Ireland for the Irish Rhymes and Reasons Against Landlordism with a Preface on Fenianism and Republicanism. By W. J. Linton, Formerly of the Irish "Nation" |
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PAUPER CHILDREN |
 | Ireland for the Irish |  |
PAUPER CHILDREN
Dwarfish, famish'd, and weakly stooping,
Bloodless fingers beside them drooping,
Listless, lifeless, and nothing hoping,—
Pauper babes are these:
Smileless, agèd, and woe-begone,
With the prominent jaws of the skeleton,
And filmy eyes, and faces brown—
Like the face of a beast—with horrible down:—
Look on them, Landlord! look and own,
Not flesh of thy flesh, but bone of thy bone,
Stalks from the seed which thou hast sown,
Thine by thy Famine-wife, Heart-of-stone!
Begetter of miseries!
Lo, where Body-and-soul-starvation,
Idiot-grinning Emaciation,
Is nursing the youth of the nation!
Bloodless fingers beside them drooping,
Listless, lifeless, and nothing hoping,—
Pauper babes are these:
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With the prominent jaws of the skeleton,
And filmy eyes, and faces brown—
Like the face of a beast—with horrible down:—
Look on them, Landlord! look and own,
Not flesh of thy flesh, but bone of thy bone,
Stalks from the seed which thou hast sown,
Thine by thy Famine-wife, Heart-of-stone!
Begetter of miseries!
Lo, where Body-and-soul-starvation,
Idiot-grinning Emaciation,
Is nursing the youth of the nation!
Worse than the toad beneath the harrow,
Worse than a starved sow's starving farrow,—
God, who marketh the meanest sparrow,
Cares he not for these?
Ay! God careth: but what dost thou?
Landed Cain, with the branded brow,
Who rivèst the heart with famine's plough,
Strewing wild hate where grain should grow.
Curse him loudly! but tremble too,
For the curse returneth again to you
Whose wrath stood by while your fellow slew,—
Murder's Accomplice the whole week through!
Hypocrite on thy knees,
Grumbling that time will make all things even,
Mumbling one profitless day in seven—
“Of such is the kingdom of heaven!”
Worse than a starved sow's starving farrow,—
God, who marketh the meanest sparrow,
Cares he not for these?
Ay! God careth: but what dost thou?
Landed Cain, with the branded brow,
Who rivèst the heart with famine's plough,
Strewing wild hate where grain should grow.
Curse him loudly! but tremble too,
For the curse returneth again to you
Whose wrath stood by while your fellow slew,—
Murder's Accomplice the whole week through!
Hypocrite on thy knees,
Grumbling that time will make all things even,
Mumbling one profitless day in seven—
“Of such is the kingdom of heaven!”
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