Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, A LAMENT, by JANE FRANCESCA WILDE



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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

A LAMENT, by                     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?







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