[Parnell]
(October 6th, 1891.)
Hush—let no whisper of the cruel strife,
Wherein he fell so bravely fighting, fall
Nigh these dead ears; fain would our hearts recall
Nought but proud memories of a noble life—
Of unmatched skill to lead by pathways rife
With danger and dark doubt, where slander's knife
Gleamed ever bare to wound, yet over all
He pressed triumphant on—lo, thus to fall.
Through and beyond the breach he living made
Shall Erin pass to freedom and to will,
And shape her fate: there where his limbs are laid
No harsh reproach dare penetrate the shade;
Death's angel guards the door, and o'er the sill
A mightier voice than Death's speaks "Peace, be still!"
[Benburb]
Since treason triumphed when O'Neill was forced to foreign flight,
The ancient people felt the heel of Scotch usurper's might;
The barren hills of Ulster held a race proscribed and banned
Who from their lofty refuge viewed their own so fertile land.
Their churches in the sunny vales; the homes that once were theirs,
Torn from them and their Faith to feed some canting minion's prayers:
Oh Lord! from many a cloudy hill then streamed our prayers to Thee,
And like the dawn on summer hills, that only watchers see,
Thy glorious hope shone on us long before the sleeping foe
Knew that their doom had broken on the sword of Owen Roe.
'Twas dawn of fair June morning, while Blackwater still drew grey,
His valley'd mists about him that we saw at Killylea,
The Scottish colours waving as they headed to the ford
Where never foemen waded yet, but paid it with the sword;
And fair it was to see them in the golden morning light,
Climb up the hill by Caledon and turn them to the right;
As they neared Yellow Ford, where Bagnall met O'Neill,
Joy gathered in our throats and broke above their cannons' peal,
And oh! a thrill went through our ranks, as straining towards the foe,
Like hounds in leash we panted for the word of Owen Roe.
Not yet—altho' O'Ferrall's horse come riding in amain;
Not yet—altho' fierce Cunningham pursues with slackened rein;
Not yet—altho' in skirmish and in many a scattered fight
We hold them—still with waiting eye, O'Neill smiles in despite;
Till slanting on our backs the sun full on their faces fell.
Then blinding axe and battle spear rose with a sudden swell
"For God, and Church, and Country now—upon them every man;
But hold your strength until ye see them scarce a pike-length's span;
The Red Hand, ever uppermost, strike home your strongest blow";
And with a yell our feet outsped the words of Owen Roe.
Like heaving lift of yellow wave that drags the sandy shore
On with it to its foaming fall, our rushing pikemen bore
Horse, foot, and gun, and falling flags, like streamers of red wrack,
Torn from their dripping hold, in one broad swell of carnage back;
Stout Blayney's gallant horse withstood that seething tide in vain;
It bore them down, and redder raced with life-blood of the slain;
One regiment only fought its way from out that ghastly fight,
And Conway slew two horses on the Newry road that night;
While Monroe fled so fast he left both hat and wig to show
How full the breeze that lifted up the flag of Owen Roe.