The Heritage to the Race of Kings

This heritage to the race of kings
Their children and their children’s seed
Have wrought their prophecies in deed
Of terrible and splendid things.

The hands that fought, the hearts that broke
In old immortal tragedies,
These have not failed beneath the skies,
Their children’s heads refuse the yoke.

And still their hands shall guard the sod
That holds their father’s funeral urn,
Still shall their hearts volcanic burn
With anger of the sons of God.

No alien sword shall earn as wage
The entail of their blood and tears,
No shameful price for peaceful years
Shall ever part this heritage.

1841—1891

The wind rose, the sea rose
A wave rose on the sea,
It sang the mournful singing
Of a sad centenary;

It sang the song of an old man
Whose heart had died of grief,
Whose soul had dried and withered
At the falling of the leaf.

It sang the song of a young man
Whose heart had died of pain
When Spring was black and withered
And the winter come again.

The wind rose, the sea rose
A wave rose on the sea
Swelled with the mournful singing
Of a sad centenary.

All our best ye have branded
When the people were choosing them,
When ’twas Death they demanded
Ye laughed! Ye were losing them.
But the blood that ye spilt in the night
Crieth loudly to God,
And their name hath the strength and the might
Of a sword for the sod.

In the days of our doom and our dread
Ye were cruel and callous,
Grim Death with our fighters ye fed
Through the jaws of the gallows;
But a blasting and blight was the fee
For which ye had bartered them,
And we smite with the sword that from ye
We had gained when ye martyred them!

THE LITTLE BLACK ROSE SHALL BE RED
AT LAST

Because we share our sorrows and our joys
And all your dear and intimate thoughts are mine
We shall not fear the trumpets and the noise
Of battle, for we know our dreams divine,
And when my heart is pillowed on your heart
And ebb and flowing of their passionate flood
Shall beat in concord love through every part
Of brain and body—when at last the blood
O’erleaps the final barrier to find
Only one source wherein to spend its strength
And we two lovers, long but one in mind
And soul, are made one only flesh at length;
Praise God if this my blood fulfils the doom
When you, dark rose, shall redden into bloom.

Nomina Sunt Consequentia Rerum

I felt within my heart awake and glow
A spirit of Love’s excellence that slept,
Then I beheld Love as from afar he stept
So joyful that his face I scarce could know.
He said: Now think all honour me to show
And through each word of his Love’s laughter crept;
Then as my lord awhile his splendour kept,
Gazing there whence he came, where he would go,

Nuala and Columba did I see
Come towards the place where I was lingering,
One marvel first, the other following,
And, even as retelleth memory,
Love said: That one who follows this our Spring
Hath Love for name, so like is she to me.

My Lady has the Grace of Death

My lady has the grace of Death
Whose charity is quick to save,
Her heart is broad as heaven’s breath,
Deep as the grave.

She found me fainting by the way
And fed me from her babeless breast
Then played with me as children play,
Rocked me to rest.

When soon I rose and cried to heaven
Moaning for sins I could not weep,
She told me of her sorrows seven
Kissed me to sleep.

And when the morn rose bright and ruddy
And sweet birds sang on the branch above
She took my sword from her side all bloody
And died for love.

O Lovely Heart

O lovely heart! O Love
No more be sorrowful
Blue are the skies above
The Spring is beautiful
And all the flowers
Are blest with gentle showers.

Although the morning skies
Are heavy now with rain
And your incredulous eyes
Are wondering at your pain,
Let them but weep.
And after give them sleep.

O sorrowful! O heart
Whose joy is difficult
Though we two are apart—
Know you shall yet exult
And all the years
Be fresher for your tears.