THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES t In Vinculis. THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES 1.1' i>'-:< THE LARGE PAPER EDITION OF THIS VOLUME, CONSISTING OF FIFTY COPIES, ALL OF WHICH ARE NUMBERED AND SIGNED, WAS PRINTED IN DECEMBER, iS88. This is No. V/ X ^.^«t>"j IN VINCULIS. r IN VINCULIS. BY WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT, AUTHOR OF " THE WIND AND THE WHIRLWIND," "the love sonnets of PROTEUS," ETC., ETC. LONDON KEG AN PAUL, TRENCH & CO. MDCCCLXXXIX. DEDICATION. TO THE PRIESTS AND PEASANTRY OF IRELAND, WHO FOR THREE HUNDRED YEARS HAVE PRESERVED THE TRADITION OF A RIGHTEOUS WAR FOR Faith and Freedom. R1 'y-i ^^ PREFACE. In dedicating these poems to the priests and peasantry of Ireland, their author desires to acknowledge his deep gratitude towards them, not for their sympathy only, and this was great, but for much else which, though difficult to express, will l)e divined in their perusal. The earliest of the pieces, those headed " In Vinculis," were with a few exceptions actually written (on the fly-leaves of the Author's prayer- book) in Galway and Kilmainham gaols. The rest were either designed in prison or composed in connection with the events of the time. They record an episode in the writer's life to which, in spite of many austerities and some real .suffering, he cannot look back otherwise than with affection. Imprisonment is a reality of discipline most useful viii PREFACE. to the mcxlern soul, lapped as it is in physical sloth and self-indulgence. Like a sickness or a spiritual retreat it purifies and ennobles ; and the soul emerges from it stronger and more self-contained. Alas, that these influences should so soon lose their power ! — And yet, fall as we may from the higher level, they do not wholly perish, but remain for us a wholesome recollection and a standard of all that we can imagine best for this life and another. W. S. B. Crabbet Park, Sussex, Oct. 23, 1888. CONTENTS. SONNETS PAGE I. From Caiaphas to Pilate I was sent .... i II. Naked I came into the world of pleasure . . 2 III. Honoured I lived erewhile with honoured men 3 IV. How shall I build my Temple to the Lord . . 4 v. A prison is a convent without God 5 VI. There are two voices with me in the night . . 6 VII. Long have I searched the earth for liberty . . 7 VIII. 'Tis time, my soul, thou should'st be purged of pride S IX. Behold the Court of Penance. Four gaunt walls f) X. My prison has its pleasures. Every day . . 10 XI. God knows, 'twas not with a fore-reasoned plan it XII. There are wrongs done in the fair face of heaven 12 XIII. To do some little good before I die . . . . i^ XIV. I thought to do a deed of chiv.^Iry 14 XV. Farewell, dark gaol. Vou hold some better hearts iq XVI. No, I will smile no more. If but for pride . . 16 Remember O'Brien 17 Poor Erin 22 The Canon of Aughrim 21; "IN VINCULIS." SONNETS WRITTEN IN PRISON. I. From Caiaphas to Pilate I was sent, Who judged with unwashed hands a crime to me. Next came the sentence, and the soldiery Claimed me their prey. Without, the people rent With weeping voices the loud firmament. And through the night from town to town passed we 'Mid shouts and drums and stones hurled heavily By angry crowds on love and murder bent. And last the gaol — what stillness in these doors ! The silent turnkeys their last bolls have shot, And their steps die in the long corridors. I am alone. My tears run fast and hot. Dear Lord, for Thy griefs sake I kiss these floors Kneeling — then turn to sleep, dreams troublcnot. IN VINCULIS. II. Naked I came into the world of pleasure, And naked come I to this house of pain. Here at the gate I lay down my life's treasure, My pride, my garments and my name with men. The world and I henceforth shall be as twain. No sound of me shall pierce for good or ill These walls of grief. Nor shall I hear the vain Laughter and tears of those who love me still. Within, what new life waits me ! Little ease, Cold lying, hunger, nights of wakefulness, Harsh orders given, no voice to soothe or please. Poor thieves for friends, for books rules meaning- less ; This is the grave— nay, hell. Yet, Lord of Might, Still in Thy light my spirit shall see light. SONNETS. III. Honoured I lived erewhile with honoured men In opulent state. My table nightly spread Found guests of worth, peer, priest and citizen. And poet crowned, and beauty garlanded. Nor these alone, for hunger too I fed, And many a lean tramp and sad Magdalen Passed from my doors less hard for sake of bread. Whom grudged I ever purse or hand or pen ? To-night, unwelcomed at these gates of woe I stand with churls, and there is none to greet My weariness with smile or courtly show Nor, though I hunger long, to bring me meat. God ! what a little accident of gold Fences our weakness from the wolves of old ! IN VINCULIS. IV. How shall I build my Temple to the Lord, Unworthy I, who am thus foul of heart ? How shall I worship who no traitor word Know but of love to play a suppliant's part ? How shall I pray, whose soul is as a mart For thoughts unclean, whose tongue is as a sword Even for those it loves to wound and smart ? Behold how little I can help Thee, Lord. The Temple I would build should all be white. Each stone the record of a blameless day ; The souls that entered there should walk in light. Clothed in high chastity and wisely gay. Lord, here is darkness— yet this heart unwise. Bruised in Thy service, take in sacrifice. SONNETS. V. A prison is a convent without God — Poverty, Chastity, Obedience Its precepts are. In this austere abode None gather wealth of pleasure or of pence. Woman's light wit, the heart's concupiscence Are banished here. At the least warder's nod Thy neck shall bend in mute subservience, Nor yet for virtue — rather for the rod. Here a base turnkey novice-master is. Teaching humility. The matin bell Calls thee to toil, but little comforteth. None heed thy prayers or give the kiss of peace. Nathless, my soul, be valiant. Even in Hell Wisdom shall preach to thee of life and death. IN VINCULIS. VI. There are two voices with me in the night, Easing my grief. The God of Israel saith, " I am the Lord thy God which vanquisheth. ' ' See that thou walk unswerving in my sight, " So shall thy enemies thy footstool be. " I will avenge." Then wake I suddenly, And as a man new armoured for the fight, I shout aloud against my enemy. Anon, another speaks, a voice of care With sorrow laden and akin to grief, " My son," it saith, "What is my will with thee ? " The burden of my sorrows thou shalt share. " With thieves thou too shalt be accounted thief, "And in my kingdom thou shalt sup with me." SONNETS. VII. Long have I searched the earth for hberty, In desert places and lands far abroad, ^Vhere neither kings nor constables should be, Nor any law of Man, alas, or God. Freedom, Equality and Brotherhood, These were my quarries, which eternally Fled from my footsteps fast as I pursued. Sad phantoms of desire by land and sea. See, it is ended. Sick and overborne By foes and fools, and my long chase, I lie- Here, in these walls, with all life's souls forlorn Herded I wait,— and in my ears the cry, " Alas, poor brothers, equal in Man's scorn, " And free in God's good liberty to die." IN VINCULIS. VIII. 'Tis time, my soul, thou should'st be purged of pride. Wliat men are these with thee, whose ill deeds done Make thee thus shrink from them and be denied ? They are but as thou art, each mother's son A convict in transgression — Here is one, Sayest thou, who struck his fellow and he died. And yet he weeps hot tears. Do thy tears run ? This other thieved, yet clasps Christ crucified. Where is thy greater virtue ? Thinkest thou sin Is but crime's record on the judgment seat ? Or must thou wait for death to be bowed down ? Oh for a righteous reading which should join Thy deeds together in an accusing sheet, And leave thee if thou could'st, to face men's frown ! SONNETS. IX. Behold the Court of Penance. Four gaunt walls Shutting out all things but the upper heaven. Stone flags for floor, where daily from their stalls The human cattle in a circle driven Tread down their pathway to a mire uneven, Pale-faced, sad-eyed, and mute as funerals. Woe to the wretch whose weakness unforgiven Falters a moment in the track or falls. Yet is there consolation. Overhead The pigeons build and the loud jackdaws talk. And once in the wind's eye, like a ship moored, A sea-gull flew and I was comforted. Even here the heavens declare thy glory. Lord, And the free firmament thy handiwork. lo IN VINCULIS. X. My prison has its pleasures. Every clay At breakfast-time, spare meal of milk and bread, Sparrows come trooping in familiar way With head aside beseeching to be fed. A spider too for me has spun her thread Across the prison rules, and a brave mouse Watches in sympathy the warders' tread, These two my fellow-prisoners in the house. But about dusk in the rooms opposite I see lamps lighted, and upon the blind A shadow passes all the evening through. It is the gaoler's daughter fair and kind And full of pity — so I image it — Till the stars rise, and night begins anew. SONNETS. II XI. God knows, 'twas not with a fore-reasoned plan I left the easeful dwellings of my peace, And sought this combat with ungodly Man, And ceaseless still through years that do not cease Have warred with Powers and Principalities. My natural soul, ere yet these strifes began, Was as a sister diligent to please And loving all, and most the human clan. God knows it. And He knows how the world's tears Touched me. And He is witness of my wrath. How it was kindled against murderers A\Tio slew for gold, and how upon their path I met them. Since which day the World in arms Strikes at my life with angers and alarms. 12 IN VINCULIS. XII. There are wrongs done in the fair face of heaven Which cry aloud for vengeance, and shall cry ; Loves beautiful in strength vifhose wit has striven Vainly with loss and man's inconstancy ; Dead children's faces watched by souls that die ; Ture streams defiled ; fair forests idly riven ; A nation, suppliant in its agony, Calling on justice, and no help is given. All these are pitiful. Yet, after tears, Come rest and sleep and calm forgetfulness, And Gods good providence consoles the years. Only the coward heart which did not guess, The dreamer of brave deeds that might have been. Shall cureless ache with wounds for ever green. SONNETS. 13 XIII. To do some little good before I die ; To wake some echoes to a loftier theme ; To spend my life's last store of industry On thoughts less vain than Youth's discordant dream ; To endow the world's grief with some counter- scheme Of logical hope which through all time should lighten The burden of men's sorrow and redeem Their faces' paleness from the tears that whiten ; To take my place in the world's brotherhood As one prepared to suffer all its fate ; To do and be undone for sake of good, And conquer rage by giving love for hate ; That were a noble dream, and so to cease, Scorned by the proud but with the poor at peace. 14 IN VINCULIS. XIV. I thought to do a deed of chivalry, An act of worth, which haply in her sight Who was my mistress should recorded be And of the nations. And, when thus the fight Faltered and men once bold with faces white Turned this and that way in excuse to flee, I only stood, and by the foeman's might Was overborne and mangled cruelly. Then crawled I to her feet, in whose dear cause I made this venture, and " behold," I said, " How I am wounded for thee in these wars." But she, " Poor cripple, would'st thou I should wed A limbless trunk?" and laughing turned from me, Yet was she fair, and her name " Liberty." SONNETS. 15 XV. Farewell, dark gaol. You hold some better hearts Than in this savage world I thought to find. I do not love you nor the fraudulent arts By which men tutor men to ways unkind. Your law is not my law, and yet my mind Remains your debtor. It has learned to see How dark a thing the earth would be and blind But for the light of human charity. I am your debtor thus and for the pang ^Vhich touched and chastened, and the nights of thought Which were my years of learning. See I hang Your image here, a glory all unsought, About my neck. Thus saints in symbol hold Their tools of death and darings manifold. 1 6 IN VINCULIS. XVI. No, I will smile no more. If but for pride And the high record of these days of pain, I will not be as these, the uncrucified Who idly live and find life's pleasures vain. The garment of my life is rent in twain, Parted by love and pity. Some have died Of a less hurt than 'twas my luck to gain, And live with God, nor dare I be denied. No, I will smile no more. Love's touch of pleasure Shall be as tears to me, fair words as gall. The sun as blackness, friends as a false measure, And Spring's blithe pageant on this earthly ball, If it should brag, shall earn from mc no praise, But silence only to my end of days. REMEMBER O'BRIEN! SONG FOR THE AUTUMN OF 1887. I. Ireland, wake ! your son lies bleeding, Stricken through his love for you. Wake ! arise ! and let your pleading Wrap your shores in grief anew. Scatter ashes on your head, Ireland, for your living dead ; Fire the beacon, fan the ember Of your lost wrath, and remember All the wrong of Clan-na-Gael, And the man who lies in jail. Wake ! Remember O'Brien ! II. On his plank bed in the darkness, He is laid who gave you light, c IS IN VINCULIS. Crisped with cold and prison starkness Is the hand your woes did write. Dumb the lips are that your cause Pleaded against human laws. Here as on a bed of passion Lies the martyr of your nation, All his eloquence grown mute. Ireland ! be your wrath afoot, Rise ! Remember O'Brien ! III. Be not idle in your daring ; He nor idleness nor ease Knew for you whose whole life's bearing Told contempt for things that please. What was pleasure to his heart ? In your griefs to bear a part. What his mirth ? To cheat your laughter Of the tears Earth hungers after REMEMBER aBRIEN! 19 With a word of wit or play. Wliich of you dares laugh to-day ? Nay ! Remember O'Brien ! IV. Ireland ! plead before high heaven For your saint upon his cross. His the gain of wrongs forgiven, Yours the pain is and the loss. Prayers he hardly needs for sin Who was blameless most of men ; But for your own selfish meekness Plead with heaven to nerve your weakness For his sake and your right arm, With the power of dealing harm. Strike ! Remember O'Brien ! V. Wave your banners, march in chorus, Loud with passion, fierce with pain. 20 IN VINCULIS. Let your trumpets ring sonorous With the tramp of angry men. Meet your judges face to face In each street and market place ; There to read in stern derision Of their laws your high commission. Ay, proclaim them, as is meet, Outlaws at God's mercy seat. Shout ! Remember O'Brien ! VI. Bind them to a new transaction For the man who with them lies ; Their's was argument in action, Action, too, be your replies. They have willed it. Let there be One campaign from sea to sea. Lock your rents in your own coffers And compel them to your offers. REMEMBER O'BRIEN I 21 Stand out stiffly and unbent ; Look ! each hedge lends argument. Say, " Remember O'Brien !" VII. Patriots, rise ! take rank together. Fight for God and tight for man ; In the stormy autumn weather Strike for freedom and the Plan. Pie it was who taught you this, Here your stoutest vengeance is. Blackthorn blows for hours of trial, And on gale day stern denial ; Till your gaolers on their knees Sign the order of release, And kneel to William O'Brien. 22 IN VINCULIS. POOR ERIN. SONG FOR 1 888. I. Oh poor Erin 1 Alas poor Erin ! Where is the land with a fate like yours, Blessed with a beauty to all endearing, Cursed with a sorrow no fortune cures ? II. Oh poor Erin ! Alas poor Erin ! V.Hiat is the cause of your long distress ? The hope of freedom forever nearing. Forever fading to less and less. nil Oh poor Erin ! Alas poor Erin ! What have you done that men hate you so ? POOR ERIN, 23 Vou have clung to your God while the rest des- pairing Bowed their souls in the house of woe. IV. Oh poor Erin ! Alas poor Erin ! Which are the traitors that brought you blame ? The hireling shepherds that did your shearing And sold your sheep to the land of shame. V. Oh poor Erin ! Alas poor Erin ! Which of your sons shall have served you best ? The men that died for your sake unfearing In prison fetters as felons dressed. VI. Oh poor Erin ! Poor faithful Erin ! When shall the day of your grief be past ? When the mighty ocean shall bring you steering To reap your bread on the waters cast. 24 IN VINCULIS. VII. Oh poor Erin ! No more poor Erin ! The hope in your bosom is green to-day, The voice of the nations around you cheering, Tells that your trouble is past away. VIII. Oh poor Erin ! All hail to Erin ! Revenge was sweet, but true love endures. Behold your foeman in anguish rearing A home of freedom forever yours. THE CANON OF AUGIIRIM. I. You ask me of English honour, whether your Nation is just ? Justice for us is a word divine, a name we revere — Alas, no more than a name, a thing laid by in the dust. The world shall know it again, but not in this month or year. II. Honour ? Oh no, you profane it. Justice ? What words ! What deeds ! Look at the suppliant Earth with its living burden of men. 26 IN VINCULIS. Here and to llindostan the nations anil kings and creeds Praise your name as a god's, the god of their children slain. III. Which of us doubts your justice ? It is not here in the West, After six hundred years of pitiless legal war, The sons of our soil are in doubt. They know, who have l)orne it, Ijest. The world is famished for justice. You give us a stone, your law. IV. These are its fruits. Vet, think you, the Ireland where men weep Once was a jubilant land and dear to the Saints of God. All you have made it to-day is a hell to conquer and keep, Yours by the right of the strongest hand, the right of the rod. THE CANON OF AUGHRIM. 27 V. History tells the st(jr>- in signs deep writ on the soil, Plain and clear in indelible type both for fools and wise. Here is no need of books, of any expositor's coil. He who runs may read, and he may weep who has eyes. VI. This is the plain of Aughrim, renowned in our Irish story Because of the blood that was shed, the last in arms by our sons, A fight in battle array, with more of gritf than of glory. Where as a Nation we died to dirge of your English guns. 28 IN VINCULIS. VII. So the Chroniclers tell us, and turn in silence their page, Ending the fighting here. I tell you the Chroni- clers lie. Spite of the hush of the dead, the battle from age to age Flameson still through the land, and still at men's hands men die. via. Look ! I will show you the footsteps of those who have died at your hand, Done to death by your law, alas, and not by the sword, Only their work remaining, a nation's track in the sand, Ridge and furrow of ancient fields half hid in the sward. THE CANON OF A UGH RIM. 29 IX. Step by step they retreated. You fenced them out with your Pale, Back from township and city and cornland fair by the Sea. Waterford, Youghal and Wexford you took, and the Golden Vale. Tears were their portion assigned, — for you their demesnes in fee. X. Back to the forest and bog. They shouldered their spades like men, Fought with the wolf and the rock and the hunger which holds the hill. Still new homesteads arose where fever lurked in the fen. Still your law was a sword that hunted and dogged them still. 30 IN VINCULIS. XI. Magistrate, landlord, bailiff, process-server and spy. These were the dogs of your pack, which scented the land's increase. Vainly, like hares, they lay in the forms they had fashioned to die. Justice hunted them forth hy the hand of the Justice of Peace. XII. Look at it closer, thus, and shading your eyes with your hand. Far as a bird could reach, to the utmost edge of the plain, What do you see but grass ! and what do you understand } Cattle that graze on the grass. — Alas, you have looked in vain. THE CANON OF A UGH RIM. 31 XIII. See with my eyes. They are older than yours, but more keen in their love. See what I saw as a boy in the fields, as a priest by the ways, See what I saw in anger with angels watching above Hiding their faces loi shame in the day of the terrible days. XIV. Horsemen and footmen and guns. They were here. I have seen them, though some Say that two hundred years have passed since the battle was stilled. Ay, and the ciy of the wounded, drowned by the beat of the drum. Did I not hear with my ears how it rose like the wail of a child ? 32 IN VINCULIS. XV. I was a student then, a boy, in the days now for- gotten, When for our school-house the chapel must serve, for our master the priest ; Many a Latin theme have I scrawled on the altar- rails rotten, Thinking no more of the house of God than the house of the least. XVI. Yet we were saints in Aughrim. An Eden the plain then stood. Covered with gardens round, a happy and holy place, Rich in the generations of those who had shed their blood, Bound to their faith by the martyr's bond and the power of grace. THE CANON OF AUG H RIM. 33 XVII. They do us wrong who affirm the Irish people are sad. Sad we are in the lands afar, but not in our home. Oh, if you knew the gladness with which our people are glad, Well might you grieve for your own, the poor in your towns of doom. XVIII. Here, God knows it, we hunger. But hunger, a little, is well ; Man with full stomach is proud, his heart is shut to the poor. Well, too, is persecution, since thus through its sting we rebel. Clinging yet more to our love and our hate in the homes we adore. * * « « » D 34 /^ VINCULIS. XIX. Mine is a mission of peace, to save men's souls in the world, Not to make converts to Hell, for Ireland's sake even, you say. Why should I preach of rebellion, and hatred, words impotent hurled Each like a spear from the lips to strike whom it lists in the fray ? XX. Hark. You shall hear it. This parish was mine. I remember it all Tilled in squares, like a chess-board, each house and holding apai't. Down where the nettles grow you may mark the line of the wall Bounding the chapel field where our dead lie heart on heart. THE CANON OF A UGH RIM. 35 XXI, It was not the famine killed them. God knows in that evil year He pressed us a little hard, but he spared us our lives and joy. Only the old and weak were taken. The rest stood clear, Quit of their debt to Death. God struck, but not to destroy. xxu. The wolves of the world were fiercer. The wolves of the world to-day Go in sheep's clothing all, with names that the world applauds. Nobody now draws sword or spear with intent to slay. Death is done with a sigh, and mercy tightens the cords. 36 IN VINCULIS. XXIII. It was a woman did it. Her father, the lawyer Blake, Purchased the land for a song,— some say, or less, for a debt Owed by the former lord, a broken spendthrift and rake — And left it hers when he died with all he could grip or get. XXIV. Timothy Blake was not loved. lie had too much in his heart Of the law of tenures, for love. No word men spoke in his praise. Yet, in his lawyer's way, and deeds and titles apart, All were allowed to live who paid their rent in his days. THE CANON OF AUGHRIM. 37 XXV. Little Miss Blake was his daughter. A pink-faced school-girl she came First from Dublin city to live in her father's house, She and her dogs and horses, unconscious of shame or blame. Who would have guessed her cruel with manners meek as a mouse ? XXVI. Nothing in truth was further, or further seemed from her heart, Set as it was on pleasure and undisturbed with pain, — So she might ride with the hounds when winter brought round its sport, Or angle a trout from the river— than war with her fellow men. 38 IN VINCULIS. XXVII. She was fastidious, too, with her English educa- tion, And pained at want and squalor, things hard she should understand. The sight of poverty touched the sense of what was due to her station. And still in her earlier years she gave with an open hand. XXVIII. The village was poor to look at, a row of houses, no more. With just four walls and the thatch in holes where the fowls passed through. A shame to us all, she averred, and her, so near to her door. She sent us for slates to the quarry and bade us build them anew. THE CANON OF AUGHRIM. 39 XXIX. The Chapel, too, was unsightly. A Protestant she, and yet Decency needs must be in a house of prayer, she said. Perched on a rising ground in sight of her windows set, Its shapeless walls were her grief. She built it a new fa9ade. ***** XXX. What was it changed her heart ? God knows. I know not. Some say She set her fancy on one above her in rank and pride. Young Lord Clair at the Castle had danced with her. Then one day Dancing and she were at odds. lie had taken an English bride. 40 IN VINCULIS. XXXI. This, or it may be less,— a foolish word from a friend — A jest repeated to ears already wounded and sore, A pang of jealousy roused for the sake of some private end, Or only the greed of gain, of more begotten of more. XXXII. These were the days of plenty, of prices rising, men thought Still to rise for ever, and all were eager to buy. Landlord with landlord vied, and tenant with tenant bought. Riches make selfish souls, and gain has an evil eye. THE CANON OF AUG II KIM. 41 XXXIII. Oh ! the economist fraud, with wealth of nations for text, How has it robbed the poor of their one poor right to Hve ! Only the fields grow fat. The men that delve them are vexed, Scourged with the horse-leech cry of the daugh- ter of hunger, "give." XXXIV. Why should I 1;lame this woman ? She practised what all men preach. Duty to Man a little, but much to herself and land. She made two blades of grass to grow in the place of each ; She took two guineas for one. What more would your laws demand ? 42 IN VINCULIS. " XXXY. If in her way men died, Economy's rules are stern, Stern as the floods and droughts, the tempests and fires and seas. Men but cumber the land whose labour is weak to earn More than their board and bed ; much cattle were worthy these. XXXVI. So those argued who served her. What wonder if she too grew Hard in her dealings around, and grudged their lands to the poor ? Cary, her agent, died. The day she engaged the new. Grief stepped into the village, and Death sat down at the door. THE CANON OF AUGHRIM. 43 XXXVII. Rent. Who speaks of the rent ? We Irish, who till the soil, Are ever ready to pay the tribute your laws impose ; You, the conquering race, have portioned to each his toil, We, the conquered, bring the ransom due to our woes. XXXVIII. Here is no case of justice, of just debts made or unjust ; Contracts 'twixt freemen are, not here, where but one is free. No man argues of right, who pays the toll that he nmst ; Life is dear to all, and rent is the leave to be. 44 IN VINCULIS. XXXIX. No. None argued of rent. Each paid, or he could not pay, Much as the seasons willed, in fatness or hungry years. Blake's old rental was high. She raised it, and none said nay ; Then she raised it again, and made a claim for arrears. XL. Joyce was her agent now. The rules of Charity bind Somewhat my tongue in speech, for even truths wrongs endured ; All I will say is this, in Joyce you might see com- bined Three worst things, a lawyer, money-lender and steward. THE CANON OF AUGHRIM. 45 XLI. His was the triple method to harass by legal plan, Ruin by note of hand, and serve with the Crown's decree ; One by one in his snare he trapped the poor to a man, Left them bare in the street, and turned in their doors the key. XLII. How many Christian hearts have I seen thus flouted with scorn, Turned adrift on the world in the prime of life and their pride ! How many lips have I heard curse out the day they were born. Souls absolved in their anger to die on the bare hill-side ! 46 IN VINCULIS. XLIII. All for Miss Blake and the law, and Joyce's profit on fees ; All for Imperial order to see the Queen's writ run ; All for the honour of England, mistress of half the seas ; All for English justice, the purest under the sun. XLIV. Pitiful God of justice ! You speak of order and law — Order ! the law of blood which sets the stoat on the track ; Law ! the order of death which has glutted the soldier's maw. When Hell lies drunk in a city the morning after a sack. THE CANON OF AUG H RIM. 47 XLV. Ortler and law and justice ! All noble things, but defiled, Made to stink in men's nostrils, a carrion refuse of good. Till God himself is debased in the work of his hands beguiled, And good and bad are as one in the mind of the multitude. XLV I. All in vain we argue who preach submission to Heaven. Even to us who know it, such mercy is hard to find. How then submission to Man by whom no quarter is given ? Vainly and thrice in vain. That nut lias too hard a rind. 48 IN VINCULIS. XLVII. Then men rise in their anger. Another justice they seek. Maxims of right prevail traced down from a pagan age; These take the place of the gospel your laws have robbed from the weak. Who shall convince them of wrong, or turn the worm from his rage ? XLVIII Which are the first fruits of freedom ? Truth, Courage, Compassion. A man, Nursed from his childhood in right and guarded close by the law, Why should he trifle with virtue or doubt to do what he can Fearless in sight of the world, his life without failure or flaw ? THE CANON OF AUGHKIM. 49 XLIX. All things come to the strong — power — riches — fair living — repute — Conscience of worth and of virtue — plain speak- ing and dealing as plain. Oh, fair words are easy to speak when the world spreads its pearls at your foot, Free is humanity's fetter with pleasure gilding the chain. L. The Englishman's word, who shall doubt it ? The poor Celt, truly, he lies. Fie on his houghing of cattle, his blunderbuss fired from the hedge ! Witness swears falsely to murder — You throw up your innocent eyes. Rightly, for murder and lying set honest teeth upon edge. E 50 IN VINCULIS. LI. Yet, mark how circumstance alters. You plant your Englishman down Strange on the banks of the Nile or Niger to shift with new life. All things are stronger than he. He fears men's fanatic frown, Straightway fawns at their knees, his fingers clutching the knife. \A\. He is kindly. Yet, think you he spares them, the servant, the cattle, the child, The wife he has wedded in falsehood, the Prince who clothed him in gold ? Out on such womanly scruples ! He boasts the friends he beguiled. The poisoned wells on his track, the poor beasts starved on the wold. THE CANON OF AUGHRIAL 51 LIII. This is necessity's law — Ay, truly. Necessity teaches Sternly the Devil's truth, and he that hath ears may hear. Only the grace of God interprets the wrong Hell preaches. Only the patience of perfect love can cast out fear. LIV. Joyce was found on his doorstep, stone dead, one Sunday morning, Shot by an unknown hand, a charge of slugs in his chest. The blow had fallen unheard, without cither sign or warning, Save for the notice-to-quit found pinned to the dead man's breast. 52 IN VINCULIS. LV. Oh, that terrible morning of grief to angels and men, I who knew, none better, the truth that until that day Sin in its larger sense was hardly within the ken Of these poor peasant souls, what dared I devise or say ? LVI. A deed of terror ? Yes. — A murder? Yes. — Afoul crime ? True, but a signal of battle, the first blood spilt in a war. Who could foresee the sequence of wrong to the end of time ? Who would listen to peace with the red flag waving afar ? THE CANON OF AUGHRIM. 53 LVII. War, war, war, was the issue in all men's minds as they stood Watching the constable force paraded that after- noon. War of the ancient sort when men lay wait in a wood Spying the Norman camps low-crouched in a waning moon. Lvni. Group with group they whispered. Their eyes looked strangely and new, Lit with the guilty knowledge as thoughts of the dead would pass. It was a pitiful sight to mark how the anger grew In souls that had prayed as children that very morning at Mass. 54 /iV VINCULIS. LIX, The answer to Joyce's murder was swift. Two strokes of the pen, Set by Miss Blake's fair hand on parchment white as her face Gave what remained of the parish, lands, tene- ments, chapel, and mill, All to a Scotch stock farmer to hold on a single lease. LX, Here stands the story written. The parchment itself could show Hardly more of their death than this great desolate plain. The poor potato trenches they dug, how greenly they grow, Grass, all grass for ever, the graves of our women and men ! ***** THE CANON OF AUGHRIM, 55 LXI. And did all die ? You ask it. I ask you in turn, "what is death?" Death by disease or battle, with gaping wounds for a door, Through it the prisoned soul runs forth with the prisoned breath, And what is lost for the one the other gains it and more. LXII. This is the death of the body. Some died thus, fortunate ones. Here and there a woman taken in labour of birth. Here and there a man struck down on his cold hearth stones. Here and there a child, or greybeard bent to the eai^th. 56 IN VINCULIS. LXIII. Heaven in pity took them. Their innocent souls received All that the Church can give of help on the onward way ; Here as they lived they died, believing all they believed ; Here their bodies rest, clay kneaded with kindred clay. LXIV. Every eviction in Ireland brings one such physical loss, Weak ones left by the road, grief touching the feeble brain. None of us mourn such dead who hold the creed of the Cross, Counting as sure their certain hope of eternal gain. THE CANON OF AUGHRIM. 57 LXV. Not for these is my anger. Love grieves, but the cicatrice closes, Ending in peace of heart. The dead are doubly our own. But what of that other death for which love strews no roses, Death of the altered soul, lost, perished forever, gone ? LXVI. Deep in the gulf of your cities they lie, the poor lorn creatures. Made in God's image once, his folded innocent sheep. Now misused and profaned, in speech and form and features. Living like devils and dying like dogs in inces- tuous sleep. 58 IN VINCULIS. LXVII. Seek them where I have found them, in New York, Liverpool, London, Cursing and cursed of all, a pustulous human growth, These same Irish children God made for his glory, undone. Ay, and undoing your law, while black Hell gapes for you both. LXVIII. There. You asked for the truth. You have it plain from my lips. Scientists tell us the world has no direction or plan, Only a struggle of nature, each beast and nation at grips, Still the fittest surviving and he the fittest who can. THE CANON OF AUGHRIM. 59 LXIX. You are that fittest, the lion to-day in your strength. To-morrow ? Well, who knows what other will come with a wider jaw ? Justly, you say, the nations give place and yield in their sorrow ; Vainly, you say, Christ died in face of the natural law. LXX. Would you have me believe it ? I tell you, if it were so, If I were not what I am, a priest instructed in grace, Knowing the truth of the Gospel and holding firm what I know, Where should I be at this hour ? Nay, surely not in this place. 6o IN VINCULIS. LXXI. Granted your creed of destruction, your right of the strong to devour, Granted your law of Nature that he shall live who can kill, Find me the law of submission shall stay the weak in his hour, His single hour of vengeance, or set a rein on his will. LXXII. Where should I be, even I ? Not surely here with my tears. Weeping an old man's grief at wrongs which are past regret. Healing here a little and helping there with my prayers All for the sake of Nature, to fill the teeth she has whet ! THE CANON OF AUGHRIM. 6i LXXIII. Not a priest at Aughrim. My place would be down with those Poor lost souls of Ireland, who, loving her far away, Not too wisely but well, deep down in your docks lie close. Waiting the night of ruin which needs must follow your day. LXXIV. England's lion is fat. Full-bellied with fortune he sleeps ; Why disturb his slumber with ominous news of ill? Softly from under his paw the prey he has mangled creeps. Deals his blow in the back, and all the carcase is still. 62 IN VINCULIS. LXXV. Logic and counter-logic. You talk of cowardice rarely ! Dynamite under your ships might make even your cheek white. Treacherous ! Oh, you are jesting. The natural law works fairly, He that has cunning shall live, and he that has poison bite. LXXVI. Only I dare not believe it. I hold the justice of Heaven Larger than all the science, and welled from a purer fount ; God as greater than Nature, his law than the wonders seven, Darwin's sermon on Man redeemed by that on the Mount. THE CANON OF A UGH RIM. 63 LXXVII. Thus spoke the Canon of Aughrim, and raised in silence his hands, Seeming to bless the battle his eyes had seen on the plain. Order and law, he murmured, a Nation's track in the sands. Ridge and furrow of grass, the graves of our women and men. CHISWICK press: — C. WHITTINGHAM and CO., TOOKS COURT, CHANCERY LANE. nr 1 ^ . . PR hlh9 "nc :i Iff M University of California SOUTHERN REGIONAL ^BRARY FACIUTY •^n^i De Neve Drive - Parking Lot 17 • Box 9biJoo '°' LOS InGELES, CALIFORNIA 90095-1388 Retumjhismat^^ Form I — - -r •«k'^— !tt u