To Charles Parnell.

One thing we praise you for that is past praise -
    The dauntless eyes that faced the rain and night,
    The hand that never wearied in the fight,
Till, through the dark's despair, the dawn's delays,
It rose, that vision of forgotten days,
    Ireland, a nation in her right and might,
    As fearless of the lightning as the Light, -
Freedom, the noon-tide sun that shines and stays!
O brave, O pure, O hater of the wrong,
    (The wrong that is as one with England's name,
    Tyranny with cant of liberty, and shame
With boast of righteousness), to you belong
    Trust for the hate that blinds our foes like flame,
Love for the hope that makes our hearts so strong!

Francis William Lauderdale Adams

Francis William Lauderdale Adams (27 September 1862 – 4 September 1893) was an English writer, poet, dramatist, and social reformer. His literary work often reflected his radical socialist views. Adams lived a life marred by poverty and struggles with his health, eventually committing suicide at the age of 30. Despite his brief life, his contributions to literature and social thought remain significant.

Francis William Lauderdale Adams

A Street Fight. (To Mr F - - .) {38}

Francis William Lauderdale Adams, Simple Poetry

Epode. "On The Ranges, Queensland."

Francis William Lauderdale Adams, Simple Poetry

To An Old Friend In England. "Esau."

Francis William Lauderdale Adams, Simple Poetry

Farewell To The Children.

Francis William Lauderdale Adams, Simple Poetry

English

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A Story. (For The Irish Delegates In Australia.)

    Do you want to hear a story
    With a nobler praise than "glory,"
Of a man who loved the right like heaven and loathed the wrong like hell?
    Then, that story let me tell you
    Once again, though it as well you
Know as I - the splendid story of the man they call Parnell!

    By the wayside of the nations,
    Lashed with whips and execrations,
Helpless, hopeless, bleeding, dying, she, the Maiden Nation, lay;
    And the burthen of dishonour
    Weighed so grievously upon her
That her very children hid their eyes and crept in shame away.

    And there as she was lying
    Helpless, hopeless, bleeding, dying,
All her high-born foes came round her, fleering, jeering, as they said:
    "What is freedom fought and won for?
    She is dead! She'...

Francis William Lauderdale Adams

Ireland.

O we have loved you through cold and rain
    And pitiless frost,
Consuming our offering of blood and of brain
Gladly again and again and again,
    Though it all seemed lost,
        Ireland, Ireland!

O we will fight, fight on for you till
    Your anguish is past,
The wronged ones righted, the tyrants still. -
Though God has not saved you, yet we will,
    At the last, at the last,
        Ireland, Ireland!

O we will love you in warmth and light
    And the happy day,
When you have forgotten the terrible night,
Standing proud and beautiful bright
    For ever and aye,
        Ireland, Ireland!

Francis William Lauderdale Adams

To Henry George In America.

Not for the thought that burns on keen and clear,
    Heat that the heat has turned from red to white,
    The passion of the lone remembering night
One with the patience day must see and hear -
Not for the shafts the lying foemen fear,
    Shot from the soul's intense self-centring light -
    But for the heart of love divine and bright,
We praise you, worker, thinker, poet, seer!
Man of the People, - faithful in all parts,
    The veins' last drop, the brain's last flickering dole,
    You on whose forehead beams the aureole
That hope and "certain hope" alone imparts -
    Us have you given your perfect heart and soul;
Wherefore receive as yours our souls and hearts!

Francis William Lauderdale Adams

To England.

I.


There was a time when all thy sons were proud
    To speak thy name,
England, when Europe echoed back aloud
    Thy fearless fame:

When Spain reeled shattered helpless from thy guns
    And splendid ire,
When from Canadian snows to Indian suns
    Pitt's soul was fire.

O that in days like these were, fair and free
    From shame and scorn,
Fate had allowed, benignly, pityingly
    That I was born!

O that, if struck, then struck with glorious wounds,
    I bore apart
(Not torn with fangs of leprous coward hounds)
    My bleeding heart!


II.


We hate you - not because of cruel deeds
    Staining a glorious effort. They who live
    Learn in this earth to give and to forgive,
Where he...

Francis William Lauderdale Adams

The New Locksley Hall. "Forty Years After."

Comrade, yet a little further I would go before the night
Closes round and chills in darkness all the glorious sunset light -
Yet a little, by the cliff there, till the stately home I see
Of the man who once was with us, comrade once with you and me!
Nay, but leave me, pass alone there; stay awhile and gaze again
On the various-jewelled waters and the dreamy southern main,
For the evening breeze is sighing in the quiet of the hills
Moving down in cliff and terrace to the singing sweet sea-rills,
While the river, silent-stealing, thro' the copse and thro' the lea
Winds her waveless way eternal to the welcome of the sea.
Yes, within that green-clad homestead, gardened grounds and velvet ease
Of a home where culture reigneth and the chambers whisper peace,
Is the man, the seer and s...

Francis William Lauderdale Adams

Come Gather Round Me, Parnellites

Come gather round me, Parnellites,
And praise our chosen man;
Stand upright on your legs awhile,
Stand upright while you can,
For soon we lie where he is laid,
And he is underground;
Come fill up all those glasses
And pass the bottle round.

And here's a cogent reason,
And I have many more,
He fought the might of England
And saved the Irish poor,
Whatever good a farmer's got
He brought it all to pass;
And here's another reason,
That parnell loved a lass.

And here's a final reason,
He was of such a kind
Every man that sings a song
Keeps Parnell in his mind.
For Parnell was a proud man,
No prouder trod the ground,
And a proud man's a lovely man,
So pass the bottle round.

The Bishops and the party
That...

William Butler Yeats