Poems by Speranza

MY COUNTRY, wounded to the heart, Could I but flash along thy soul Electric power to rive apart The thunder-clouds that round thee roll, And, by my burning words, uplift Thy life from out Death's icy drift, Till the full splendours of our age Shone round thee for thy heritage As Miriam's, by the Red Sea strand Clashing proud cymbals, so my hand Would strike thy harp, Loved Ireland! She flung her triumphs to the stars In glorious chants for freedom won, While over Pharaoh's gilded cars The fierce, death-bearing waves rolled on; I can but look in God's great face, And pray Him for our fated race, To come in Sinai thunders down, And, with His mystic radiance, crown Some Prophet-Leader, with command To break the strength of Egypt's band, And set thee free, Loved Ireland! New energies, from higher source, Must make the strong life-currents flow, As Alpine glaciers in their course Stir the deep torrents 'neath the snow. The woman's voice dies in the strife Of Liberty's awakening life; We wait the hero heart to lead, The hero, who can guide at need, And strike with bolder, stronger hand, Though towering hosts his path withstand Thy golden harp, Loved Ireland! For I can breathe no trumpet call, To make the slumb'ring Soul arise; I only lift the funeral-pall, That so God's light might touch thine eyes, And ring the silver prayer-bell clear, To rouse thee from thy trance of fear; Yet, if thy mighty heart has stirred, Even with one pulse-throb at my word, Then not in vain my woman's hand Has struck thy gold harp while I stand, Waiting thy rise Loved Ireland!

Dettagli