AN GAODHAL.
811
MALEDICTA!
Fair and sad beside the seas
Sits our mother evermore,
And the surge's sullen roar,
Breaking round her aged knees.
Seems to mutter: Nevermore
Shall resurrection dawn on thee,
Or peace or plenty bless thy shore!
Nevermore — when silence reigns,
And the stars are in the sky,
And the night-bird's dismal cry
Haunts the stillness of the plains —
Never — when the sun is high —
Shall she snap her clanking chains,
Say the breakers roaring by!
And she thinketh through the years —
There is truth in what we say —
Night-time brightens into day,
But the current of her tears
Through their spaces run alway,
And the curses in her ears
Mar the prayers she would pray.
Curses if she raise her eye,
For a moment from earth's sod
And its sinfulness to God,
And implore Him to chastise
Her, in mercy with His rod,
And the thunders of the skies
And the scourges at his nod!
Curses if she call her sons
Round about her in her dread —
They will shoot them stark and dead
With the lightning of their guns,
As their shafts of battle, sped,
Often laid her warrior ones
In ghostly grave-pits, gashed and red!
Curses if she chance to wail
All the worthful years of yore,
When Europe's southern lands and more
Felt the face of Inisfail
Felt her saintiness and lore,
And were fain to cry; All Hail
For the peerless crown she wore !
Curses if she cry upon
All the dead years at her breast
When her bravest and her best
To the battle's charge swept on,
And her wrongs were well redressed
By her monarchs, who are gone
With a glory to their rest!
What can dead things do men say,
Save to shame and shock the sight,
They are fetid, foul the light
And bounteous benison of day —
So her masters in affright
Would fein blot and quench away
All the star-gleams left her night.
Of their words she takes no heed,
For she thinks her deed the best
Martyred, honored, crowned and blest,
Who will pray and who will plead,
Without grudge and without rest,
For her in all hours of need.
Till she gains her own behest.
So she sitteth patiently
Watching with a tearful eye
Freedom's children marching by
To the guerdons of the free,
For a signal from on high
To point across her walled Red Sea,
Where her Promise Land doth lie.
For she hoped when Hope was wild,
And days were dark saw no sun,
And Faith was dry and Goodness none —
Yet amid her tears she smiled,
Leaned on God — the Faithful One,
And firm, enduring, undefiled,
Yet her freedom shall be won.
— Songs for Freedom, By Father McHale
All those wishing to help the GAEL, and thereby
the Gaelic movement, can send their subscriptions
in one or two cent postage stamps, or by postal
note, money order, registered letter — any way at
all.
Our respected contemporary, the IRISH ECHO,
publishes a letter over the signature of John P.
Lane giving a history of the Philo-Celtic move¬
ment. Not wishing to see any statement in the
Echo which conflicts with recorded facts, we would
call its attention to the columns of the IRISH
WORLD of the Fall of 1872, wherein Gael, of Brook¬
lyn, reports the formation of an Irish Class, which
was the initiatory step in the formation of the
Brooklyn Philo-Celtic Society. So that the state¬
ment in the Echo that it was the proceedings of
the Boston Gaels which stirred up the Brooklyn
people to action does not bear investigation in
presence of these facts.
Hundreds of Irishmen ask the question "have
the Irish an alphabet for their language?" Now if
the children of such men are fairly versed in Eng¬
lish literature, what must they think of the social
standing of their ancestry. Why, they will natur¬
ally think (what else can they think?), that they
were a lowly, ignorant race: Man is ambitious;
and when such children grow up to man's es¬
tate, and become well-off in the world, they will
join some fashionable church, spurn all connection
with Irish "lowliness," and become the deadly en¬
emies of Irish Nationality. Hence the reason that
of the 25.000.000 or more of the Irish element in
this country not more than ten millions are Irish
in sentiment.
(Since the above was written Mr N Heaney, a mem¬
ber of the P C S, informs us that a tolerably well
English-educated son of an Irishman insisted that
the Irish had no language except mere gibberish
like the Indians. All we say in this connection is,
God help the Irish parent who rears such son,
and his name is legion)
Some may think that we exaggerate when we
claim 25.000.000 of the citizens of this country as
of Irish descent. No, no. Read our article on
Knownothingism in last GAEL. For instance, Mrs.
Gen. Logan's maiden name is Flanagan, and, of
course, of Irish descent, and so with millions
of others. But because they are protestant
they are not looked upon as Irish. Had the an¬
cient civilization and learning of the Irish been
kept prominently before the people by means of
the language and literature, all such persons would
claim their direct lineage — would be Irish in senti¬
ment and, probably, Catholic in religion.
TO THE DEAF. — A Person cured of Deafness and
noises in the head of 23 years' standing by a sim¬
ple remedy, will send a description of it FREE to
any Person who applies to NICHOLSON, 177 Mc¬
Dougal St. New York.
