Thomas Davis, Selections from his Prose and Poetry Part 36

"May G.o.d wither up their hearts! May their blood cease to flow!

May they walk in living death, who poisoned Eoghan Ruadh!"

II.

"Though it break my heart to hear, say again the bitter words.

From Derry, against Cromwell, he marched to measure swords: But the weapon of the Sacsanach met him on his way, And he died at Cloch Uachtar,[78] upon St. Leonard's day.

III.

"Wail, wail ye for the Mighty One! Wail, wail ye for the Dead!

Quench the hearth, and hold the breath--with ashes strew the head.

How tenderly we loved him! How deeply we deplore!

Holy Saviour! but to think we shall never see him more.

IV.

"Sagest in the council was he, kindest in the hall!

Sure we never won a battle--'twas Eoghan won them all.

Had he lived--had he lived--our dear country had been free; But he's dead, but he's dead, and 'tis slaves we'll ever be.

V.

"O'Farrell and Clanrickarde, Preston and Red Hugh, Audley and MacMahon, ye are valiant, wise, and true; But--what, what are ye all to our darling who is gone?

The Rudder of our s.h.i.+p was he, our Castle's corner stone!

VI.

"Wail, wail him through the Island! Weep, weep for our pride!

Would that on the battle-field our gallant chief had died!

Weep the Victor of Beann-bhorbh[79]--weep him, young men and old; Weep for him, ye women--your Beautiful lies cold!

VII.

"We thought you would not die--we were sure you would not go, And leave us in our utmost need to Cromwell's cruel blow-- Sheep without a shepherd, when the snow shuts out the sky-- Oh! why did you leave us, Eoghan? Why did you die?

VIII.

"Soft as woman's was your voice, O'Neill! bright was your eye, Oh! why did you leave us, Eoghan? Why did you die?

Your troubles are all over, you're at rest with G.o.d on high, But we're slaves, and we're orphans, Eoghan!--why didst thou die?"

--------------------------------------------------------------- [77] Commonly called Owen Roe O'Neill. Time, 10th November, 1649.

Scene--Ormond's Camp, County Waterford. Speakers--A veteran of Eoghan O'Neill's clan, and one of the hors.e.m.e.n just arrived with an account of his death.

[78] Clough Oughter.

[79] Benburb.

THE PENAL DAYS.

AIR--_The Wheelwright_.

I.

Oh! weep those days, the penal days, When Ireland hopelessly complained.

Oh! weep those days, the penal days, When G.o.dless persecution reigned; When year by year, For serf and peer, Fresh cruelties were made by law, And filled with hate, Our senate sate To weld anew each fetter's flaw.

Oh! weep those days, those penal days-- Their memory still on Ireland weighs.

II.

They bribed the flock, they bribed the son, To sell the priest and rob the sire; Their dogs were taught alike to run Upon the scent of wolf and friar.

Among the poor, Or on the moor, Were hid the pious and the true-- While traitor knave, And recreant slave, Had riches, rank, and retinue; And, exiled in those penal days, Our banners over Europe blaze.

III.

A stranger held the land and tower Of many a n.o.ble fugitive; No Popish lord had lordly power, The peasant scarce had leave to live; Above his head A ruined shed, No tenure but a tyrant's will-- Forbid to plead, Forbid to read Disarmed, disfranchised, imbecile-- What wonder if our step betrays The freedman, born in penal days?

IV.

They're gone, they're gone, those penal days!

All creeds are equal in our isle; Then grant, O Lord, thy plenteous grace, Our ancient feuds to reconcile.

Let all atone For blood and groan, For dark revenge and open wrong; Let all unite For Ireland's right, And drown our griefs in freedom's song; Till time shall veil in twilight haze, The memory of those penal days.

THE SURPRISE OF CREMONA.

1702.

I.

From Milan to Cremona Duke Villeroy rode, And soft are the beds in his princely abode; In billet and barrack the garrison sleep, And loose is the watch which the sentinels keep: 'Tis the eve of St. David, and bitter the breeze Of that mid-winter night on the flat Cremonese; A fig for precaution!--Prince Eugene sits down In winter cantonments round Mantua town!