Do what I will, I cannot chant so well
    As other men; and yet my soul is true.
    My hopes are bold; my thoughts are hard to tell,
    But thou can'st read them, and accept them, too,
    Though, half-abash'd, they seem to hide from view.
    I strike the lyre, I sound the hollow shell;
    And why? For comfort, when my thoughts rebel,
    And when I count the woes that must ensue.
    But for this reason, and no other one,
    I dare to look thy way, and bow my head
    To thy sweet name, as sunflower to the sun,
    Though, peradventure, not so wisely fed
    With garden fancies. Tears must now be shed,
    Unnumber'd tears, till life or love be done!

The body grows outside, --
The more convenient way, --
That if the spirit like to hide,
Its temple stands alway

Ajar, secure, inviting;
It never did betray
The soul that asked its shelter
In timid honesty.

I am afraid, oh I am so afraid!
The cold black fear is clutching me to-night
As long ago when they would take the light
And leave the little child who would have prayed,
Frozen and sleepless at the thought of death.
My heart that beats too fast will rest too soon;
I shall not know if it be night or noon,
Yet shall I struggle in the dark for breath?
Will no one fight the Terror for my sake,
The heavy darkness that no dawn will break?
How can they leave me in that dark alone,
Who loved the joy of light and warmth so much,
And thrilled so with the sense of sound and touch,
How can they shut me underneath a stone?

A conqueror as provident as brave,
He robbed the cradle to supply the grave.
His reign laid quantities of human dust:
He fell upon the just and the unjust.

    While Europe's eye is fix'd on mighty things,
    The fate of empires and the fall of kings;
    While quacks of state must each produce his plan,
    And even children lisp the Rights of Man;
    Amid this mighty fuss just let me mention,
    The Rights of Woman merit some attention.

    First on the sexes' intermix'd connexion,
    One sacred Right of Woman is protection.
    The tender flower that lifts its head, elate,
    Helpless, must fall before the blasts of fate,
    Sunk on the earth, defac'd its lovely form,
    Unless your shelter ward th' impending storm.

    Our second Right, but needless here is caution,
    To keep that right inviolate's the fashion,
    Each man of sense has it so full before him,
    He'd die before he'd wrong it,...

It was eight bells ringing,
    For the morning watch was done,
And the gunner's lads were singing
    As they polished every gun.
It was eight bells ringing,
And the gunner's lads were singing,
For the ship she rode a-swinging,
    As they polished every gun.

        Oh! to see the linstock lighting,
            Téméraire! Téméraire!
        Oh! to hear the round shot biting,
            Téméraire! Téméraire!

        Oh! to see the linstock lighting,
            And to hear the round shot biting,
        For we're all in love with fighting
            On the fighting Téméraire.

It was noontide ringing,
    And the battle just begun,
When the ship her way was winging,
    As they loaded every gun.
It was noontide ringing,<...

Misguided man, thy turbid life
This day in shameful death shall close,
And thou shalt ne'er behold the sun,
That in thy sight, this morn, arose.

The moon, which yestere'en so clear,
Shone thro' thy cell's small window pane -
No more shalt thou behold its light,
Or see its chasten'd rays, again.

No more thy voice, 'mong savage hordes,
Shall sound, with baneful, potent spell,
To make them rise with savage force,
And 'gainst their country's laws, rebel.

And thou art calm in trustful hope,
And conscience gives thee little pain,
'Tis strange, but man's a myst'ry deep,
Unsolv'd in finite thought's domain.

The scaffold's there, and thou art firm;
Thou walkest forth upon it now;
The thoughts within thy breast are hid,
But calm an...

I.

"He has eyes like the Christ,"
    The mother said, and smiled;
"He will be wise and good,
    My wondering little child.
God grant him strength to do
    Whate'er his tasks may be,
But spare him, if Thou wilt,
    O, spare him Calvary!"


II.

Grim where the black bars cast
    Their shadows o'er his bed,
He waits to pay the cost
    Of blood his hands have shed.
The mother kneels and sobs:
    "God, he shall always be,
In spite of Cain's red brand,
    A stainless child to me."

I have seen higher holier things than these,
And therefore must to these refuse my heart,
Yet am I panting for a little ease;
I’ll take, and so depart.

Ah, hold! the heart is prone to fall away,
Her high and cherished visions to forget,
And if thou takest, how wilt thou repay
So vast, so dread a debt?

How will the heart, which now thou trustest, then
Corrupt, yet in corruption mindful yet,
Turn with sharp stings upon itself! Again,
Bethink thee of the debt!

Hast thou seen higher, holier things than these,
And therefore must to these thy heart refuse?
With the true best, alack, how ill agrees
That best that thou would’st choose!

The Summum Pulchrum rests in heaven above;
Do thou, as best thou may’st, thy duty do
Amid the things...

I saw old General at bay;
(Old as he was, his grey eyes yet shone out in battle like stars;)
His small force was now completely hemm'd in, in his works;
He call'd for volunteers to run the enemy's lines - a desperate emergency;
I saw a hundred and more step forth from the ranks - but two or three were selected;
I saw them receive their orders aside - they listen'd with care - the adjutant was very grave;
I saw them depart with cheerfulness, freely risking their lives.

The shore-boat lies in the morning light,
By the good ship ready for sailing;
The skies are clear, and the dawn is bright,
Tho’ the bar of the bay is fleck’d with white,
And the wind is fitfully wailing;
Near the tiller stands the priest, and the knight
Leans over the quarter-railing.

“There is time while the vessel tarries still,
There is time while her shrouds are slack,
There is time ere her sails to the west wind fill,
Ere her tall masts vanish from town and from hill,
Ere cleaves to her keel the track:
There is time for confession to those who will,
To those who may never come back.”

“Sir priest, you can shrive these men of mine,
And, I pray you, shrive them fast,
And shrive those hardy sons of the brine,
Captain and mates of the Eglantin...

                Lost!    Lost!    Lost!
The cry went up from a sea --
The waves were wild with an awful wrath,
Not a light shone down on the lone ship's path;
                The clouds hung low:
                Lost!    Lost!    Lost!
Rose wild from the hearts of the tempest-tossed.

                Lost!    Lost!    Lost!
The cry floated over the waves --
Far over the pitiless waves;
It smote on the dark and it rended the clouds;
The billows below them were weaving white shrouds
        Out of the foam of the surge,
        And the wind-voices chanted a dirge:
                Lost!    Lost!    Lost!
Wailed wilder the lips of the tempest-tossed.

                Lost!    Lost!    Lost!
Not the sign of a hope was nigh,
In the sea, in the ai...

Spare me, dread angel of reproof,
And let the sunshine weave to-day
Its gold-threads in the warp and woof
Of life so poor and gray.

Spare me awhile; the flesh is weak.
These lingering feet, that fain would stray
Among the flowers, shall some day seek
The strait and narrow way.

Take off thy ever-watchful eye,
The awe of thy rebuking frown;
The dullest slave at times must sigh
To fling his burdens down;

To drop his galley's straining oar,
And press, in summer warmth and calm,
The lap of some enchanted shore
Of blossom and of balm.

Grudge not my life its hour of bloom,
My heart its taste of long desire;
This day be mine: be those to come
As duty shall require.

The deep voice answered to my own,
Smiting my sel...

King Francis was a hearty king, and loved a royal sport,
And one day as his lions fought, sat looking on the court;
The nobles filled the benches, and the ladies in their pride,
And 'mongst them sat the Count de Lorge, with one for whom he sighed:
And truly 'twas a gallant thing to see that crowning show,
Valour and love, and a king above, and the royal beasts below.

Ramped and roared the lions, with horrid laughing jaws;
They bit, they glared, gave blows like beams, a wind went with their paws;
With wallowing might and stifled roar they rolled on one another;
Till all the pit with sand and mane was in a thunderous smother;
The bloody foam above the bars came whisking through the air;
Said Francis then, "Faith, gentlemen, we're better here than there."

De Lorge's love...

    (F.T.)


    The cord broke, and the tent
    Slipped, and the silken roof
    Lay prone beneath the viewless hoof
    Of the deliberate firmament.
    Yet cared we not; how should we care?
    Knowing that labourless now he breathes
    A golden paradisal air
    Where with more certain craft he wreathes
    Bright braids of words more wise and fair
    Than ever his earthly fabrics were,
    That his unwavering eyes made fresh,
    Purged and regarbed in fadeless flesh,
    What he then darkly guessed behold,
    And watch with an abiding joy
        The eternal mysteries unfold
    Which do his now transfigured songs evermore employ.

        Brother, yet great thy power;
        Thou stood'st as on a tower
    Small 'neath...

This mighty empire hath but feet of clay:
Of all its ancient chivalry and might
Our little island is forsaken quite:
Some enemy hath stolen its crown of bay,
And from its hills that voice hath passed away
Which spake of Freedom: O come out of it,
Come out of it, my Soul, thou art not fit
For this vile traffic-house, where day by day
Wisdom and reverence are sold at mart,
And the rude people rage with ignorant cries
Against an heritage of centuries.
It mars my calm: wherefore in dreams of Art
And loftiest culture I would stand apart,
Neither for God, nor for his enemies.

The boom and blare of the big brass band is cheering to my heart
And I like the smell of the trampled grass and elephants and hay.
I take off my hat to the acrobat with his delicate, strong art,
And the motley mirth of the chalk-faced clown drives all my care away.

I wish I could feel as they must feel, these players brave and fair,
Who nonchalantly juggle death before a staring throng.
It must be fine to walk a line of silver in the air
And to cleave a hundred feet of space with a gesture like a song.

Sir Henry Irving never knew a keener, sweeter thrill
Than that which stirs the breast of him who turns his painted face
To the circling crowd who laugh aloud and clap hands with a will
As a tribute to the clown who won the great wheel-barrow race.

Now, one shall w...

We repeat, the aim of the IRA has always been the liberation of our homeland. Any who aid or abet the enemy must fall full prey to force of arms. (The Republican Proclamation)

Somewhere in the distance a dog kept at his baying. A long mournful whelping that seemed torn from the damp night's very throat. Sean could not help but hear it; so deeply did the dog's vocal cords implant sound upon human ears. He could not help but think of the provos warning nuzzled like that dog's steady cry over and over into the fabric of one's memory swift as searing iron.

"Aid or abet," he murmured softly to himself, "a long distance is covered by such a comment."

His Catholic heritage did him no justice in resolving the torment. By birth, name even appearance and occupation - all such persuasions meant he should embrace what...