DUBLIN AT DAWN.

In the chill grey summer dawn-light

We pass through the empty streets;

The rattling wheels are all silent;

No friend his fellow greets.

Here and there, at the corners,

A man in a great-coat stands;

A bayonet hangs by his side, and

A rifle is in his hands.

This is a conquered city;

It speaks of war not peace;

And that's one of the English soldiers

The English call “police.”

You see, at the present moment

That noble country of mine

Is boiling with indignation

At the memory of a “crime.”

In a path in the Phoenix Park where

The children romped and ran,

An Irish ruffian met his doom,

And an English gentleman.

For a hundred and over a hundred

Years on the country side

Men and women and children

Have slaved and starved and died,

That those who slaved and starved them

Might spend their earnings then,

And the Irish ruffians have a “good time,”

And the English gentlemen.

And that's why at the present moment

That noble country of mine

Is boiling with indignation

At the memory of a “crime.”

For the Irish ruffians ( they tell me ),

And it looks as if‘ twere true,

And the English gentlemen are so scarce,

We could not spare those two!

In the chill grey summer dawn-light

We pass through the empty streets;

The rattling wheels are all silent;

No friend his fellow greets.

Here and there, at the corners,

A man in a great-coat stands;

A bayonet hangs by his side, and

A rifle is in his hands.

This is a conquered city;

It speaks of war not peace;

And that's one of the English soldiers

The English call “police.”