After Death

Shall mine eyes behold thy glory, O my country? Shall mine
eyes behold thy glory?
Or shall the darkness close around them, ere the sun-blaze
break at last upon thy story?

When the nations ope for thee their queenly circle, as a sweet
new sister hail thee,
Shall these lips be sealed in callous death and silence, that
have known but to bewail thee?

Shall the ear be deaf that only loved thy praises, when all men
their tribute bring thee?
Shall the mouth be clay that sang thee in thy squalor, when all
poets’ mouths shall sing thee?

Ah! the harpings and the salvos and the shouting of thy exiled
sons returning!
I should hear, tho’ dead and mouldered, and the grave-damps
should not chill my bosom’s burning.

Ah! the tramp of feet victorious! I should hear them ’mid the
shamrocks and the mosses,
And my heart should toss within the shroud and quiver as a
captive dreamer tosses.

I should turn and rend the cere-clothes round me, giant sinews
I should borrow--
Crying, “O my brothers, I have also loved her in her loneliness
and sorrow.

“Let me join with you the jubilant procession: let me chant
with you her story;
Then contented I shall go back to the shamrocks, now mine eyes
have seen her glory!”