And will ye bear, my brother men,
To see your altars trampled down;
Shall Christ's great heart bleed out again
Beneath the scoffer's spear and frown?
Shall priests proclaim that God is not,
And from the Devil's gospel teach
Those worldly doctrines, unforgot,
Which burning tyrants loved to preach?
Shall traitors to the human right
To God and truth have boundless sway,
And ye not rush into the fight
And wrench the sacred cross away,
And tear the scrolls of freedom, bought
With blood of martyrs and the brave,
From men who with derisive sport
Defy you on the martyr's grave?
Ah, no!—uprushing—million-strong,
The trodden people come at last,
Their fiery souls pent up so long
Burst out in flames all thick and fast;
And thunder-words and lightning-deeds
Strike terror to the Wrong, who flee,
Till lo! at last the wronger bleeds,
And dying, leaves the nation free.
THE IRISH MAIDEN TO HER LOVER.
I.
O, tell me not love's light, and joyous tale;
Sing not to me love's soft delicious lay;
But let thy tale be sad—thy strains the wail
