JOHN MITCHEL.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume III, Issue 115, 9 July 1875, Page 6

JOHN MITCHEL.

BY DANIEL CONNELLY.

[The death of JohnMitchel has been the occasion of some beantiful poetical tributes • to his genius andjpatriptism, but the excellence of the following, which we clip from the ' Boston Pilot,' will commend itself to our readers.] On the bosom of his own dear land, After long years of passionate unrest, In far-off climes, by strange Australian strand, Or 'mid the tumult of the strong, free West j After long years of bold, unceasing strife For one sweet thing, his country's liberty — The dream and purpose of his stainless life — He sank in peaceful slumber, and was free. Tree ? He was ever free ! -Though fetters bound, And power threatened by a tyrant's throne ; Though dungeons frowned, upon him, and the sound Of gyveß went with him to the farthest zone, • Yet his proud soul no thraldom ever knew. The eagle, soaring in the summer sky, Waß not more free, lord of the boundless blue, Than he in hard and stern captivity. The metal of his mind was truest steel, Tempered in honor's incandescent flame ; His heart pure gold, whereon the glowing seal And Btamp of Truth shone evermore the same ! , Kingly he waß in all that should become A monarch, ruling for the right alone. No high, proud spirit of Imperial Rome Was bolder, loftier, statelier than his own ! O Erin, Mecca of his faithful love, O sad, fair land whereto he ever turned, Prom Northern shores, where wintry tempests strove, Or Southern glades, where tropic splendors burned, Homeward to thee at length in age he went, Eager to lead once more the gallant fight 5 A time-worn chief, with manhood's vigor spent, But ardent still, and dauntless for the right ! Homeward, to lift the dear old flag once more, And fold it round and round his glowing heart ; To speak brave words, and speak them o'er and o'er, Tho' each should draw from foes a fatal dart ! Homeward to thee, O land he loved so well ! To die for thee, if death could serve or Bave ; Loyal and staunch and true whate'er befell, And proud to take thy last sad gift — a grave ! And this thou gayest, Erin, this at last — But first a noble garland thou didst make, And fondly set upon him ere he passed. Forever hence, a martyr for thy 6ake — A garland twined of honor's brightest bays, Woven by hands that never Bhrank in strife, Then witnessed, in the closing of his days, The perfect rounding of a peerless life. Peace to his soul ! great soul, that ne'er could brook One fawning though,t or sycophantic word ; Heroic soul, that loftily forsook All ways, save those where Truth's clear voice was heard. Peace and sweet rest ! Where Ulster airs are bland, Calmly lie slumbers now wilh kindred dust, Leaving to thee, O mourning motherland, His life's grand leßson as a sacred trust ! Cherish it, Erin, for thy Bake and his, Who, for thy sake, put by all worldliness, All ways of selfish gain, all purposes, Save those that led to lighten thy distress , Enshrine it in thine inmost heart, and hold It ever as a precious heritage, A text of Truth, intcribed in lines of gold, Illumining thy history' • purest page. Immortal nameß adorn thy patriot scroll, O sad-eyed land of suffering and song ; And splendor gilds the honorable roll Of sons who sought to shield thee from the strong. But none e'er lived and died for thee alone : That loved thee, served thee, strove for thee alway With heart more true, or soul of statelier tone, Than he who sleeps by Ncwry's shades to-day. What is it, Erin, thou shouldst do to mark Thy sense of loss, thy grief beside his grave ? What he would have thee do : tho' all be dark, Shrink not, fear not, for Truth be ever brave ; Put by all narrow thoughts of clique or clan — Cut out the roots of faction or of feud ; Teach all thy sons the rightful rank of Man, • And bind them in one common brotherhood !