Caxton's Book: A Collection of Essays, Poems, Tales, and Sketches Part 18

But whilst the LAND can boast of every gem That sparkles in each seraph's diadem; Whilst diamonds blaze 'neath dusk Golconda's skies, And rubies bleed where Alps and Andes rise; Whilst in Brazilian brooks the topaz s.h.i.+nes, And opals burn in California mines; Whilst in the vales of Araby the Blest The sapphire flames beside the amethyst: The pauper Ocean sobs forever more, Ungemm'd, unjeweled, on its wailing sh.o.r.e!"

"What wouldst thou do?" responded heaven's great King.

"Add music to the song the breakers sing!"

The strong-soul'd seraph cried, "I'd make yon sea Rival in tone heaven's sweetest minstrelsy; I'd plant within the ocean's bubbling tide An island gem, of every sea the pride!

So bright in robes of ever-living green, In breath so sweet, in features so serene, Such crystal streams to course its valleys fair, Such healthful gales to purify its air, Such fertile soil, such ever-verdant trees, Angels should name it 'EMERALD OF THE SEAS!'"

The seraph paused, and downward cast his eyes, Whilst heav'nly hosts stood throbbing with surprise.

Again the Lord of all the realms above, Supreme in might, but infinite in love, With no harsh accent in His tones replied: "Go, drop this Emerald in the envious tide!"

Quick as the lightning cleaves the concave blue, The seraph seized the proffer'd gem, and flew Until he reached the confines of the earth, Still struggling in the throes of turbid birth; And there, upon his self-sustaining wing, Sat poised, and heard our globe her matins sing; Beheld the sun traverse the arching sky, The sister Moon walk forth in majesty; Saw every constellation rise and roll Athwart the heaven, or circle round the pole.

Nor did he move, until our spotted globe Had donned for him her morn and evening robe; Till on each land his critic eye was cast, And every ocean rose, and heav'd, and pa.s.s'd; Then, like some eagle pouncing on its prey, He downward sail'd, through bellowing clouds and spray, To where he saw the billows bounding free, And dropped the gem within the stormy sea!

And would'st thou know, Chief of St. Patrick's band, Where fell this jewel from the seraph's hand?

What ocean caught the world-enriching prize?

O! Child of Moina, homeward cast your eyes!

Lo! in the midst of wat'ry deserts wide, Behold the EMERALD bursting through the tide, And bearing on its ever vernal-sod The monogram of seraph, and of G.o.d!

Its name, the sweetest human lips e'er sung, First trembled on an angel's fervid tongue; Then chimed aeolian on the evening air, Lisped by an infant, in its mother prayer; Next roared in war, with battle's flag unfurl'd; Now, gemm'd with glory, gather'd through the world!

What name! Perfidious Albion, blush with shame: It is thy sister's! ERIN IS THE NAME!

Once more the seraph stood before the throne Of dread Omnipotence, pensive and alone.

"What hast thou done?" Heaven's Monarch sadly sigh'd.

"I dropped the jewel in the flas.h.i.+ng tide,"

The seraph said; but saw with vision keen A mightier angel stalk upon the scene, Whose voice like grating thunder smote his ear And taught his soul the mystery of fear.

"Because thy heart with impious pride did swell, And dared make better what thy G.o.d made well; Because thy hand did fling profanely down On Earth a jewel wrenched from Heaven's bright crown, The Isle which thine own fingers did create Shall reap a blessing and a curse from fate!"

THE CURSE.

Far in the future, as the years roll on, And all the pagan ages shall have flown; When Christian virtues, flaming into light, Shall save the world from superst.i.tion's night; Erin, oppress'd, shall bite the tyrant's heel, And for a thousand years enslaved shall kneel; Her sons shall perish in the field and flood, Her daughters starve in city, wold, and wood; Her patriots, with their blood, the block shall stain, Her matrons fly behind the Western main; Harpies from Albion shall her strength consume, And thorns and thistles in her gardens bloom.

But, curse of curses thine, O! fated land: Traitors shall thrive where statesmen ought to stand!

THE BLESSING.

But past her heritage of woe and pain, A far more blest millennium shall reign; Seedlings of heroes shall her exiles be, Where'er they find a home beyond the sea; Bright paragons of beauty and of truth, Her maidens all shall dazzle in their youth; And when age comes, to dim the flas.h.i.+ng eye, Still gems of virtue shall they live, and die!

No braver race shall breathe beneath the sun Than thine, O! Erin, ere the goal be won.

Wherever man shall battle for the right, There shall thy sons fall thickest in the fight; Wherever man shall perish to be free, There shall thy martyrs foremost be!

And O! when thy redemption is at hand, Soldiers shall swell thy ranks from every land!

Heroes shall flock in thousands to thy sh.o.r.e, And swear thy soil is FREE FOREVERMORE!

Then shall thy harp be from the willow torn, And in yon glitt'ring galaxy be borne!

Then shall the Emerald change its verdant crest, And blaze a Star co-equal with the rest!

The sentence pa.s.s'd, the doomsman felt surprise, For tears were streaming from the seraph's eyes.

"Weep not for Erin," once again he spoke, "But for thyself, that did'st her doom provoke; I bear a message, seraph, unto thee, As unrelenting in its stern decree.

For endless years it is thy fate to stand, The chosen guardian of the SHAMROCK land.

Three times, as ages wind their coils away, Incarnate on yon Island shalt thou stray.

"First as a Saint, in majesty divine, The world shall know thee by this potent sign: From yonder soil, where pois'nous reptiles dwell, Thy voice shall snake and slimy toad expel.

Next as a Martyr, pleading in her cause, Thy blood shall flow to build up Albion's laws.

Last as a Prophet and a Bard combined, Rebellion's fires shall mould thy patriot mind.

In that great day, when Briton's strength shall fail, And all her glories s.h.i.+ver on the gale; When winged chariots, rus.h.i.+ng through the sky, Shall drop their f.a.ggots, blazing as they fly, Thy form shall tower, a hero 'midst the flames, And add one more to Erin's deathless names!"

Exiles of Erin! gathered here in state, Such is the story of your country's fate.

Six thousand years in strife have rolled away, Since Erin sprang from billowy surf and spray; In that drear lapse, her sons have never known One ray of peace to gild her crimson zone.

Cast back your glance athwart the tide of years, Behold each billow steeped with Erin's tears, Inspect each drop that swells the mighty flood, Its purple globules smoke with human blood!

Come with me now, and trace the seraph's path, That has been trodden since his day of wrath.

Lo! in the year when Attila the Hun Had half the world in terror overrun, On Erin's sh.o.r.e there stood a n.o.ble youth, The breath of honor and the torch of truth.

His was the tongue that taught the Celtic soul Christ was its Saviour, Heaven was its goal!

His was the hand that drove subdued away, The venom horde that lured but to betray; His were the feet that sanctified the sod, Erin redeemed, and gave her back to G.o.d!

The gray old Earth can boost no purer fame Than that whose halos gild ST. PATRICK'S name!

Twelve times the centuries builded up their store Of plots, rebellions, gibbets, tears and gore; Twelve times centennial annivers'ries came, To bless the seraph in St. Patrick's name.

In that long night of treach'ry and gloom, How many myriads found a martyr's tomb!

Beside the waters of the das.h.i.+ng Rhone In exile starved the bold and blind TYRONE.

Beneath the glamour of the tyrant's steel Went out in gloom the soul of great O'NEILL.

What countless thousands, children of her loin, Sank unanneal'd beneath the bitter Boyne!

What fathers fell, what mothers sued in vain, In Tredah's walls, on Wexford's gory plain, When Cromwell's shaven panders slaked their l.u.s.t, And Ireton's fiends despoiled the breathless dust!

Still came no seraph, incarnate in man, To rescue Erin from the bandit clan.

Still sad and lone, she languished in her chains, That clank'd in chorus o'er her martyrs' manes.

At length, when Freedom's struggle was begun Across the seas, by conq'ring Was.h.i.+ngton, When CURRAN thunder'd, and when GRATTAN spoke, The guardian seraph from his slumber woke.

Then guilty Norbury from his vengeance fled, FITZGERALD fought, and glorious WOLFE TONE bled.

Then EMMET rose, to start the battle-cry, To strike, to plead, to threaten, and to die!

Immortal Emmet! happier in thy doom, Though uninscrib'd remains thy seraph tomb, Than the long line of Erin's scepter'd foes, Whose bones in proud mausoleums repose; More n.o.ble blood through Emmet's pulses rings Than courses through ten thousand hearts of kings!

Thus has the seraph twice redeem'd his fate, And roamed a mortal through this low estate; Again obedient to divine command, His final incarnation is at hand.

THE PROPHECY.

Scarce shall yon sun _five times_ renew the year, Ere Erin's guardian Angel shall appear, Not as a priest, in holy garb arrayed; Not as a patriot, by his cause betray'd, Shall he again a.s.sume a mortal guise, And tread the earth, an exile from the skies.

But like the lightning from the welkin hurl'd, His eye shall light, his step shall shake the world!

Ye sons of Erin! from your slumbers start!

Feel ye no vengeance burning in your heart?

Are ye but scions of degenerate slaves?

Shall tyrants spit upon your fathers' graves?

Is all the life-blood stagnant in your veins?

Love ye no music but the clank of chains?

Hear ye no voices ringing in the air, That chant in chorus wild, _Prepare_, PREPARE!

Hark! on the winds there comes a prophet sound,-- The blood of Abel crying from the ground,-- Pealing in tones of thunder through the world, "ARM! ARM! The Flag of Erin is unfurl'd!"

On some bold headland do I seem to stand, And watch the billows breaking 'gainst the land; Not in lone rollers do their waters poor, But the vast ocean rushes to the sh.o.r.e.