Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE DOWNFALL OF THE GAEL, by ANONYMOUS First Line: My heart is in woe Last Line: "unite, oh, unite! / or the billows burst o'er her!" Subject(s): Irish Unification Question | ||||||||
MY heart is in woe, And my soul deep in trouble, -- For the mighty are low, And abased are the noble: The Sons of the Gael Are in exile and mourning, Worn, weary, and pale, As spent pilgrims returning; Or men who, in flight From the field of disaster, Beseech the black night On their flight to fall faster; Or seamen aghast When their planks gape asunder, And the waves fierce and fast Tumble through in hoarse thunder; Or men whom we see That have got their death-omen -- Such wretches are we In the chains of our foemen! Our courage is fear, Our nobility vileness, Our hope is despair, And our comeliness foulness. There is mist on our heads, And a cloud chill and hoary Of black sorrow, sheds An eclipse on our glory. From Boyne to the Linn Has the mandate been given, That the children of Finn From their country be driven. That the sons of the King -- Oh, the treason and malice! Shall no more ride the ring In their own native valleys; No more shall repair Where the hill foxes tarry, Nor forth to the air Fling the hawk at her quarry: For the plain shall be broke By the share of the stranger, And the stone-mason's stroke Tell the woods of their danger; The green hills and shore Be with white keeps disfigured, And the Moat of Rathmore Be the Saxon churl's haggard! The land of the lakes Shall no more know the prospect Of valleys and brakes -- So transform'd is her aspect! The Gael cannot tell, In the uprooted wild-wood And red ridgy dell, The old nurse of his childhood: The nurse of his youth Is in doubt as she views him, If the wan wretch, in truth, Be the child of her bosom. We starve by the board, And we thirst amid wassail -- For the guest is the lord, And the host is the vassal! Through the woods let us roam, Through the wastes wild and barren; We are strangers at home! We are exiles in Erin! And Erin's a bark O'er the wide waters driven! And the tempest howls dark, And her side planks are riven! And in billows of night Swell the Saxon before her, -- Unite, oh, unite! Or the billows burst o'er her! | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE STRAND AT LOUGH BEG by SEAMUS HEANEY THE MAN WHO LED THE VAN OF IRISH VOLUNTEERS by EDWARD LYSAGHT BELFAST CONFETTI by CIARAN CARSON POEMS FROM NORTHERN IRELAND: 5. NORTHERN IRELAND QUESTION by DESMOND EGAN STRAND AT LOUGH BEG by SEAMUS HEANEY TIS A LITTLE JOURNEY by ANONYMOUS "'TIS MIDNIGHT, AND THE SETTING SUN" by ANONYMOUS "'TWAS ROLLOG, AND THE MINIM POTES" by ANONYMOUS |
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