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| committer | nfenwick <nfenwick@pglaf.org> | 2025-02-06 10:18:00 -0800 |
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diff --git a/old/53162-h/53162-h.htm b/old/53162-h/53162-h.htm deleted file mode 100644 index 98b217f..0000000 --- a/old/53162-h/53162-h.htm +++ /dev/null @@ -1,1494 +0,0 @@ -<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" - "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> -<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> - <head> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> - <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> - <title> - The Project Gutenberg eBook of Some Poems of Roger Casement, by Roger Casement. - </title> - <style type="text/css"> - -body { - margin-left: 10%; - margin-right: 10%; -} - - h1,h2,h3 { - text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ - clear: both; -} - -p { - margin-top: .51em; - text-align: justify; - margin-bottom: .49em; -} - -.p4 {margin-top: 4em;} - -hr { - width: 33%; - margin-top: 2em; - margin-bottom: 2em; - margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto; - clear: both; -} - -hr.chap {width: 65%} - -table { - margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto; -} - - .tdr {text-align: right;} - .tdc {text-align: center;} - -.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ - /* visibility: hidden; */ - position: absolute; - left: 92%; - font-size: smaller; - text-align: right; -} /* page numbers */ - -.br {border-right: solid 2px;} - -.center {text-align: center;} - -.right {text-align: right;} - -.smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} - -.caption {font-weight: bold;} - -/* Images */ -.figcenter { - margin: auto; - text-align: center; -} - -/* Footnotes */ -.footnote {margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-size: 0.9em;} - -.footnote .label {position: absolute; right: 84%; text-align: right;} - -.fnanchor { - vertical-align: super; - font-size: .8em; - text-decoration: - none; -} - -/* Poetry */ -.poem { - margin-left:10%; - margin-right:10%; - text-align: left; -} - -.poem br {display: none;} - -.poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} - -/* Transcriber's notes */ -.transnote {background-color: #E6E6FA; - color: black; - font-size:smaller; - padding:0.5em; - margin-bottom:5em; - font-family:sans-serif, serif; } - .poem span.i0 {display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} - .poem span.i1 {display: block; margin-left: 0.5em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} - .poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 1em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} -.note { font-size: 90%; font-weight: bold; } -blockquote.note p { text-align: center; } -.medium { font-size: 125%; } -.small { font-size: 75%; } -td { - padding: 0 1em; - vertical-align: bottom; -} - </style> - </head> -<body> - - -<pre> - -Project Gutenberg's Some Poems of Roger Casement, by Roger Casement - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: Some Poems of Roger Casement - -Author: Roger Casement - -Release Date: September 28, 2016 [EBook #53162] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SOME POEMS OF ROGER CASEMENT *** - - - - -Produced by Demian Katz and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (Images courtesy -of the Digital Library@Villanova University -(http://digital.library.villanova.edu/)) - - - - - - -</pre> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> -<a href="images/coverlarge.jpg"><img src="images/cover.jpg" width="400" height="495" alt="The Talbot Press Booklets: Some Poems of Roger Casement" id="coverpage" /></a> -</div> -<hr class="chap" /> - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 150px;"> -<a href="images/i1large.jpg"><img src="images/i1.jpg" width="150" height="238" alt="The Talbot Press books" /></a> -</div> -<hr class="chap" /> - - - - - -<h1>Some Poems of<br /> -Roger Casement</h1> - -<hr class="chap" /> - - - -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> -<a href="images/i2large.jpg"><img src="images/i2.jpg" width="400" height="438" alt="" /></a> -<div class="caption"><p><span class="smcap">Roger Casement</span></p></div> -</div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - - - -<h2> -SOME POEMS OF<br /> -ROGER CASEMENT<br /> -</h2> - -<p class="p4"> </p> -<div class="figcenter" style="width: 150px;"> -<a href="images/i3large.jpg"><img src="images/i3.jpg" width="150" height="205" alt="" /></a> -</div> -<p class="p4"> </p> - -<table summary="addresses" cellspacing="0"> -<tr><td class="br tdc">DUBLIN</td><td class="tdc">LONDON</td></tr> -<tr><td class="br tdc medium">The Talbot Press</td><td class="tdc medium">T. Fisher Unwin</td></tr> -<tr><td class="br tdc small">(LIMITED)</td><td class="tdc small">(LIMITED)</td></tr> -<tr><td class="br tdc">89 Talbot Street</td><td class="tdc">1 Adelphi Terrace</td></tr> -</table> -<p class="center medium">1918</p> -<hr class="chap" /> - - - - -<p class="center"> -Printed at<br /> -<span class="medium smcap">the talbot press</span><br /> -89 Talbot Street<br /> -Dublin<br /> -</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[Pg vii]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2><a name="Contents" id="Contents">Contents</a></h2> - -<table summary="Contents"> -<tr><td></td><td class="tdr small">Page</td></tr> -<tr><td>Introduction</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_ix">ix</a></td></tr> -<tr><td>"The Heart's Verdict"</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td></tr> -<tr><td>"Mio Salvatore"</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_2">2</a></td></tr> -<tr><td>"Love's Horizon"</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_3">3</a></td></tr> -<tr><td>"Love's Cares"</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_4">4</a></td></tr> -<tr><td>The Peak of the Cameroons—I.</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_5">5</a></td></tr> -<tr><td>The Peak of the Cameroons—II.</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_6">6</a></td></tr> -<tr><td>Hamilcar Barca</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_7">7</a></td></tr> -<tr><td>Verses sent from the Congo Free State in response -to Mr. Harrison's appeal for the restoration of -the Elgin Marbles to Greece</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_8">8</a></td></tr> -<tr><td>Lost Youth</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_9">9</a></td></tr> -<tr><td>The Streets of Catania</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_10">10</a></td></tr> -<tr><td>The Irish Language</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_12">12</a></td></tr> -<tr><td>Parnell</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_14">14</a></td></tr> -<tr><td>Benburb</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_15">15</a></td></tr> -<tr><td>Oliver Cromwell</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_21">21</a></td></tr> -<tr><td>The Triumph of Hugh O'Neill</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_22">22</a></td></tr> -<tr><td>Translation from Victor Hugo's "Feuilles -d'Automne"</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_25">25</a></td></tr> -</table> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[Pg ix]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2><a name="Introduction" id="Introduction">Introduction</a></h2> - - -<p>In giving these few poems of Roger Casement to the -Irish people I do not claim for them any special value -as Irish literature. Roger Casement was not a poet, he -would have been the last to lay claim to any such title, -but, like the greater part of his fellow-countrymen, he -felt from time to time the impulse to express some -particular thought in verse, and he used to jot down, -sometimes in a letter to a friend, sometimes on an odd -half sheet of paper, the thought clothed in a poetic form -just as it came into his mind.</p> - -<p>His was a nature of peculiar delicacy and refinement -and of singular simplicity; he had but one passion, -Ireland, but one deep sympathy—compassion for the -helpless and oppressed.</p> - -<p>Even as a little boy he turned with horror and revulsion -from cruelty of every description: he would -tenderly nurse a wounded bird to life, and stop to pity -an overloaded horse. This gentleness and tender-heartedness<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_x" id="Page_x">[Pg x]</a></span> -was one of his most marked characteristics; -it led him to champion the cause of the Congo native -and the Putumayo Indian, and to spend his slender -means in later life in trying to relieve the wretched -fever-stricken inhabitants in Connemara when typhus -was raging among them, or to provide a mid-day meal -for children in the Gaeltacht, who after walking perhaps -for miles to school, through storm and rain, would have -gone hungry all day if his kindly heart had not pitied -them. When he was stricken with misfortune, it was -these same children whose touching letters to him and -whose words of consolation, with their prayers, brought -tears to his eyes.</p> - -<p>The act which brought him to his death was the result -of long years of brooding over Ireland and her destiny; -it was not a sudden and new impulse as some have -endeavoured to prove. To say that his interest in Ireland -began with his retirement from the service of the -British Foreign Office is to misrepresent the facts -entirely. Roger Casement from his earliest days was -before everything else a lover of Ireland. In his school<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xi" id="Page_xi">[Pg xi]</a></span> -days he begged from the aunt, with whom he spent his -holidays, for possession of an attic room which he turned -into a little study, and the writer remembers the walls -papered with cartoons cut out of the <i>Weekly Freeman</i>, -showing the various Irish Nationalists who had suffered -imprisonment at English hands for the sake of their -belief in Ireland a Nation. Many years later, when he -himself was a prisoner in an English gaol he wrote: -"I have felt this destiny on me since I was a little boy; -it was inevitable; everything in my life has led up to -it." He seemed in a curious way to have a foreboding -of his fate. Once, years before his retirement, he was -joking with a friend about some wonderful plan that -was conceived in a mood of playfulness, and the carrying -out of which would have involved considerable danger. -The friend pointed out that the disadvantage of it all -lay in the fact that they might accidentally kill someone, -and "then," she added, "we'd be hanged." Roger -Casement was silent for a moment, his deepset eyes fixed -on an invisible goal, and then he said very quietly, "I -think I shall be hanged for Ireland." A friend tells me<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xii" id="Page_xii">[Pg xii]</a></span> -that later he made a similar observation to a man who -spoke of old rebellions and the fate of their leaders, -"I shall be hanged, too, for leading an attack on Dublin -Castle."</p> - -<p>An incident is told of his life in South Africa, about -the time of the Boer War. He was one day, with two -companions on the verandah of a hotel, when a lady -who had been observing them from a distance for some -time approached them. She excused herself for addressing -strangers and explained that she had felt compelled -to do so as they had interested her profoundly. Explaining -that she had the gift of second-sight, she asked -permission to tell their fortunes, to which they consented, -looking upon the matter as a joke. Having told -the fortunes of the lady and of the second companion, -she turned at last to Roger Casement, and stated that -his was the most interesting fate. She described his -adventurous life in broad outline, and then said, "You -must take care: at the age of 52 you will come to a -violent end." Roger Casement was within a month of -his fifty-second birthday when he died.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xiii" id="Page_xiii">[Pg xiii]</a></span></p> - -<p>There was a curious remoteness about him at times. -He used to sit for long periods silent in a reverie, and -would awaken from it with a sudden start. In his -habits he was always simple and frugal; he rose very -early in the morning and was always at work before -breakfast; he cared nothing for society in the worldly -sense, but he loved his friends and was always and invariably -happy in the company of children of all ages -and classes. Once the writer was walking with him -through the streets of an old country town when a tired -woman after a shopping expedition was vainly urging -an equally tired, and, I am bound to say, naughty little -boy to "come on." When at last in exasperation she -called out, "Very well, I'll go home without you," the -culprit set up an ear-piercing yell and flung himself -down on the ground. Roger turned round at once, to -hasten back. "Ah! poor soul," he said, "his heart is -broken, God help him; I'll pick him up."</p> - -<p>Small children always adored him. The tiny three-year-old -child of a charwoman working in the house -where he was staying used to creep in from the kitchen,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xiv" id="Page_xiv">[Pg xiv]</a></span> -and try to catch his eye as he sat writing. He always -had a smile and caress for her, and one day her mother -found her trying with both hands to turn the handle of -the study door and scolded her. She hung her head -and said, "I wanted to see the gentleman with the kind -eyes."</p> - -<p>Many a little beggar child in Dublin knew the smile -in those kind eyes, and they used to greet him with -smiles in return and always get their copper or two. -We used to tease him, and say he walked through the -streets of Dublin "buying smiles at a penny each." I -do not think any Irish man, woman, or child ever -appealed to him for sympathy and help that he did not -give.</p> - -<p>On a motor tour through Donegal with some friends he -met an old woman whose son and his wife had died and -left to her care a family of small children. They looked -poor and hungry, and the old woman found it hard to -make her little farm support them all. "Wouldn't -they be better for some milk?" asked Roger, seeing -them make a scanty meal, with water to drink. "Indeed<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xv" id="Page_xv">[Pg xv]</a></span> -they would if I could be getting it for them," said the -grandmother. Roger made no answer, but at the next -market town he bought a cow and had it sent out to -the old lady.</p> - -<p>It was in Ireland he always felt at home; he hated -big cities, noise, music-halls, and restaurants. He wrote -from London on one visit, "I feel more and more of -a foreigner here"; but in the Irish country, with the -simple country folk, he was always content. One of -the happiest experiences of his life in later years was -a short visit he paid to Tory Island in 1912, when he -organised a Ceilidh, to which everyone on the island was -invited. He sat in the crowded schoolroom, watching -the boys and girls dancing their reels and jigs, and -listening to the Gaelic songs till far on into the night, -when the Ceilidh broke up. He loved the Tory -people and used to plan many times to go back and visit -them. Tory has a sort of fascination about it, it looks -so remote and unreal, "like an opal jewel in a pale blue -sea," he described it once in a letter.</p> - -<p>During all the time of his varied experiences abroad<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xvi" id="Page_xvi">[Pg xvi]</a></span> -in Africa and South America, his mind turned always -with longing and affection to Ireland. He looked upon -himself as an Irishman before all things. He eagerly -watched for the rare arrival of mails bringing word of -Ireland and her doings. "Send me news of Ireland," -he wrote from South America, "and also what the -papers say about the Congo, but chiefly Ireland; Ireland -first, last, and for ever."</p> - -<p>Although not a rich man (he had no private means) -he contributed generously to all Irish schemes for furthering -the National life. He helped several of the -Gaelic Colleges, gave prizes in schools for the study of -Irish, and did his best to help along many of those -newspapers and periodicals which were founded by -young and hopeful Irishmen to expound their views -and which alas! so often came to an untimely end.</p> - -<p>With his singularly generous nature money mattered -nothing at all to him save for the use he could make of -it to help the work he had at heart. He spent little -upon himself, in fact he denied himself all luxuries, and -even comforts, that he might have to give to Irish causes<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xvii" id="Page_xvii">[Pg xvii]</a></span> -or to the Irish poor. Those who said of him that he sold -himself for money knew nothing of the man they were -slandering. He was wholly indifferent to money for its -own sake. His scrupulous integrity as to public funds -was illustrated by the following:—When he was called -to give evidence before a certain commission, as he was -waiting his turn with others who had to travel to London -for the same purpose, one of the secretaries remarked to -a witness, "Do you see that man?" (pointing to Roger -Casement), "Well, all the rest have charged first-class -railway fares, but he has put down third."</p> - -<p>He wrote much on the Irish question. Letters from -his pen appeared in many Irish newspapers, and not a -few English ones, and his essays, which will, it is hoped, -be published later, show not only a deep insight but -much literary skill. His speech from the dock was -described by a leading English literary man as an effort -"worthy of the finest examples of antiquity."</p> - -<p>At the age of 52 he came to a violent end.... -So have many others who died for Ireland; he stands -among his peers, the Irish martyrs. He would not have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xviii" id="Page_xviii">[Pg xviii]</a></span> -chosen to die otherwise, the love of his life was Kathleen -ni Houlihan; when he thought he heard her voice calling -from her four green fields he had no choice but to obey, -though he knew it led to death; but death which comes -in such a form to the body leaves the spirit but freer to -carry on its purpose.</p> - -<p>The men of 1916 are not dead in any real sense, for</p> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">"They shall be remembered for ever,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">They shall be alive for ever,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">They shall be speaking for ever,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">The people shall hear them for ever."<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p class="right"> -<span class="smcap">Gertrude Parry.</span><br /> -</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2><a name="Some_Poems_of_Roger_Casement" id="Some_Poems_of_Roger_Casement"><span class="smcap"><i>Some Poems of Roger Casement</i></span></a></h2> - -<hr class="chap" /> - - - - -<h2><a name="The_Hearts_Verdict" id="The_Hearts_Verdict">"The Heart's Verdict"</a></h2> - - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Oh! hearts that meet, and hearts that part!<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The world is full of sorrow:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Men love and die—th' almighty mart<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Puts up new hearts to-morrow.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Was this Creation's scheme at start?<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Oh! then I little wonder<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That Lucifer's proud human heart<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Preferred to God His thunder.<br /></span> -</div></div> -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span></p> - - - -<h2><a name="Mio_Salvatore" id="Mio_Salvatore">"Mio Salvatore"</a></h2> - - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">"Were I a king, my crown of gold<br /></span> -<span class="i1">I should not for a moment hold,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Did not thy brow its glory share,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Were thou not ever next my chair.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">"Were I a God, my heaven would be<br /></span> -<span class="i1">One long, lone, vast sterility,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Eternal only in its woe<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Did thou not all its purpose know.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">"Were I a saint, my midnight cell<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Would be the portico of hell,<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Did not my scourging heart attest<br /></span> -<span class="i1">Thy love dwells in a stricken breast."<br /></span> -</div></div> -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span></p> - - - -<h2><a name="Loves_Horizon" id="Loves_Horizon">"Love's Horizon"</a></h2> - - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Love is the salt sea's savour,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Love is the palm-tree's sheen,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Love is the sky of evening.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That softly sets between.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Love is the ocean's purple,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Love is the mountain's crest,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Love is the golden Eagle<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That hither builds his nest.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The wind that lists at morning.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The first song of the bird,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The leaves that stir so lightly<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Before a limb has stirred:<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">These are my love's harbingers<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By gathering music drawn.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Oh! wake my love and own them,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thou life voice of the Dawn.<br /></span> -</div></div> -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span></p> - - - -<h2><a name="Loves_Cares" id="Loves_Cares">"Love's Cares"</a></h2> - - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Oh! what cares Love for a sunburnt skin?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Love laughs and sighs for it all the same;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Love seeks a blush that is far within<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From the glow of his asking eyes that came—<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Oh! what cares Love for untidy hair?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He sleeps where never a comb has passed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And holds his breath in the tiny snare<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of a curl his kiss shall undo at last—<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Oh! what cares Love for a tender heart?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His eyes are filled to their glorious brim;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On tears, on tears from a shining start<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Love bears it gently away with him.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Oh! what cares Love for a wounded breast?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Love shows his own with a broader scar:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">'Tis only those who have loved the best<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Can say where the wounds of loving are.<br /></span> -</div></div> -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span></p> - - - -<h2><a name="The_Peak_of_the_Cameroons" id="The_Peak_of_the_Cameroons">The Peak of the Cameroons</a></h2> - - -<h3>I.</h3> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The Heavens rest upon thee that the eye<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of man may not, for when thou sittest hid<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In thunderstorm of lofty pyramid<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of thwarting sea-cloud whitening up the sky,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then are the clouds set on thee to forbid<br /></span> -<span class="i0"><a name="FNanchor_A_1" id="FNanchor_A_1"></a><a href="#Footnote_A_1" class="fnanchor">[A]</a>That man should share the mystery of Sinai;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then are thy ashen cones again bestrid<br /></span> -<span class="i0">By living fire—impenetrably nigh.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">For thus, by the Dualla, art thou seen,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Home of a God they know, yet would not know;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But I, who far above their doubts have been<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Upon thy forehead hazardous, may grow<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To fuller knowledge, rooted sure and slow<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where lava slid—like pines Enceladine.<br /></span> -</div></div> - - -<div class="footnote"> - -<p><a name="Footnote_A_1" id="Footnote_A_1"></a><a href="#FNanchor_A_1"><span class="label">[A]</span></a> To this line there is a note:—"This line is inadmissible in a -sonnet."</p></div> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span></p> -<h3>II.</h3> - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">And I have seen thee in the West's red setting<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Stand like some Monarch in a crimson field,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With fleeing clouds empurpling as they yield.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And sunset still the glorious sham abetting.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While high above thy purple forest's fretting<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thy mighty chest in tranquil gold concealed,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And on thy brows of the dead days begetting<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A light that comes from higher things revealed.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">So shows there in a passing soul's transgression<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A light of hope beyond these prison bars<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Divinely rendered, that, when doubting mars<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Our day's decline, we still may find progression<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of light to light, as day with silent cession<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Makes o'er to night—articulate with stars.<br /></span> -</div></div> -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span></p> - - - -<h2><a name="Hamilcar_Barca" id="Hamilcar_Barca">Hamilcar Barca</a></h2> - - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Thou that didst mark from Heircte's spacious hill<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Roman spears, like mist, uprise each morn,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yet held, with Hesper's shining point of scorn,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thy sword unsheathed above Panormus still;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thou that were leagued with nought but thine own will,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Eurythmic vastness to that stronghold torn<br /></span> -<span class="i0">From foes above, below, where, though forlorn,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thou still hadst claws to cling, and beak to kill—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Eagle of Eryx!—When the Ęgation shoal<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Rolled westward all the hopes that Hanno wrecked<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With mighty wing, unwearying, didst thou<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Seek far beyond the wolf's grim protocol,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Within the Iberian sunset faintly specked<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A rock where Punic faith should bide its vow.<br /></span> -</div></div> -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span></p> - - - -<h2><a name="Verses" id="Verses">Verses</a></h2> - -<blockquote class="note"> - -<p>(<i>Sent from the Congo Free State in response to Mr. Harrison's -appeal for the Restoration of the Elgin Marbles to Greece.</i>)</p></blockquote> - - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Give back the Elgin marbles; let them lie<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Unsullied, pure beneath an Attic sky.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The smoky fingers of our northern clime<br /></span> -<span class="i0">More ruin work than all the ancient time.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">How oft the roar of the Piraen sea<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Through column'd hall and dusky temple stealing<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hath struck these marble ears, that now must flee<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The whirling hum of London, noonward reeling.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Ah! let them hear again the sounds that float<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Around Athene's shrine on morning's breeze,—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The lowing ox, the bell of climbing goat<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And drowsy drone of far Hymettus' bees.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Give back the marbles; let them vigil keep<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where art still lies, o'er Pheidias' tomb, asleep.<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<p class="note"> -<i>Lukunga Valley,<br /> -<span style="margin-left: 2em;">Cataract Region of the Lower Congo.</span></i><br /> -</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span></p> - - - - -<h2><a name="Lost_Youth" id="Lost_Youth">Lost Youth</a></h2> - -<blockquote class="note"> - -<p>(<i>Written on receiving a letter from a friend, T. H., who had spent -the best years of his life as a missionary in Central Africa, in which -he speaks of "the glorious superfluity of strength and spirits one -remembers as a lad, but alas! only remembers."</i>)</p></blockquote> - - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Weep not that you no longer feel the tide<br /></span> -<span class="i0">High breasting sun and storm, that bore along<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Your youth on currents of perpetual song:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For in these mid-stream waters, still and wide,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A sleepless purpose the great deep doth hide;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Here spring the mighty fountains pure and strong,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That bear sweet change of breath to city throng,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who, had the sea no breeze, would soon have died.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So though the sun shines not in such a blue,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nor have the stars the meaning youth deviced,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The heavens are nigher, and a light shines through<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The brightness that nor sun nor stars sufficed;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And on this lonely waste we find it true<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lost youth and love, not lost, are hid with Christ.<br /></span> -</div></div> -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span></p> - - - -<h2><a name="The_Streets_of_Catania" id="The_Streets_of_Catania">The Streets of Catania</a></h2> - -<blockquote class="note"> - -<p>(<i>The streets of Catania are paved with blocks of the -lava of Aetna.</i>)</p></blockquote> - - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">All that was beautiful and just,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">All that was pure and sad<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Went in one little, moving plot of dust<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The world called bad.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Came like a highwayman, and went,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">One who was bold and gay,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Left when his lightly loving mood was spent<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Thy heart to pay.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">By-word of little streets and men,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Narrower theirs the shame,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Tread thou the lava loving leaves, and then<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Turn whence it came.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Aetna, all wonderful, whose heart<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Glows as thine throbbing glows,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Almond and citron bloom quivering at start,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Ends in pure snows.<br /></span> -</div></div> -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span></p> - - - -<h2><a name="The_Irish_Language" id="The_Irish_Language">The Irish Language</a></h2> - - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">It is gone from the hill and the glen—<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The strong speech of our sires;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It is sunk in the mire and the fen<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Of our nameless desires:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We have bartered the speech of the Gael<br /></span> -<span class="i2">For a tongue that would pay,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And we stand with the lips of us pale<br /></span> -<span class="i2">And all bloodless to-day;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We have bartered the birthright of men<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That our sons should be liars.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It is gone from the hill and the glen,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The strong speech of our sires.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Like the flicker of gold on the whin<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That the Spring breath unites,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It is deep in our hearts, and shall win<br /></span> -<span class="i2">Into flame where it smites:<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span> -<span class="i0">It is there with the blood in our veins,<br /></span> -<span class="i2">With the stream in the glen,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With the hill and the heath and the weans<br /></span> -<span class="i2">They shall <i>think</i> it again;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It shall surge to their lips and shall win<br /></span> -<span class="i2">The high road to our rights—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like the flicker of gold on the whin<br /></span> -<span class="i2">That the sun-burst unites.<br /></span> -</div></div> -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span></p> - - - -<h2><a name="Parnell" id="Parnell">Parnell</a></h2> - -<blockquote class="note"> - -<p>(<i>October 6th, 1891.</i>)</p></blockquote> - - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Hush—let no whisper of the cruel strife,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Wherein he fell so bravely fighting, fall<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nigh these dead ears; fain would our hearts recall<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nought but proud memories of a noble life—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of unmatched skill to lead by pathways rife<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With danger and dark doubt, where slander's knife<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Gleamed ever bare to wound, yet over all<br /></span> -<span class="i0">He pressed triumphant on—lo, thus to fall.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Through and beyond the breach he living made<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Shall Erin pass to freedom and to will,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And shape her fate: there where his limbs are laid<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No harsh reproach dare penetrate the shade;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Death's angel guards the door, and o'er the sill<br /></span> -<span class="i0">A mightier voice than Death's speaks "Peace, be still!"<br /></span> -</div></div> -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span></p> - - - -<h2><a name="Benburb" id="Benburb">Benburb</a></h2> - - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Since treason triumphed when O'Neill was forced to foreign flight,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The ancient people felt the heel of Scotch usurper's might;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The barren hills of Ulster held a race proscribed and banned<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Who from their lofty refuge viewed their own so fertile land.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Their churches in the sunny vales; the homes that once were theirs,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Torn from them and their Faith to feed some canting minion's prayers:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Oh Lord! from many a cloudy hill then streamed our prayers to Thee,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And like the dawn on summer hills, that only watchers see,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Thy glorious hope shone on us long before the sleeping foe<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Knew that their doom had broken on the sword of Owen Roe.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">'Twas dawn of fair June morning, while Blackwater still drew grey,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">His valley'd mists about him that we saw at Killylea,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Scottish colours waving as they headed to the ford<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where never foemen waded yet, but paid it with the sword;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And fair it was to see them in the golden morning light,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Climb up the hill by Caledon and turn them to the right;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">As they neared Yellow Ford, where Bagnall met O'Neill,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Joy gathered in our throats and broke above their cannons' peal,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And oh! a thrill went through our ranks, as straining towards the foe,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like hounds in leash we panted for the word of Owen Roe.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Not yet—altho' O'Ferrall's horse come riding in amain;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Not yet—altho' fierce Cunningham pursues with slackened rein;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Not yet—altho' in skirmish and in many a scattered fight<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We hold them—still with waiting eye, O'Neill smiles in despite;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till slanting on our backs the sun full on their faces fell.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Then blinding axe and battle spear rose with a sudden swell<br /></span> -<span class="i0">"For God, and Church, and Country now—upon them every man;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But hold your strength until ye see them scarce a pike-length's span;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Red Hand, ever uppermost, strike home your strongest blow";<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And with a yell our feet outsped the words of Owen Roe.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Like heaving lift of yellow wave that drags the sandy shore<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On with it to its foaming fall, our rushing pikemen bore<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Horse, foot, and gun, and falling flags, like streamers of red wrack,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Torn from their dripping hold, in one broad swell of carnage back;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Stout Blayney's gallant horse withstood that seething tide in vain;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">It bore them down, and redder raced with life-blood of the slain;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">One regiment only fought its way from out that ghastly fight,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And Conway slew two horses on the Newry road that night;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">While Monroe fled so fast he left both hat and wig to show<br /></span> -<span class="i0">How full the breeze that lifted up the flag of Owen Roe.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Ho! Ironsides of Cromwell, ye've got grimmer work to do,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Than when on Naseby's ruddy morn your ready swords ye drew—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Than when your headlong charges routed Rupert's tried and best,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ere yet the glare of battle fainted in the loyal West.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Those swords must break a stouter foe ere ye break Erin's weal<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Or stamp your bloody title-deeds with Cromwell's bloodier seal;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The dead men of Elizabeth's red reign for comrades call,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Scots we sent to-day have need of ye to bear their pall;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">There's room for undertakers still, and none will say ye no<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To such fair holdings—measured by the sword of Owen Roe.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Ho! ring your bells, Kilkenny town; ho! Dublin burghers pass<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In open day, with open brow, to celebrate the Mass.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Sword of State that Tudor hate laid sore on Church of God,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Hath fallen here with shattered hilt and vain point in the sod.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Ho! holy Rinnuncini, and ye high lords of the Pale<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Lay by your sheets of parchment, and put on your sheeted mail,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For God hath spoke in battle, and His face the foe is toward,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And ye must hold by valour what He hath freed by sword.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Yea, God in fight hath spoken, and thro' cloud hath bent His brow<br /></span> -<span class="i0">In wrath upon the routed—but in hope o'er Owen Roe.<br /></span> -</div></div> -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span></p> - - - -<h2><a name="Oliver_Cromwell" id="Oliver_Cromwell">Oliver Cromwell</a></h2> - -<h3>1650-1659</h3> - -<blockquote class="note"> - -<p>(<i>Addressed to the Liberal Members who "went back" on their -previous vote and rejected the grant for his statue.</i>)</p></blockquote> - - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">"Tear out the page his hand hath writ in blood."<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Aye! tho' a decade filled with mighty deeds<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That page records; what though in it the seeds<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of greater freedom sprung, than ever stood<br /></span> -<span class="i0">On any shore, to shadow freedom's brood.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The lordly oak from which a fleet proceeds<br /></span> -<span class="i0">May fall unhonoured; can mere party needs<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Fill <i>your</i> hands too, with this consenting mud?<br /></span> -<span class="i0">We Irishmen found only shade to die<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Within the shadow of that mighty tree;<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But you base Englishmen it bore on high,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And girt your commerce safe on many a sea:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O! may the people Cromwell taught, deny<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Your right within these walls, and turn the key!<br /></span> -</div></div> -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span></p> - - - -<h2><a name="The_Triumph_of_Hugh_ONeill" id="The_Triumph_of_Hugh_ONeill">The Triumph of Hugh O'Neill</a></h2> - -<blockquote class="note"> - -<p><i>Beal an Altra Buidhe</i> (<i>The Fight of -the Yellow Ford, 1598.</i>)</p></blockquote> - - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Speed the joyful news of victory from Dungannon to Gweedore,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Let the shout of triumph echo 'mid the cliffs of dark Benmore,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Let the flame that gleams on Sperrin light a flame on every strand,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Till one mighty blaze shall tell it to all men throughout the land.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">The haughty Saxon boasted he would ravage broad Tyrone,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And lay our fields in ashes, and make our flocks his own,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Nor hold his hand 'till humbled each Irish kerne should kneel<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To England's monarch only, and not to Hugh O'Neill.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">But vain was all his boasting, and vain was all he swore,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For, like the storms of winter when from the hills they pour,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">With clouds of long-haired spearmen, and ranks of flashing steel,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">O'er the broken host of Saxons swept the children of O'Neill.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Arquebus and gun were fired, yet were fired all in vain,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">For their owners' heads were cloven by the lightening sweeping <i>skean</i>,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">But the sturdy English yeomen, who had ne'er been known to reel,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Like the withered leaves of autumn, fell before the fierce O'Neill.<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">Blackwater's tide ran darker than e'er it ran before,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The "Yellow Ford" was crimsoned, the fields were drenched with gore.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The Saxon host had vanished; and Armagh rang out a peal<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Of triumph o'er the vanquished, and of welcome to O'Neill.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">No more the feet of foemen shall taint our Northern soil,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">No more the waving cornfields shall be the Saxon's spoil.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Our flag no longer drooping, each fold shall now reveal,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And wave for God and Erin and our darling Hugh O'Neill.<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - -<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span></p> - - - -<h2><a name="Translation_from_Victor_Hugos" id="Translation_from_Victor_Hugos">Translation from Victor Hugo's -"Feuilles d'Automne"</a></h2> - - -<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">"I hate oppression with a hate profound,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And wheresoever in the wide world round,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Beneath a traitor king, a cruel sky,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I hear appeal a strangled people's cry—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where mother Greece, by Christian kings betrayed<br /></span> -<span class="i0">To butcher Turks, hangs disembowelled, flayed.<br /></span> -<span class="i0">Where Ireland, bleeding on her Cross expires,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And German truth in vain fronts royal liars.<br /></span> -</div><div class="stanza"> -<span class="i0">"Oh then, upon their heads my curse I launch,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">These kings whose steeds pace bloody to the paunch:<br /></span> -<span class="i0">I feel the poet speaks their judgment, and<br /></span> -<span class="i0">The indignant Muse, with unrelenting hand,<br /></span><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span> -<span class="i0">Shall bind them pilloried to their thrones of shame,<br /></span> -<span class="i0">And press their dastard crowns to shape a name<br /></span> -<span class="i0">That on their brows the poet's hand shall trace—<br /></span> -<span class="i0">So Man may read their calling in their face."<br /></span> -</div></div> - -<hr class="chap" /> - - - -<h2><a name="New_Plays_and_Poems" id="New_Plays_and_Poems">New Plays and Poems.</a></h2> - -<blockquote> - -<p><b>PLAYS OF GODS & MEN.</b> Containing "The -Laughter of the Gods," "The Queen's Enemies," -"The Tents of the Arabs" and "A Night at an -Inn." By Lord Dunsany. Crown 8vo, 3/6 net.</p></blockquote> - -<p class="center small">A NEW PLAY BY EDWARD MARTYN.</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p><b>THE DREAM PHYSICIAN.</b> A Play in three -acts. Cloth, 2/- net.</p></blockquote> - -<p class="center small">OTHER PLAYS BY EDWARD MARTYN.</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p><b>MAEVE.</b> A psychological Play in two acts. -Cloth, 2/- net.</p> - -<p><b>THE HEATHER FIELD.</b> A Play in three -acts. Cloth, 2/- net.</p></blockquote> - -<blockquote> - -<p>These Plays, first issued in one volume in 1899, are now -reissued in popular form.</p></blockquote> - -<p class="center small">AN IRISH PLAY BY A NEW DRAMATIST.</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p><b>THE KINGDOM-MAKER.</b> A Play in five acts. -By Seosamh O'Neill. Cloth, 2/- net.</p></blockquote> - -<p class="center small">BY THE AUTHOR OF "BIRTHRIGHT."</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p><b>SPRING, AND OTHER PLAYS.</b> Including -"The Briery Gap," and "Sovereign Love." -By T. C. Murray. Cloth, 2/6 net.</p></blockquote> - -<p class="center small">A POET OF THE INSURRECTION.</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p><b>THE POEMS OF JOHN FRANCIS MacENTEE.</b> -Imperial 16mo. cloth 2/6.</p></blockquote> - -<p class="center small">A NEW VOLUME BY PADRIC GREGORY.</p> - -<blockquote> - -<p><b>IRELAND: A SONG OF HOPE,</b> and other -Poems and Ballads. Cr. 8vo, cloth, 2/6 net.</p> - -<p><b>ROADSIDE FANCIES.</b> Verses by H. C. -Huggins. Paper cover, 1/- net.</p></blockquote> - -<hr /> - -<p class="center note"> -DUBLIN: THE TALBOT PRESS, LIMITED.<br /> -LONDON: T. FISHER UNWIN, LIMITED.<br /> -</p> - -<hr class="chap" /> -<div class="transnote"> -<h2><a name="Transcribers_Notes" id="Transcribers_Notes">Transcriber's Notes:</a></h2> - - -<p>Images may be clicked to view larger versions.</p> -</div> - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's Some Poems of Roger Casement, by Roger Casement - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SOME POEMS OF ROGER CASEMENT *** - -***** This file should be named 53162-h.htm or 53162-h.zip ***** -This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: - http://www.gutenberg.org/5/3/1/6/53162/ - -Produced by Demian Katz and the Online Distributed -Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (Images courtesy -of the Digital Library@Villanova University -(http://digital.library.villanova.edu/)) - - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. 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