Poems — A Lament
I.
Gone from us--dead to us--he whom we worshipped so!
Low lies the altar we raised to his name;
Madly his own hand hath shattered and laid it low-- Madly his own breath hath blasted his fame.
He whose proud bosom once raged with humanity, He whose broad forehead was circled with might, Sunk to a time-serving, driv'lling inanity-- God!
why not spare our loved country the sight?
II.
Was it the gold of the stranger that tempted him?
Ah!
we'd have pledged to him body and soul;
Toiled for him--fought for him--starved for him--died for him-- Smiled, tho' our graves were the steps to his goal.
Breathed he one word in his deep, earnest whispering, Wealth, crown, and kingdom, were laid at his feet;
Raised he his right hand, the millions would round him cling-- Hush!
'tis the Sassenach ally you greet.
III.
Leaders have fallen--we wept, but we triumphed, too-- Patriot blood never sinks in the sod;
He falls, and the jeers of the nation he bent to sue Rise like accusing weird spirits to God.
Weep for him--weep for him---deep is the tragedy-- Angels themselves now might doubt of God's truth;
Souls from their bloody graves, shuddering, rise to see How he avenges their lost, murdered youth.
IV.
Tone, and Fitzgerald, and the pale-brow'd enthusiast-- He whose heart broke, but shrank not from the strife;
Davis, the latest loved--he who in glory passed, Kindling Hope's lamp with the chrism of life.
Well may they wail for him--power and might were his-- Loved as no mortal was loved in the land-- What has he sold them for?
Sorrow and shame it is, Fair words and false from a recreant band.
V.
Time's shade was on him; what matter?
we loved him yet;
Aye, would have torn the veins with our teeth, Made him a bath of our young blood to pay the debt-- Purchased his life, tho' we brough it by death.
Pray for him--pray: an archangel has fallen low;
There's a throne less in Heaven, there is sorrow on earth.
Weep, angels--laugh, demons!
When his hand could strike the blow, Where shall we seek for truth, honour, or worth?
