The Poems of Thomas Davis | ||
A SONG FOR THE IRISH MILITIA.
I
The tribune's tongue and poet's penMay 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!
22
II
No foe would fear your thunder wordsIf 'twere not for our light'ning swords—
If tyrants yield when millions pray,
'Tis lest 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 brightCan freely speak and nobly write—
What prophets preached the truth so well
As Hofer, Brian, Bruce, and Tell?
God 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!
23
V
Yet, 'tis not strength, and 'tis not steelAlone can make the English reel;
But wisdom, working day by day,
Till comes the time for passion'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 penMay 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!
The Poems of Thomas Davis | ||