James and Mary Ford, eds. Every Day in the Year. 1902.
October 6Parnell
By Lionel Johnson (18671902)
T
The cry of Irish seas;
Eternal sorrow finds
Eternal voice in these.
Whom Ireland weeps so well;
Her morning light that fled
Her morning star that fell.
Waits, and no dark clouds break;
Waits, and her strong son lies
Dead, for her holy sake.
And hath been from of old;
An host of griefs hath come
To make that heart their fold.
When the last sad troop came
Swift down the ancient way,
Keening a chieftain’s name!
Anger and love in tears;
They mourned the dear and dead,
Dirge of the ruined years.
The mourning company;
Old sorrows met the new
In sad fraternity.
Nay! all her children’s fate
Ireland remembers yet,
With love insatiate.
Hears, and with passionate breath
Eternally she tells
A rosary of death.
The mother of us all;
Faithful and true may we
Fail her not though we fall.
Dead for her holy sake;
But from the dead arise
Voices that bid us wake.
His but the herald’s part;
Be ours to see withdrawn
Night from our mother’s heart.