Thomas Davis, Selections from his Prose and Poetry Part 44

A SONG FOR THE IRISH MILITIA.

AIR--_The Peac.o.c.k._

I.

The tribune's tongue and poet's pen May sow the seed in prostrate men; But 'tis the soldier's sword alone Can reap the crop so bravely sown!

No more I'll sing nor idly pine, But train my soul to lead a line-- A soldier's life's the life for me-- A soldier's death, so Ireland's free!

II.

No foe would fear your thunder words, If 'twere not for your lightning swords-- If tyrants yield when millions pray, 'Tis less they link in war array; Nor peace itself is safe, but when The sword is sheathed by fighting men-- A soldier's life's the life for me-- A soldier's death, so Ireland's free!

III.

The rifle brown and sabre bright Can freely speak and n.o.bly write-- What prophets preached the truth so well As HOFER, BRIAN, BRUCE, and TELL?

G.o.d guard the creed these heroes taught-- That blood-bought Freedom's cheaply bought A soldier's life's the life for me-- A soldier's death, so Ireland's free!

IV.

Then, welcome be the bivouac, The hardy stand, and fierce attack, Where pikes will tame their carbineers, And rifles thin their bay'neteers, And every field the island through Will show "what Irishmen can do!"

A soldier's life's the life for me-- A soldier's death so Ireland's free!

V.

Yet, 'tis not strength and 'tis not steel Alone can make the English reel; But wisdom, working day by day, Till comes the time for pa.s.sion's sway-- The patient dint and powder shock, Can blast an empire like a rock.

A soldier's life's the life for me-- A soldier's death, so Ireland's free!

VI.

The tribune's tongue and poet's pen May sow the seed in slavish men; But 'tis the soldier's sword alone Can reap the harvest when 'tis grown.

No more I'll sing, no more I'll pine, But train my soul to lead a line-- A soldier's life's the life for me-- A soldier's death, so Ireland's free.

OUR OWN AGAIN.

I.

Let the coward shrink aside, We'll have our own again; Let the brawling slave deride-- Here's for our own again!

Let the tyrant bribe and lie, March, threaten, fortify, Loose his lawyer and his spy-- Yet we'll have our own again!

Let him soothe in silken tone, Scold from a foreign throne: Let him come with bugles blown-- We shall have our own again!

Let us to our purpose bide, We'll have our own again!

Let the game be fairly tried, We'll have our own again!

II.

Send the cry throughout the land, "Who's for our own again?"

Summon all men to our band,-- Why not our own again?

Rich and poor, and old and young, Sharp sword, and fiery tongue, Soul and sinew firmly strung-- All to get our own again!

Brothers strive by brotherhood-- Trees in a stormy wood-- Riches come from Nationhood-- Sha'n't we have our own again?

Munster's woe is Ulster's bane!

Join for our own again-- Tyrants rob as well as reign-- We'll have our own again!

III.

Oft our fathers' hearts it stirred, "Rise for our own again!"

Often pa.s.sed the signal word, "Strike for our own again!"

Rudely, rashly, and untaught, Uprose they, ere they ought, Failing, though they n.o.bly fought-- Dying for their own again!

Mind will rule and muscle yield In senate, s.h.i.+p, and field: When we've skill our strength to wield, Let us take our own again!

By the slave his chain is wrought-- Strive for our own again.

Thunder is less strong than thought-- We'll have our own again!

IV.

Calm as granite to our foes, Stand for our own again; Till his wrath to madness grows, Firm for our own again.

Bravely hope, and wisely wait, Toil, join, and educate; Man is master of his fate; We'll enjoy our own again!

With a keen constrained thirst-- Powder's calm ere it burst-- Making ready for the worst-- So we'll get our own again.

Let us to our purpose bide, We'll have our own again!

G.o.d is on the righteous side, We'll have our own again!

CELTS AND SAXONS.[83]

I.

We hate the Saxon and the Dane, We hate the Norman men-- We cursed their greed for blood and gain, We curse them now again.

Yet start not, Irish-born man!

If you're to Ireland true, We heed not blood, nor creed, nor clan-- We have no curse for you.

II.

We have no curse for you or yours, But Friends.h.i.+p's ready grasp, And Faith to stand by you and yours Unto our latest gasp-- To stand by you against all foes, Howe'er, or whence they come, With traitor arts, or bribes, or blows, From England, France, or Rome.