Ports Corner.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume II, Issue 77, 17 October 1874, Page 13

Ports Corner.

THE TREATY STONE;

BY MONKTON WEST.

Where Shannon's waters fresh and free, With mountain leaflets strewn, Sweep back the bridge of History, Stands Limerick's Treaty Stone. Its crest is dinted by the storm, Its base is green with rime, Yet, worn and frail, It tells the tale Of Ireland's fighting time : Of Ireland's faithful fighting-time, When, under Sarsfield's guns, The tattered banner flew above Her proudly inarsTialled sjhs. Ah, beacon of that bloody past, WhuVyet the star of hope, Shone through the hurrying cloud and blast In Freedom's horoscope ! Dumb witness — if thou canst be dumb — Kemembrest thou the day When ruffian fraud Appealed to God — Appealing to betray ? A perjurer's hand was laid on thee, A soldier's clasped the same — Stand firm, thou patient history Of English guilt and shame ! What boots it if our sires, betrayed, And robbed of life and home, Broke sunken heart and smiting blade In lands across the foam ? The blood they shed was Irish blood, But not for us it flowed ; We heard their name, We prized their fame, But writhed beneath the goad. All France's glory helped us not ; Whilst they, the wild and free, J3ore through half Europe's hail of shot, The Bourbon blazonry. And why did Ireland fall so low, And why despoil her might ? To shield by prayer and purse and blow The outcast Jacobite ? •Oh, Ireland rallied round her King ; — Her English King, forsooth ! — She gave him dower — The glorious flower Of her unconquered youth. -Grey prophet where the Shannon hastes ! One oath through Ireland rings — She'll pause before again, she wastes Her blood for English kings. For who recalls, his heart not pained, That gallant sacrifice — , A coward Stuart's cause maintained At no uncertain price ? 'On Aughrim's fields — on Boyne's declines — We sowed our dead like grain ; And yonder, where The streets runs fair, The street was choked with slain, For what, for whom, was such red cost ? What gain could it confer ? This— lreland's cause two centuries lost — Herself a sepulchre. O solemn wizard by the tide ! O Thomond's Memnon, hear ! If broken be the nation'B pride, We've yet to learn to fear. The 'flag that dropped from Sarsfield'a hands Has touched the stars again, Though round it lay, In torn array, No hosts of slaughtered men. Enough if hearts were there to lift Ite tatters from the mould, In trust that heaven mayhap would drift A sunbeam on ite fold. God guard thee well, thou peerless stone, Worn by adoring lips ! Thy duet is strewn from zone to zone, Wherever Bails the ships. Old testament of hate and love, Best mute a little while! From skies of night The living light Is bursting on our isle, 'Twill come — must come — the shadows race, And ere the dawn is done, Shy lot shall be the proudest place Is Ireland's Pantheon.