruffian met his doom, And an English gentleman.

For a hundred and over a hundred Years on the country side Men and women and children Have slaved and starved and died,

That those who slaved and starved them Might spend their earnings then, And the Irish ruffians have a "good time,"

And the English gentlemen.

And that's why at the present moment That n.o.ble country of mine Is boiling with indignation At the memory of a "crime."

For the Irish ruffians (they tell me), And it looks as if 'twere true, And the English gentlemen are so scarce, We could not spare those two!

In the chill grey summer dawn-light We pa.s.s through the empty streets; The rattling wheels are all silent; No friend his fellow greets.

Here and there, at the corners, A man in a great-coat stands; A bayonet hangs by his side, and A rifle is in his hands.

This is a conquered city; It speaks of war not peace; And that's one of the English soldiers The English call "police."

THE CAGED EAGLE.

. . . I went the other day To see the birds and beasts they keep enmewed In the London Zoo. One of the first I saw- One of the first I noticed, was an eagle.

Ragged, befouled, within his iron bars He sat without a movement or a sound, And, when I stood and pitying looked at him, I saw his great sad eyes that winkless gazed Out to the horizon sky. I pa.s.sed from there, And walked about the gardens, hither and thither, Till all the afternoon was spent. Returning then To seek my home, again by chance I pa.s.sed The eagle's cage, and stood again, and looked, And saw his great sad eyes that winkless gazed Out to the horizon sky. So I went home . . .

_The eagle is Ireland_!

"IRELAND."

O we have loved you through cold and rain And pitiless frost, Consuming our offering of blood and of brain Gladly again and again and again, Though it all seemed lost, Ireland, Ireland!