Poem Written on the Death of Jeremiah O’Donovan Rossa, July 1915
Mourn ye not the hero’s passing
No tears of sorrow weep
As his weary form is borne
Out across the stormy deep.
He shall rest in holy Eire,
Where long his heart hath lain,
Where trefoil freshly glistens
In the soft, sweet Irish rain.
His undaunted soul shall hover
By the margin of that sea,
Where fell the might Brian
In the hour of victory;
Where Ben Edair’s frowning shadow
Is cast upon the tide.
Whose dark and troubled waters
Gael and Sassenagh divide.
There above the beetling cliff-brow,
By winds and water kissed,
The wraiths of Ireland’s heroes
Shall gather in the mist.
There his spirit shall commune with
The great ones of his race –
See the haughty shade of Parnell
And Emmet’s tragic face.
There the Geraldine shall hasten
From Maynotth’s dismantled keep,
With O’Neill, at last awakened
From his long enchanted sleep.
There the gleam of Lorcan’s crozier
And Brigid’s holy flame,
And the spear-flash of Cuchullain
Shall illumine each here name;
While the many-sided genius
Of the fated Celtic race
Shall spread her lightning aegis
And glorify the place;
Where Ben Edair, frowning eastward
Across the Irish seas,
Sees the hated flag of England
No longer foul the breeze;
For the shafts of desolation
Beneath the billows sweep—
And lo! Her proud leviathans
From the startled waters leap.
And her vaunted navies gather
In the shelter of her cliffs,
Whne the boastful English sea-dog
The breath of danger whiffs.
See her cower ‘neath the shadow
Of the German eagle’s wing,
While her cities dumb with terror,
Or with cries of anguish ring.
The phantom of the cloud-ship
Obscures her noon-day suns;
Oh her shore is heard the thunder
Of the coming Teuton’s guns.
Above, below, around her
The vengeance of the Lord
Shall seek her out with fire
With famine and with sword,
And the hosts that God has summoned
In the battle for the right
Are the Celtic faith and genius
And the Teuton skill and might.
Mourn ye not the hero’s passing:
No tears of sorrow weep; –
Light the sod will lie above him
And peaceful be his sleep.
If some spirit-whispers reach him
In his peaceful Irish grave,
“Britannia’s pirate standard
No longer rules the wave.”
Printed in the Gaelic American July 17, 1915.
also noted in the Gaelic American, July 17, 1915:
July 17, 1915 – John Kenny had an operation – underwent operation “last Saturday” at Miserecordia Hospital, East 86th St, NY.