Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

PARNELL by LIONEL PIGOT JOHNSON

Poem Explanation Poet Analysis

First Line: THE WAIL OF IRISH WINDS
The wail of Irish winds,
The wail of Irish winds,
The cry of Irish seas:
The cry of Irish seas:
Eternal sorrow finds
Eternal sorrow finds
Eternal voice in these.
Eternal voice in these.
I cannot praise our dead,

Whom Ireland weeps so well:

Her morning light, that fled;
I cannot praise our dead,
Her morning star, that fell.
Whom Ireland weeps so well:
She of the mournful eyes
Her morning light, that fled;
Waits, and no dark clouds break:
Her morning star, that fell.
Waits, and her strong son lies

Dead, for her holy sake.

Her heart is sorrow's home.
She of the mournful eyes
And hath been from of old:
Waits, and no dark clouds break:
An host of griefs hath come,
Waits, and her strong son lies
To make that heart their fold.
Dead, for her holy sake.
Ah, the sad autumn day,

When the last sad troop came

Swift down the ancient way,
Her heart is sorrow's home,
Keening a chieftain's name!
And hath been from of old:
Gray hope was there, and dread;
An host of griefs hath come,
Anger, and love in tears:
To make that heart their fold.
They mourned the dear and dead,

Dirge of the ruined years.

Home to her heart she drew
Ah, the sad autumn day,
The mourning company:
When the last sad troop came
Old sorrows met the new,
Swift down the ancient way,
In sad fraternity.
Keening a chieftain's name!
A mother, and forget?

Nay! all her children's fate

Ireland remembers yet,
Gray hope was there, and dread;
With love insatiate.
Anger, and love in tears:
She hears the heavy bells:
They mourned the dear and dead,
Hears, and with passionate breath
Dirge of the ruined years.
Eternally she tells

A rosary of death.

Faithful and true is she,
Home to her heart she drew
The mother of us all:
The mourning company:
Faithful and true! may we
Old sorrows met the new,
Fail her not, though we fall.
In sad fraternity.
Her son, our brother, lies

Dead, for her holy sake:

But from the dead arise
A mother, and forget?
Voices, that bid us wake.
Nay! all her children's fate
Not his, to hail the dawn:
Ireland remembers yet,
His but the herald's part.
With love insatiate.
Be ours to see withdrawn

Night from our mother's heart.

She hears the heavy bells:
Hears, and with passionate breath
Eternally she tells
A rosary of death.


Faithful and true is she,
The mother of us all:
Faithful and true! may we
Fail her not, though we fall.


Her son, our brother, lies
Dead, for her holy sake:
But from the dead arise
Voices, that bid us wake.


Not his, to hail the dawn:
His but the herald's part.
Be ours to see withdrawn
Night from our Mother's heart.




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