Death of the Prince Imperial

Waileth a woman, "O my God!"
A breaking heart in a broken breath,
A hopeless cry o'er her heart-hope's death!
Can words catch the chords of the winds that wail,
When love's last lily lies dead in the vale!
    Let her alone,
        Under the rod
    With the infinite moan
        Of her soul for God.
Ah! song! you may echo the sound of pain,
    But you never may shrine,
    In verse or line,
The pang of the heart that breaks in twain.

Waileth a woman, "O my God!"
Wind-driven waves with no hearts that ache,
Why do your passionate pulses throb?
No lips that speak -- have ye souls that sob?
We carry the cross -- ye wear the crest,
We have our God -- and ye, your shore,
Whither ye rush in the storm to rest;
We have the havens of holy prayer --
And we have a hope -- have ye despair?
For storm-rocked waves ye break evermore,
Adown the shores and along the years,
In the whitest foam of the saddest tears,
And we, as ye, O waves, gray waves!
Drift over a sea more deep and wide,
For we have sorrow and we have death;
And ye have only the tempest's breath;
But we have God when heart-oppressed,
As a calm and beautiful shore of rest.

O waves! sad waves! how you flowed between
The crownless Prince and the exiled Queen!

Waileth a woman, "O my God!"
Her hopes are withered, her heart is crushed,
For the love of her love is cold and dead,
The joy of her joy hath forever fled;
A starless and pitiless night hath rushed
On the light of her life -- and far away
In Afric wild lies her poor dead child,
Lies the heart of her heart -- let her alone
    Under the rod
        With her infinite moan,
    O my God!
He was beautiful, pure, and brave,
    The brightest grace
    Of a royal race;
Only his throne is but a grave;
    Is there fate in fame?
    Is there doom in names?
Ah! what did the cruel Zulu spears
Care for the prince or his mother's tears?
What did the Zulu's ruthless lance
Care for the hope of the future France?

Crieth the Empress, "O my son!"
He was her own and her only one,
She had nothing to give him but her love.
'Twas kingdom enough on earth -- above
She gave him an infinite faith in God;
Let her cry her cry
Over her own and only one,
All the glory is gone -- is gone,
Into her broken-hearted sigh.

Moaneth a mother, "O my child!"
And who can sound that depth of woe?
Homeless, throneless, crownless -- now
She bows her sorrow-wreathed brow --
(So fame and all its grandeurs go)
    Let her alone
        Beneath the rod
    With her infinite moan,
        "O my God!"

Abram Joseph Ryan

Abram Joseph Ryan was an American poet, Catholic priest, and former Confederate chaplain. Known as the 'Poet-Priest of the South,' his most famous work is 'The Conquered Banner.' Ryan wrote many poems that reflected his Southern heritage and the American Civil War. His works often possess a spiritual and melancholic tone, inspired by the losses of the war and his religious faith. In addition to poetry, he also wrote essays and gave public speeches.

Abram Joseph Ryan

The Child of the Poet

Abram Joseph Ryan, Simple Poetry

Hope

Abram Joseph Ryan, Simple Poetry

To-Days

Abram Joseph Ryan, Simple Poetry

Lines -- 1875

Abram Joseph Ryan, Simple Poetry

English

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De Profundis

Ah! days so dark with death's eclipse!
    Woe are we! woe are we!
And the nights are ages long!
From breaking hearts, thro' pallid lips
    O my God! woe are we!
Trembleth the mourner's song;
    A blight is falling on the fair,
    And hope is dying in despair,
    And terror walketh everywhere.

All the hours are full of tears --
    O my God! woe are we!
Grief keeps watch in brightest eyes --
Every heart is strung with fears,
    Woe are we! woe are we!
All the light hath left the skies,
    And the living awe struck crowds
    See above them only clouds,
    And around them only shrouds.

Ah! the terrible farewells!
    Woe are they! woe are they!
When last words sink into moans,
While life's trembling vesper bells --

Abram Joseph Ryan

A Death

Crushed with a burden of woe,
Wrecked in the tempest of sin:
Death came, and two lips murmured low,
"Ah! once I was white as the snow,
In the happy and pure long ago;
But they say God is sweet -- is it so?
Will He let a poor wayward one in --
In where the innocent are?
Ah! justice stands guard at the gate;
Does it mock at a poor sinner's fate?
Alas! I have fallen so far!
Oh, God! Oh, my God! 'tis too late!
I have fallen as falls a lost star:

"The sky does not miss the gone gleam,
But my heart, like the lost star, can dream
Of the sky it has fall'n from. Nay!
I have wandered too far -- far away.
Oh! would that my mother were here;
Is God like a mother? Has He
Any love for a sinner like me?"

Her face wore the wildness of woe --

Abram Joseph Ryan

In Memoriam (David J. Ryan, C.S.A.)

Thou art sleeping, brother, sleeping
    In thy lonely battle grave;
Shadows o'er the past are creeping,
Death, the reaper, still is reaping,
Years have swept, and years are sweeping
Many a memory from my keeping,
But I'm waiting still, and weeping
    For my beautiful and brave.

When the battle songs were chanted,
    And war's stirring tocsin pealed,
By those songs thy heart was haunted,
And thy spirit, proud, undaunted,
Clamored wildly -- wildly panted:
"Mother! let my wish be granted;
I will ne'er be mocked and taunted
That I fear to meet our vaunted
    Foemen on the bloody field.

"They are thronging, mother! thronging,
    To a thousand fields of fame;
Let me go -- 'tis wrong, and wronging
God and thee to crush this longin...

Abram Joseph Ryan

Life

A baby played with the surplice sleeve
Of a gentle priest; while in accents low,
The sponsors murmured the grand "I believe,"
And the priest bade the mystic waters to flow
In the name of the Father, and the Son,
And Holy Spirit -- Three in One.

Spotless as a lily's leaf,
Whiter than the Christmas snow;
Not a sign of sin or grief,
And the babe laughed, sweet and low.

A smile flitted over the baby's face:
Or was it the gleam of its angel's wing
Just passing then, and leaving a trace
Of its presence as it soared to sing?
A hymn when words and waters win
To grace and life a child of sin.

Not an outward sign or token,
That a child was saved from woe;
But the bonds of sin were broken,
And the babe laughed, sweet and low.

A...

Abram Joseph Ryan

Reverie ["Only a few more years!"]

        Only a few more years!
        Weary years!
        Only a few more tears!
        Bitter tears!
And then -- and then -- like other men,
I cease to wander, cease to weep,
Dim shadows o'er my way shall creep;
And out of the day and into the night,
Into the dark and out of the bright
I go, and Death shall veil my face,
The feet of the years shall fast efface
My very name, and every trace
I leave on earth; for the stern years tread --
Tread out the names of the gone and dead!
And then, ah! then, like other men,
I close my eyes and go to sleep,
Only a few, one hour, shall weep:
Ah! me, the grave is dark and deep!

        Alas!    Alas!
        How soon we pass!
        And ah! we go
        So far away;
When go we must,<...

Abram Joseph Ryan

The Prayer of the South

My brow is bent beneath a heavy rod!
My face is wan and white with many woes!
But I will lift my poor chained hands to God,
And for my children pray, and for my foes.
Beside the graves where thousands lowly lie
I kneel, and weeping for each slaughtered son,
I turn my gaze to my own sunny sky,
And pray, O Father, let Thy will be done!

My heart is filled with anguish, deep and vast!
My hopes are buried with my children's dust!
My joys have fled, my tears are flowing fast!
In whom, save Thee, our Father, shall I trust?
Ah! I forgot Thee, Father, long and oft,
When I was happy, rich, and proud, and free;
But conquered now, and crushed, I look aloft,
And sorrow leads me, Father, back to Thee.

Amid the wrecks that mark the foeman's path
I kneel, and...

Abram Joseph Ryan