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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EVICTION |
 | Ireland for the Irish |  |
EVICTION
Long years their hovel stood
Out on the moor:
More than one sorrow-brood
Pass'd through that door:
Ruin them overcast,
Worse than the wintry blast;
Famine's plague follow'd fast:
God help the Poor!
Out on the moor:
More than one sorrow-brood
Pass'd through that door:
Ruin them overcast,
Worse than the wintry blast;
Famine's plague follow'd fast:
God help the Poor!
There, on that heap of fern,
Gasping for breath,
Lieth the wretched kern,
Waiting for death:
Famine had brought him low;
Fever had caught him so:
O, thou sharp-griding woe!
Outwear thy sheath.
Gasping for breath,
Lieth the wretched kern,
Waiting for death:
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Fever had caught him so:
O, thou sharp-griding woe!
Outwear thy sheath.
Dying or living there,
Which is the worse?
Misery's heavy tear,
Back to thy source!
Who dares to lift her head
Up from the scarcely dead?
Who pulls the crazy shed
Down on the corse?
Which is the worse?
Misery's heavy tear,
Back to thy source!
Who dares to lift her head
Up from the scarcely dead?
Who pulls the crazy shed
Down on the corse?
What though some rent was due,—
Hast thou no grace?
So may God pardon you,
Shame of your race!
What though that home might be
Wretched and foul to see,—
What if God harry thee
Forth from his face?
Hast thou no grace?
So may God pardon you,
Shame of your race!
What though that home might be
Wretched and foul to see,—
What if God harry thee
Forth from his face?
Widow'd and orphan'd ones,
Flung from your nest!
Where will you lay your bones?
Bad was your best.
Out on the dreary road,
Where shall be their abode?
One of them sleeps with God:—
Where are the rest?
Flung from your nest!
Where will you lay your bones?
Bad was your best.
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Where shall be their abode?
One of them sleeps with God:—
Where are the rest?
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