Collected Works (Vol. I)

) 220 CARMEN SAECULARE In the hour of Revolt that burns nigher Each hour as it leaps to the sky, We look to Thee, Lord, for Thy Fire ; We look—shall Thy Justice deny? Well, can we not die? But Thou, Thou shalt fall from the heaven As hail on the furious host. I see them : their legions are driven ; Their cohorts are broken and lost. Thy fire hath dispersed them and shattered ! They hesitate, waver, and flee! The tyrant is shaken and scattered, And Ireland is clear to the Sea! Green Erin is free! Hail! Hail to Thee, Lord of us, Horus!! All hail to the warrior name! Thy chariots shall drive them before us, Thy sword sweep them forth as a flame. Rise! Move! and descend! I behold Thee, Heaven cloven of fieriest bars, Armed Light; and they follow and fold Thee, Thine armies of terrible stars. The Powers of Mars ! At the brightness that leapeth before Thee, The heavens bow down at Thine ire ; Thick clouds pass to death and adore Thee, Wild hailstones and flashings of fire. The mountains of Ages are shattered ; Perpetual hills are bowed down ; The Winds of the Heaven are scattered, Borne back from Thy furious frown, O Lord of Renown ! In terror and tumult and battle Thy breath smiteth forth as a sword ; The Saxons are driven as cattle ; We know Thee, that Thou art the Lord! Forth Freedom flings skyward, a maiden Rejoicing, upsprung from the sea, And the wild lyre of Erin is laden At last with the songs of the free! Hail! Hail unto Thee! 1 Egyptian God of the Sun, and of War. Cf. p. 212, note 5. EPILOGUE. TO THE AMIERICAN PEOPLE ON THE ANNIVERSARY OF THEIR INDEPENDENCE, THE ship to the breezes is bended; The wind whistles off to the lee; The stn is arisen, the splendid ! The sun on the marvellous sea ! «And the feast of your freedom is ended, O sons of the free! Your shouts have gone up to remember The day of your oath to the world. Is its flame dwindled down to an ember? The flag of your liberty furled? Your limbs are too strong to dismember— In sloth are they curled? The price of your freedom—I claim it! Your aid to make other men free ! Your strength—lI defy you to shame it ! Your peace—I defy it to be Dishonoured! Arise and proclaim it From sea unto sea ! From Ireland the voice of the dying, The murdered, the starved, the exiled, In hope to your freedom is crying A dolorous note and a wild: ‘* Your star-bestrewn banner is flying, And ours—is defiled.” From Ind—shall her summons awaken ? Her voices are those of the dead ! By famine and cholera shaken, By taxes and usury bled, In the hour of her torture forsaken, Stones given for bread ! In Africa women are fighting Their homes and their freedom to hold Young children and graybeards, delighting To die for their country of old! For the ravenous lion is smiting A stroke for their gold.