Oracles

ST PATRICK’S DAY 1902 Written at Delhi. O GOOD St Patrick, turn again Thy mild eyes to the Western main ! Shalt thou be silent ? thou forget ? Are there no snakes in Ireland yet ? Death to the Saxon ! Slay nor spare ! O God of Justice, hear us swear ! The iron Saxon’s bloody hand Metes out his murder on the land. The light of Erin is forlorn. The country fades : the people mourn. Of land bereft, of right beguiled, Starved, tortured, murdered, or exiled ; Of freedom robbed, of faith cajoled, In secret councils bought and sold ! Their weapons are the cell, the law, The gallows, and the scourge, to awe Brave Irish hearts : their hates deny The right to live—the right to die. 148