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Read Ebook: The inalienable heritage and other poems by Lawless Emily Sichell Edith Author Of Introduction Etc
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Ebook has 281 lines and 20038 words, and 6 pages
PAGE
"THE THIRD TRUMPET" 15
A BALLAD OF MEATH, MAY 1, 1654. IN THREE PARTS.
RESURGENCE 26
NIGHT SOUNDS 31
TO A HURRYING STREAMLET 33
IS IT LOVE? IS IT HATE? 34
A REPROACH 35
TO A FORGOTTEN TRITON 36
TO THAT RARE AND DEEP-RED BURNET-MOTH ONLY TO BE MET WITH IN THE BURREN 37
A GARDEN 38
A WAVE 40
YET A LITTLE LONGER 41
EVENING 42
FROM A WESTERN SHOREWAY 43
THE SHADOW ON THE SHORE 45
A BOG-FILLED VALLEY 47
A MIDNIGHT VISION 48
VAGRANTS 49
A SPHINX 50
A PARALLEL 51
MEMORIES 52
EMIGRANTS 54
WIDE IS THE SHANNON 57
EIGHTEENTH CENTURY ECHOES 59
THE AWAITED LEADER 61
THE GAMBLERS 63
A FAMINE CRY 64
GONE! 65
WISHES 66
TO A WOMAN SPINNING 67
SPAIN 68
SPAIN: A DRINKING SONG 69
AFTERWORD 73
THE INALIENABLE HERITAGE
From this loud noise of passing things, These restless hours with ceaseless hum, To centuries which, like sleeping kings, Rest in the sun,
Turn we. Six hundred years twice told Of blood and power, tears and fame, Twelve hundred high-piled years have rolled In pride or shame,
Since those strong brothers of the cross A world deep-whelmed in strife and sin-- High throned on power, sunk in loss-- Set out to win.
The bitter, sanguinary lands Which most abhorred the Faith, they trod, And carried in their naked hands The gifts of God.
Oh, wide-armed power of certitude! All knowledge, wisdom, guile above! Wrapped in a two-fold amplitude Of faith and love,
They came, saw, won. No craft was there, No conquering sword, no armed appeal, Only a child's belief in prayer, And a child's zeal.
Unarmed, unlearned, yet simply wise, Oh sandalled soldiers, brave and true, A mighty continent still lies In debt to you!
From pastures deep in rain-fed grass, From high, sea-smitten rocks austere, As curlew, hern, and bittern pass, So, year by year,
On tireless bleeding feet they trod From Eir? to Imperial Rome, Slept 'neath the stars; the breast of God Their shield and home.
No devious track was theirs of fear, The best-worn paths they loved to take, Till Heaven itself seemed chiefly dear For the world's sake.
And if at times their loud-pitched screed Rasps on our subtler nerves to-day, Certes an older, dreamier creed Behind it lay.
The wind-shod myrmidons of sleep, The dancers upon heath and fell, The fluters of the woodland deep-- They knew these well.
For who those flutes would mark as clear, Or note the fluters dancing by As men who prayed, and lay in fear 'Neath a dark sky!
A sky thick-set with rustling wing, An earth thrilled through with awful knell Amid whose hollow toilings ring Loud cries of hell.
With ancient terrors worse than death; Yet lit with lights beyond our ken; Stern burden for the fleeting breath Of short-lived men!
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