 | The poetical works of William H. C. Hosmer |  |
150
ERIN WAKING.
Light streams through a rift in the cloud
That hangs over green Innisfail—
While voices of millions are shouting aloud,
The satraps of tyranny quail:
The collar of shame hath been worn
Through ages of folly and woe—
Too long hath thy neck, O Hibernia! borne
The yoke of a merciless foe,
Whose creatures, while perfidy sharpened the dart,
Like vultures have crimsoned their beaks in thy heart.
That hangs over green Innisfail—
While voices of millions are shouting aloud,
The satraps of tyranny quail:
The collar of shame hath been worn
Through ages of folly and woe—
Too long hath thy neck, O Hibernia! borne
The yoke of a merciless foe,
Whose creatures, while perfidy sharpened the dart,
Like vultures have crimsoned their beaks in thy heart.
Hot winds from the waste of despair
On thy blood-bedewed shamrock have breathed,
But the leaves, growing verdant in liberty's air,
Again round her brow shall be wreathed:
And chisel of art on the stone
Shall name of that martyr engrave
Who prayed for a sepulchre, noteless and lone,
While foot of one heart-broken slave
Polluted the green of that beautiful shore,
By steel-harnessed champions trodden of yore.
On thy blood-bedewed shamrock have breathed,
But the leaves, growing verdant in liberty's air,
Again round her brow shall be wreathed:
And chisel of art on the stone
Shall name of that martyr engrave
Who prayed for a sepulchre, noteless and lone,
While foot of one heart-broken slave
Polluted the green of that beautiful shore,
By steel-harnessed champions trodden of yore.
Gone forth hath the gathering word,
And under Hesperian skies
Fond exiles the call of their mother have heard,
And homeward are turning their eyes:
They send o'er the murmuring brine
In answer a shout of applause,
And drops, that give warmth to their bosoms like wine,
Are ready to shed in a cause
That cannot march on with a faltering stride
While Truth wears a buckler, and God is a guide.
And under Hesperian skies
Fond exiles the call of their mother have heard,
And homeward are turning their eyes:
They send o'er the murmuring brine
In answer a shout of applause,
151
Are ready to shed in a cause
That cannot march on with a faltering stride
While Truth wears a buckler, and God is a guide.
Land of the valiant! at last
The brow of thy future is bright;
In return for a shadowed and comfortless past
Is dawning an era of light:
The Lion of Britain in vain
Is baring his teeth for the fray—
Thy children have sworn that dishonoring stain
Shall be wiped from thy forehead away;
The bones of thy martyrs have stirred in the tomb,
And glimmers the starlight of Hope through the gloom.
The brow of thy future is bright;
In return for a shadowed and comfortless past
Is dawning an era of light:
The Lion of Britain in vain
Is baring his teeth for the fray—
Thy children have sworn that dishonoring stain
Shall be wiped from thy forehead away;
The bones of thy martyrs have stirred in the tomb,
And glimmers the starlight of Hope through the gloom.
Invaders thy valor have rued—
To deeds that will aye be admired,
Bear witness, Clontarf! where the Dane was subdued,
And Brian, the dauntless, expired:
Thy sons on the scaffold have died,
The block hath been soaked with their gore,
And long ago banished thy splendor and pride;
But idle it seems to deplore—
Unbending resolve to blot out thy disgrace,
In hearts of the brave, to regret should give place.
To deeds that will aye be admired,
Bear witness, Clontarf! where the Dane was subdued,
And Brian, the dauntless, expired:
Thy sons on the scaffold have died,
The block hath been soaked with their gore,
And long ago banished thy splendor and pride;
But idle it seems to deplore—
Unbending resolve to blot out thy disgrace,
In hearts of the brave, to regret should give place.
The Genius of Erin from earth,
Uprising, hath broken the bowl,
Whose tide to a black-crested viper gave birth,
That long dimmed the light of her soul;
And millions of high-hearted men
Who thus can wild passion restrain,
Though driven for refuge to cavern and den,
Will arm for the conflict again—
And, venturing all on the hazardous cast,
Prove victors, though worn and outnumbered, at last.
Uprising, hath broken the bowl,
Whose tide to a black-crested viper gave birth,
That long dimmed the light of her soul;
And millions of high-hearted men
Who thus can wild passion restrain,
Though driven for refuge to cavern and den,
Will arm for the conflict again—
And, venturing all on the hazardous cast,
Prove victors, though worn and outnumbered, at last.
152
Thou isle, on the breast of the sea
Like an emerald gracefully set,
Though feet shod with iron have trampled on thee,
A brightness belongs to thee yet:
In bondage thy magical lyre
Hath thrilled a wide world with its strains,
And thine eloquent sons have awakened a fire
That fast is dissolving thy chains:—
The Saxon is watching the issue in fear—
He knows that thy day of redemption draws near.
Like an emerald gracefully set,
Though feet shod with iron have trampled on thee,
A brightness belongs to thee yet:
In bondage thy magical lyre
Hath thrilled a wide world with its strains,
And thine eloquent sons have awakened a fire
That fast is dissolving thy chains:—
The Saxon is watching the issue in fear—
He knows that thy day of redemption draws near.
| The poetical works of William H. C. Hosmer | |