(_An Appeal to Both Parties._)
Still dreaming of the spell of Southern nights,
Strange on my homing senses fall the raucous
Shouts of Democracy, asserting rights
It long ago committed to the caucus;
Strange--in a Chamber run for party ends,
Busy with private rancours, feuds, ambitions--
The legend that the Nation's life depends
Upon her politicians!
Yet two things offer cheer: in Ulster there--
Fanatic sentiment, you'll say, and scoff it--
I see a hundred thousand men who care
For something dearer than their stomach's profit;
Under the Flag they stand at silent pause,
True Democrats that hold by Freedom's charter,
Resolved and covenanted for the Cause
To give their lives in barter!
I see young soldiers, too, who serve the KING
(For half the wage a Labour Member cashes),
Prepared, at honour's higher call, to fling
Their gallant dreams away in dust and ashes!
I care a lot for any laws they break,
But more I care to see what sacrifices
Men still are found to face for conscience' sake,
Knowing how hard the price is.
Ah, Sirs, and must you for a moment's gain--
I look to both your camps with like appealing--
Must you upon these virtues put a strain
Irrevocably past the hope of healing?
Cannot some gentler means be yet embraced
That, when the common peril comes upon her,
Such qualities of heart, too rare to waste,
May shield our Country's honour?