‘O WORDS are lightly spoken,’
Said Pearse to Connolly,
‘Maybe a breath of politic words
Has withered our Rose Tree;
Or maybe but a wind that blows

GOOD Father John O’Hart
In penal days rode out
To a Shoneen who had free lands
And his own snipe and trout.
In trust took he John’s lands;

THE old brown thorn-trees break i
Under a bitter black wind that blo
Our courage breaks like an old tre
But we have hidden in our hearts t
Of Cathleen, the daughter of Houl

Fergus. This whole day have I fol
And you have changed and flowed fr
First as a raven on whose ancient
Scarcely a feather lingered, then
A weasel moving on from stone to s

S. Patrick. You who are bent, and
With a heavy heart and a wandering
Have known three centuries, poets
Of dalliance with a demon thing.
Oisin. Sad to remember, sick with

O HEART, be at peace, because
Nor knave nor dolt can break
What’s not for their applause,
Being for a woman’s sake.
Enough if the work has seemed,

THERE is grey in your hair.
Young men no longer suddenly catch
When you are passing;
But maybe some old gaffer mutters
Because it was your prayer

Three Voices [together]. Hurry to
The mouths that speak, the notes a
O masters of the glittering town!
O! lay the shrilly trumpet down,
Though drunken with the flags that

‘CALL down the hawk from the air
Let him be hooded or caged
Till the yellow eye has grown mild
For larder and spit are bare,
The old cook enraged,

BEING out of heart with governme
I took a broken root to fling
Where the proud, wayward squirrel
Taking delight that he could sprin
And he, with that low whinnying so