A Statue Of Life

I

God rest those humble people,
    The dwellers in Time’s poke,
Who, flayed by war and famine,
    Shook off the gentry’s yoke,

And built their steaming cabins
    About the merchants’ feet,
And raving of old kingships
    Died in some city street.

Who more than throne or empire
    Held dear some naked rock
Where saints the flesh discarded
    To put on fancy’s frock.

And thousands more, uncoffined,
    Thrown to the bursting wave,
And all that found in exile
    A dreary home and grave.

Those that at bench and counter
    Of freedom learned to think,
And planned a Roman triumph
    And blabbed the plans in drink.

Whisky and hell tormented,
    God rest and comfort those
Who for a fat priest’s blessing
    Killed our Caractacus.


I saw them in my childhood
    With bonfire, band, and torch.
O’Brien’s men and Redmond’s
    Pursued the war in church.

Farewell, poetic speeches,
    And unpoetic songs!
Drummers that beat the neighbours,
    While neighbours slashed the drums. 

God rest the decent people
    Who changed the colour then—
And keep their shadow from us,
    And make their children men!



Source: O'Connor, Frank; Three Old Brothers and Other Poems; 1936;
London; Thomas Nelson & Sons Ltd.; pp.28-29