DORA SIGERSON SHORTER1866-1918
1866-1918
Hark! in the still night. Who goes there?‘Fifteen dead men.’ Why do they wait?‘Hasten, comrade, death is so fair.’Now comes their Captain through the dim gate.Sixteen dead men! What on their sword?‘A nation’s honour proud do they bear.’What on their bent heads? ‘God’s holy word;All of their nation’s heart blended in prayer.’Sixteen dead men! What makes their shroud?‘All of their nation’s love wraps them around.’Where do their bodies lie, brave and so proud?‘Under the gallows-tree in prison-ground.’Sixteen dead men! Where do they go?‘To join their regiment where Sarsfield leads;Wolfe Tone and Emmet, too, well do they know.There shall they bivouac, telling great deeds.’Sixteen dead men! Shall they return?‘Yea, they shall come again, breath of our breath.They on our nation’s hearth made old fires burn.Guard her unconquered soul, strong in their death.’
Hark! in the still night. Who goes there?‘Fifteen dead men.’ Why do they wait?‘Hasten, comrade, death is so fair.’Now comes their Captain through the dim gate.Sixteen dead men! What on their sword?‘A nation’s honour proud do they bear.’What on their bent heads? ‘God’s holy word;All of their nation’s heart blended in prayer.’Sixteen dead men! What makes their shroud?‘All of their nation’s love wraps them around.’Where do their bodies lie, brave and so proud?‘Under the gallows-tree in prison-ground.’Sixteen dead men! Where do they go?‘To join their regiment where Sarsfield leads;Wolfe Tone and Emmet, too, well do they know.There shall they bivouac, telling great deeds.’Sixteen dead men! Shall they return?‘Yea, they shall come again, breath of our breath.They on our nation’s hearth made old fires burn.Guard her unconquered soul, strong in their death.’
Hark! in the still night. Who goes there?‘Fifteen dead men.’ Why do they wait?‘Hasten, comrade, death is so fair.’Now comes their Captain through the dim gate.
Hark! in the still night. Who goes there?
‘Fifteen dead men.’ Why do they wait?
‘Hasten, comrade, death is so fair.’
Now comes their Captain through the dim gate.
Sixteen dead men! What on their sword?‘A nation’s honour proud do they bear.’What on their bent heads? ‘God’s holy word;All of their nation’s heart blended in prayer.’
Sixteen dead men! What on their sword?
‘A nation’s honour proud do they bear.’
What on their bent heads? ‘God’s holy word;
All of their nation’s heart blended in prayer.’
Sixteen dead men! What makes their shroud?‘All of their nation’s love wraps them around.’Where do their bodies lie, brave and so proud?‘Under the gallows-tree in prison-ground.’
Sixteen dead men! What makes their shroud?
‘All of their nation’s love wraps them around.’
Where do their bodies lie, brave and so proud?
‘Under the gallows-tree in prison-ground.’
Sixteen dead men! Where do they go?‘To join their regiment where Sarsfield leads;Wolfe Tone and Emmet, too, well do they know.There shall they bivouac, telling great deeds.’
Sixteen dead men! Where do they go?
‘To join their regiment where Sarsfield leads;
Wolfe Tone and Emmet, too, well do they know.
There shall they bivouac, telling great deeds.’
Sixteen dead men! Shall they return?‘Yea, they shall come again, breath of our breath.They on our nation’s hearth made old fires burn.Guard her unconquered soul, strong in their death.’
Sixteen dead men! Shall they return?
‘Yea, they shall come again, breath of our breath.
They on our nation’s hearth made old fires burn.
Guard her unconquered soul, strong in their death.’
’Twas the dream of a God,And the mould of His hand,That you shook ’neath this stroke,That you trembled and brokeTo this beautiful land.Here He loosed from His holdA brown tumult of wings,Till the wind on the seaBore the strange melodyOf an island that sings.He made you all fair,You in purple and gold,You in silver and green,Till no eye that has seenWithout love can behold.I have left you behindIn the path of the past,With the white breath of flowers,With the best of God’s hours,I have left you at last.
’Twas the dream of a God,And the mould of His hand,That you shook ’neath this stroke,That you trembled and brokeTo this beautiful land.Here He loosed from His holdA brown tumult of wings,Till the wind on the seaBore the strange melodyOf an island that sings.He made you all fair,You in purple and gold,You in silver and green,Till no eye that has seenWithout love can behold.I have left you behindIn the path of the past,With the white breath of flowers,With the best of God’s hours,I have left you at last.
’Twas the dream of a God,And the mould of His hand,That you shook ’neath this stroke,That you trembled and brokeTo this beautiful land.
’Twas the dream of a God,
And the mould of His hand,
That you shook ’neath this stroke,
That you trembled and broke
To this beautiful land.
Here He loosed from His holdA brown tumult of wings,Till the wind on the seaBore the strange melodyOf an island that sings.
Here He loosed from His hold
A brown tumult of wings,
Till the wind on the sea
Bore the strange melody
Of an island that sings.
He made you all fair,You in purple and gold,You in silver and green,Till no eye that has seenWithout love can behold.
He made you all fair,
You in purple and gold,
You in silver and green,
Till no eye that has seen
Without love can behold.
I have left you behindIn the path of the past,With the white breath of flowers,With the best of God’s hours,I have left you at last.
I have left you behind
In the path of the past,
With the white breath of flowers,
With the best of God’s hours,
I have left you at last.