Classic and Contemporary Poetry
A LAMENT, by JANE FRANCESCA WILDE Poet's Biography First Line: Gone from us - dead to us - he whom we worshipped so! Last Line: Where shall we seek for truth, honour, or worth? Alternate Author Name(s): Speranza; Elgee, Jane Francesca; Wilde, William Robert Wills, Mrs. Subject(s): Heroism; Heroes; Heroines | ||||||||
I. GONE from us -- dead to us -- he whom we worshipped so! Low lies the altar we raised to his name; Madly his own hand hath shattered and laid it low -- Madly his own breath hath blasted his fame. He whose proud bosom once raged with humanity, He whose broad forehead was circled with might, Sunk to a time-serving, driv'lling inanity -- God! Why not spare our loved country the sight? II. Was it the gold of the stranger that tempted him? Ah! we'd have pledged to him body and soul; Toiled for him -- fought for him -- starved for him -- died for him -- Smiled, tho' our graves were the steps to his goal. Breathed he one word in his deep, earnest whispering, Wealth, crown, and kingdom, were laid at his feet; Raised he his right hand, the millions would round him cling -- Hush! 'tis the Sassenach ally you greet. III. Leaders have fallen -- we wept, but we triumphed, too -- Patriot blood never sinks in the sod; He falls, and the jeers of the nation he bent to sue Rise like accusing weird spirits to God. Weep for him -- weep for him -- deep is the tragedy -- Angels themselves now might doubt of God's truth; Souls from their bloody graves, shuddering, rise to see How he avenges their lost, murdered youth. IV. Tone, and Fitzgerald, and the pale-brow'd enthusiast -- He whose heart broke, but shrank not from the strife; Davis, the latest loved -- he who in glory passed, Kindling Hope's lamp with the chrism of life. Well may they wail for him -- power and might were his -- Loved as no mortal was loved in the land -- What has he sold them for? Sorrow and shame it is, Fair words and false from a recreant band. V. Time's shade was on him; what matter? we loved him yet; Aye, would have torn the veins with our teeth, Made him a bath of our young blood to pay the debt -- Purchased his life, tho' we bought it by death. Pray for him -- pray: an archangel has fallen low; There's a throne less in Heaven, there is sorrow on earth. Weep, angels -- laugh, demons! When his hand could strike the blow, Where shall we seek for truth, honour, or worth? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE CONFESSION OF ST. JIM-RALPH by DENIS JOHNSON NOTES FOR AN ELEGY by WILLIAM MEREDITH THE EROTICS OF HISTORY by EAVAN BOLAND A SONG FOR HEROES by EDWIN MARKHAM AFTER THE BROKEN ARM by RON PADGETT PRELUDE; FOR GEOFFREY GORER by EDITH SITWELL EXAMINATION OF THE HERO IN A TIME OF WAR by WALLACE STEVENS THE FAMINE YEAR by JANE FRANCESCA WILDE A REMONSTRANCE; ADDRESSED TO D. FLORENCE M'CARTHY, M.R.I.A. by JANE FRANCESCA WILDE |
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