 | Songs and Poems by George Sigerson |  |
37
THE EXILE'S RETURN
Look forth grand Peaks of Connaught,
Ye Wardens of the West!
What thing is this ariseth
From the farther ocean's breast?
What ghostly Shape appeareth
That stays the setting day,
And marshals to the right and left
The clouds in long array?
Against the sun what Shadow looms?
Behold!—a ship!—behold!
Now has it borne our life away
And come with alien's gold,
Or brings it news of battles lost,
Of freedom trampled o'er,
That it flaunts no flag upon its mast,
No pennon at the fore?
Ye Wardens of the West!
What thing is this ariseth
From the farther ocean's breast?
What ghostly Shape appeareth
That stays the setting day,
And marshals to the right and left
The clouds in long array?
Against the sun what Shadow looms?
Behold!—a ship!—behold!
Now has it borne our life away
And come with alien's gold,
Or brings it news of battles lost,
Of freedom trampled o'er,
That it flaunts no flag upon its mast,
No pennon at the fore?
Long, long, grand Peaks of Connaught,
Expectant ye keep guard;
Is this, then, whom ye hope for—
For whom you watch and ward?
Upon the deck what see ye,
The night is gathering fast;
O, see ye, say, a blaze of spears
To make a dawn at last?
And steal they all so silently
The false foe to surprise?
No, no, not so, it cannot be—
This is not for your eyes;
The waves of the windy ocean
Would leap in their joy and sing;
But now their wail knells down the gale,
For the burden that they bring.
Expectant ye keep guard;
Is this, then, whom ye hope for—
For whom you watch and ward?
Upon the deck what see ye,
The night is gathering fast;
O, see ye, say, a blaze of spears
To make a dawn at last?
38
The false foe to surprise?
No, no, not so, it cannot be—
This is not for your eyes;
The waves of the windy ocean
Would leap in their joy and sing;
But now their wail knells down the gale,
For the burden that they bring.
Yet, veil not, Peaks of Erinn!
Your royal brows in mist,
And let them, by the dying sun,
With radiance soft be kist:
And cast a look of welcome
Across the seas afar
To those who come, of whom the light,
The life, the soul ye are!
O, they have come through wilds and waves
Across a great half-world,
And they have come from Freedom's flag
To ours so sadly furled.
With burning hearts for Freedom,
Beneath an alien's sway,
Unforced they come and fetterless!—
Now, who of men be they?
Your royal brows in mist,
And let them, by the dying sun,
With radiance soft be kist:
And cast a look of welcome
Across the seas afar
To those who come, of whom the light,
The life, the soul ye are!
O, they have come through wilds and waves
Across a great half-world,
And they have come from Freedom's flag
To ours so sadly furled.
With burning hearts for Freedom,
Beneath an alien's sway,
Unforced they come and fetterless!—
Now, who of men be they?
Look forth, look forth, ye Warders!
Say, what on board is seen?
A group that guards all silently
A banner of the Green;
Our ancient flag of freedom,
Low-lying 'mid them all,
And the shroud of our nation's glory
Her last brave hero's pall.
O, mountain Peaks of Europe!
O, mountains of our land!
Saw ye ever sight so mournful
Since God gave you to command—
Since Ith sailed lifeless back to Spain,
Or dying they went forth,
Each sea-king in the barque of fire,
With prow that sought the North?
Say, what on board is seen?
A group that guards all silently
A banner of the Green;
39
Low-lying 'mid them all,
And the shroud of our nation's glory
Her last brave hero's pall.
O, mountain Peaks of Europe!
O, mountains of our land!
Saw ye ever sight so mournful
Since God gave you to command—
Since Ith sailed lifeless back to Spain,
Or dying they went forth,
Each sea-king in the barque of fire,
With prow that sought the North?
A Wail comes from the famine graves,
A Wail from the loved and lost,
“O, why have ye stirred his ashes,
Why have ye the wild seas crossed—
Why brought ye the martyr hither,
Where his corpse will bear the brand,
Why brought ye a freeman hither
From a free and friendly land?”
“In the Golden States Lone Mountain
His heart could find no rest,
So we brought him home o'er the white seafoam,
To his Erinn of the blest.”
A Wail from the loved and lost,
“O, why have ye stirred his ashes,
Why have ye the wild seas crossed—
Why brought ye the martyr hither,
Where his corpse will bear the brand,
Why brought ye a freeman hither
From a free and friendly land?”
“In the Golden States Lone Mountain
His heart could find no rest,
So we brought him home o'er the white seafoam,
To his Erinn of the blest.”
A Wail comes from the lonely hills,
A Wail from the desert plains,
“Not here! not here! no blessing is here,
With the early or latter rains,
O, bury him not in a landward spot,
'Mid the gloom of the ruined home,
But e'en if you will by the deep lake still,
Or the free sea's flashing foam.”
A Wail from the desert plains,
“Not here! not here! no blessing is here,
With the early or latter rains,
40
'Mid the gloom of the ruined home,
But e'en if you will by the deep lake still,
Or the free sea's flashing foam.”
Two Cries from the Land and Sea
Commingle and wail aloud;
“Bury him not by the deep lake still,
Our long-lost glory's shroud;
Bury him not by the breakers,
On the wild sea-beach alone,
Dark-shadowed by alien banners
Eternally they make moan.”
Commingle and wail aloud;
“Bury him not by the deep lake still,
Our long-lost glory's shroud;
Bury him not by the breakers,
On the wild sea-beach alone,
Dark-shadowed by alien banners
Eternally they make moan.”
But Living Erinn arising
Went down to her farthest strand,
And welcomed her lifeless hero,
And knelt to his pallid hand;
Her children from hill and hollow
Streamed forth in long array,
And before the Voice of Erinn,
The wailing died away.
“In God,” she cried, “is my hope will tried,
The Lord of sea and land,
No fetters bind the martyr's mind—
No chains his high soul brand.
God alone,” she cried, and the wailing died,
“Is Lord of the land and sea,
The tyrant in vain guards hill and plain,
The spirit itself is free!”
Went down to her farthest strand,
And welcomed her lifeless hero,
And knelt to his pallid hand;
Her children from hill and hollow
Streamed forth in long array,
And before the Voice of Erinn,
The wailing died away.
“In God,” she cried, “is my hope will tried,
The Lord of sea and land,
No fetters bind the martyr's mind—
No chains his high soul brand.
God alone,” she cried, and the wailing died,
“Is Lord of the land and sea,
The tyrant in vain guards hill and plain,
The spirit itself is free!”
| Songs and Poems by George Sigerson | |