There never can be peace
Till Ireland is set free. One might as well
Expect the great Arch-angel rest in Hell
And genuflect to Satan's blasphemies,
As Erin's spirit that, for centuries,
Has been aloft with God in virtue, sell,
Like Esaw, her birthright, and not rebel,
But to her home's invaders, bend her knees.

Her spirit is no norbury Banshee--
To wail and, then, to vanish. She will stand
With lifted flambeau, lighted by the hand
That lights the stars, till she again is free,
Inspiring normal man in every land
With love of Freedom, by her scorn of thee.

FREEDOM'S WARDENS

Look! British fury that, barraging, lights
Up Irish skies, like pathways down to hell,
Doubles its fire to reach our land as well,
Where Freedom's Wardens cry from justice' heights:
"'Tis Deicide to murder Human Rights.
Stop foul God-slaughter where to not rebel,
In order to develop and excel,
Were God in man, succumbed to age-longed blights."

Where Heavenward rose the God in man of old,
Staunch stand these Wardens. Sleepless, they behold
Each turn of England's Evil Eye. They call,
When she would form the fulminate of gold,
A thumb and finger-pinch of which, let fall,
Might blast Columbia's peaks to slit of thrall.

LIST TO DEMOSTHENES, IF NOT TO HEARST

Of all the fulminates, gold is the worst,
Which England, aeroplaning, now, lets drop
By day and night, in bank, press, church and shop,
Timed to the minute that it is to burst.
List to Demosthenes, if not to Hearst,
Sublime Republic! Lest thy great heart stop,
Shocked by the blast of Freedom's every prop,
And bats and owls in dwellings, Human's erst.

"Watch Macedon. She drops her gold, in creeping
Beneath free Athens' sky-ascending stair.
Watch her with glance of sword. Oh, watch, for where
She sows her gold, she comes with scythes for reaping!
Is Athens in ascent with sun-light flare,
To come down ashes, not worth history's keeping?"

CALEDONIA

I

In only Wallace and Paul Jones and Burns,
Does Caledonia, child of Erin, show
His mother's features, lit by soul to know
The Right Divine of freedom, when it yearns
For what exalts the human, or, it spurns
What bars its flight to truth--all stars aglow,
That form God's trail to joy for man below?--
Sole trai