Waterbury evening Democrat., 1895-06-10

Far westward out where sinks the sun, If sWoons above a pameless grave, Where sleeps tribune bright and brave; 4 soldier whose campaigplng's done A soldier on whose conQuering sword Both gods and men might look with pride; An orator whose lightning word Could flash like meteor of the lord: Who loving lived and loving died. The regal sun, the watching stars, The moon, when in its round or crest Fling forth in rays of slanting bars Deep through the rush of watery wars A cross of silver OCT hIs breast.
 Down where his whitening bones are
 strewn
 Beneath the rivers csaseless roll; And sobbing winds that night or noon, His waiting mourners, hymn their tune, And sigh soft dirGes for his soul. Full many a stately galley speeds In gleam of glory OCT the place, Where far below the throbbing reeds And shrouded by the water weeds. Lies stark his pale. uncoffined face; And travellers list with bated breath While pilots tell the tale of doom,
 How he who won the yictor's wreath Sank battling here with night and death, And found an unanointed tomb. But. ah No trophy crowns the spot. Where cold and pulseless waste the
 heart
 That dared of yore, when youth was hot, The hangman's rope. the felon's lot. To act for Fire true mans part
 The waters seeth with hurrying dread Above the dull and lampless brain;
 The tongue of fire is mute and dead, And sands are round the Godlike head, And all but prayer for him is vain. Yet had he whsn his sands were run, Been laid to sleep Tn hallowed clay, The land for whom his work was done,
 Beneath whose flag he'd fought and wop, Would strew his grave with flowers to-day The marble pile they'd upward rear. Till fame-like it would Haunt the skies, And many a broken lance and spear They'd place around the warriors bier, And shattered drum and banner prizs. They mourn him in the land he loved.
 His priceless worth, his conquering arm They miss him where in grace he moved. For camp and council each has proved, His master mind to guide or charm.
 And many tale will yet be told. By camping fires in future wars. Of him who with his claSSmen bold Shook out the old green banners fold, To fight benentl the stripes and stars. And hosts will whisper list, ming guests, The southern toemen's wild refrain, When glared he OCT the green plumed crests, And sprigs of green on Irish breasts, Here comes that damned green flag again And hearts will ire and pulses bound, At thought of Antletam's day;
 When hemmed by fire and foemln
 round, l The Irish stormed the vantage ground,
 And claimed the glory of the fray. And Fredericksburg's hard fought field, Where men were mown like autumn grain.
 Shall prove. though oft it broke and reeled That Irish valor could not yield. Though wheel deep lay the m4ngled slain | What time that Meagher. with glance
 of pride.
 Points out the range of belchiug guns, Go. take them now, he laughing cried; And while the storm of death rung wide,
 They straight obeyed like dutious sons. Oh. these are memories that evoke
 The noblest traits that stamp our race, Fot through the rift of fire and smoke,
 Where wild the Irish slogan broke, When foe met foeman face to face.
 We know that each days battle close, Though fer,e and bloody been the fight. Low wounded soldiers tend their foes, Heard pitylng words that keavenward rose
 And prayers above the dead at night. But We with whom the chieftain grew,
 Who proudly led this bold brigade. Whose voice. whose form, whose face We krew. I WhnSa VI Are with us dreams that will not fade;
 Who've heard lis glo:Ious, burning
 words.
 Like him the Roman chief of old,
 Who bade the slaves gird on their
 swords.
 And smite to doom their tyrant lords,
 And heaven would aye them guIltless
 hold.
 And we within tha circling bound
 Of this proud city of the gael. The rebel Emmet's camping ground.
 The scene of Edwards martyr wound The throbbiug heart of Innisfael;
 Shall we erect no storied urn, Or marble statued carven fair.
 To him whose God-like words could
 burn,
 Who never more may now return,
 Like wearied child her breast to share. Oh. pile the stone and heap the cairn, | And carve the likeness of his face, And twins at foot the oak and fern,
 That coming nations yet may learn He lived the Isaiah of our race.
 But if you'd fill your glorious past, And glance upon your work in pride,
 An image true ot Meagher Impart; Oh, place a shamrock OCT his heart
 For it he lived, for it he died.