Francis Adams - Songs of the Army of the Night

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DUBLIN AT DAWN

In the chill grey summer dawn-light
We pass through the empty streets;
The rattling wheels are all silent;
No friend his fellow greets.

Here and there, at the corners,
A man in a great-coat stands;
A bayonet hangs by his side, and
A rifle is in his hands.

This is a conquered city;
It speaks of war not peace;
And that’s one of the English soldiers
The English call “police.”

You see, at the present moment
That noble country of mine
Is boiling with indignation
At the memory of a “crime.”

In a path in the Phœnix Park where
The children romped and ran,
An Irish ruffian met his doom,
And an English gentleman.

For a hundred and over a hundred
Years on the country side
Men and women and children
Have slaved and starved and died,

That those who slaved and starved them
Might spend their earnings then,
And the Irish ruffians have a “good time,”
And the English gentlemen.

And that’s why at the present moment
That noble country of mine
Is boiling with indignation
At the memory of a “crime.”

For the Irish ruffians (they tell me),
And it looks as if ’twere true,
And the English gentlemen are so scarce,
We could not spare those two!

In the chill grey summer dawn-light
We pass through the empty streets;
The rattling wheels are all silent;
No friend his fellow greets.

Here and there, at the corners,
A man in a great-coat stands;
A bayonet hangs by his side, and
A rifle is in his hands.

This is a conquered city;
It speaks of war not peace;
And that’s one of the English soldiers
The English call “police.”

THE CAGED EAGLE

.. I went the other day
To see the birds and beasts they keep enmewed

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1

In The New Arcadia Miss Robinson devoted to the Cause of Labour a dilettante little book that had not even one note of the true, the sweet and lovely poetry of her deeper impulses. There is the amateur, and the female amateur, no less in perception and emotion than in the technical aspects of our art, and we want no more flimsy “sympathetic” rigmaroles, like “The Cry of the Children,” or “A Song for the Ragged Schools of London,” from those who, in the portraiture of the divine simple woman’s soul within them, can give us poetry complete, genuine, everlasting.

2

His attack on George Eliot in “Fiction, Fair and Foul,” in the Nineteenth Century , for instance.

3

The attack on Missionary Ridge is an example of the brilliant initiative, as the holding of the Bloody Angle in the Wilderness is of the dauntless resolution, of the army of the Democracy of the United States, while the last attacks on Richmond were the final exploit of the conqueror of two combatants, of whom it is enough to say that they were worthy of one another.

4

Something like an adequate account of this great révolution manquée , which in England and 1381 went near to anticipating France and 1793, has at last found its place in the historian’s pages, and Longland the poet, Ball the preacher, and Tyler the man of action, who first raised for us the democratic demand, can be seen somewhat as they were. This, and more, we owe to John Richard Green. An account of the Revolt will be found in section 4 of chapter 5 of his “Short History of the English People.” The phrases in verses 3 and 5 were catchwords among the revolters.

5

After dismissing the peasants with the formally written acknowledgment of their freedom and rights, Richard II. with an army of 40,000 followers avenged himself and his lords by ruthless and prolonged massacres over the whole country.

6

Who owns, and rack-rents, some of the vilest slums in London, and is beautifully æsthetic in private life.

7

The French.

8

“Vœ victis!” woe to the conquered – the motto of the Gauls in Rome as of the modern Civilization of Land and Capital.

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