THE POET LOOSED A WINGED SONG

The poet loosed a winged song

Against the hulk of England's wrong.

Were poisoned words at his command,

‘ Twould not avail for Ireland.

The soldier lifted up a sword,

And on the hills in battle poured

His life-blood like an ebbing sea —

And still we pine for liberty.

The friar spoke his bitter hope,

And danced upon the gallows rope.

Were he to dance that dance again

A hundred times,‘ twould be in vain.

Christ save us! only thou canst save!

The nation staggers to the grave.

Can genius, valour, faith be given,

And win no recompense of heaven?

No, Christ! by Ireland's martyrs, no!

‘ Twas not for this we suffered so.

Die, die again on Calvary tree,

If needs be, Christ, to set us free!

To set us free!