Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, A LAMENT FOR THOMAS DAVIS, by JOHN DE JEAN FRAZER


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

A LAMENT FOR THOMAS DAVIS, by                    
First Line: Is he gone from our struggle - the pure of the purest
Last Line: Than the luminous spirit of davis away!


IS he gone from our struggle -- the pure of the purest --
The staff that upheld our green banner the surest --
Is he gone from our struggle away?
Oh, Heaven! that the man who gave soul to our strife --
The heart with the lightnings of liberty rife,
Should be suddenly stricken to clay;
But yesterday lending a people new life,
Cold -- mute -- in the coffin to-day!
Woe, woe --
Strong myriads stunned by the one fatal blow --
The loved is departed -- the lofty laid low!

Though his form was to me as a far-dwelling stranger,
Did I need a defender from falsehood or danger,
I would call on his voice -- or his arm!
Romance and reality blended, in sooth,
The firmest of manhood, and freshest of youth,
In honour's most beautiful form;
Not even to save the whole cargo of truth,
Would he cast out a part in the storm!
Gloom, gloom --
The firmness and freshness are nipped in the bloom!
Broad and dark is the shadow that falls from his tomb!

Go -- mix with the crowds where his praises are spoken,
Go -- watch the wet eyes that hang over each token
His genius hath given of its birth:
Would millions in one common grief be combined,
If some spell-work embracing the heart and the mind
Of man in its magical girth,
Were not left, like a scroll from his spirit, behind,
To circle and gird up the earth?
Grief, grief --
The minstrel-magician, the patriot chief,
To praise him is some -- oh! how little -- relief.

The water runs clear from the high, rocky fountain,
And rapid the river that bursts from the mountain:
So rapid and clear was the stream
Of his song -- for the bard was exalted above
The gross of the world, both by lore and by love,
When country and kind were his theme, --
Oh! his soul was a seraph that ceaselessly strove
To soar to its own native beam.
Dear, dear --
Are the prunings of pinion that dropped from him here;
His own is the torch-light that flames round his bier.
From a spirit intensely to liberty cleaving --
From a heart that grew yet more enlarged by its heaving,
He fired into energy all,
Whose nature looks up to the loftiest mind,
Since, like loftiest bough, it first catches the wind,
And is last into stillness to fall;
He banded the glowing -- he guided the blind,
Who grappled and tugged with their thrall --
Grave, grave --
Onward may still be the sweep of the brave;
But the bright crest of foam -- it is gone from the wave.

To cowards and despots a hatred undying,
For freedom a passion intense and relying,
A pride in the resolute hand;
A hope that could see not a danger to shun,
When bonds should be broken, and liberty won --
A faith in the book and the brand,
The song and the standard -- had made him the sun
Of a fair, but a shadowy land --
Blight, blight --
How sad are the banner and book in our sight,
Ah! the brow of the country grew grey in a night!

The gallant, good heart, that was fitted to clamber
The rockiest path, is now cold in the chamber
Of death, as the basest can be --
No minstrel again to his greatness shall grow,
Though many shall spring from the one lying low,
Like twigs from the felled forest tree;
But still, at his bidding, the fettered shall throw
Their chains on the earth, and be free!
Clay, clay --
Thou sooner shalt steal the broad sun from the day,
Than the luminous spirit of Davis away!





Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!


Other Poems of Interest...
Home: PoetryExplorer.net