Innisfail

INNISFAIL.

[This poem was written by Michael Davitt in Portland prison.]

In England’s felon garb we’re clad, and by her vengeance bound;
Her concentrated hate we’ve had — her justice never found.
Her laws, accurs’d, have done their worst; in vain they still assail
To crush the hearts that beat for thee, our own loved Innisfail.

Nor can the dungeon’s deepest gloom but make us love thee more;
We’d brave the terrors of the tomb to keep the oath we swore.
In chains or free, to live for thee, and never once to quail
Before the foe that wrought such woe to our loved Innisfail.

From Irish mothers’ hearts has flowed this sacred love of thee,
And Erin’s daughters’ cheeks have glowed that love in deeds to see;
A coward born fair lips will scorn, while joyously they hail
The hearts that beat for love of thee, our own loved Innisfail.

Then let our jailers scowl and roar when cheerful looks we wear;
The patriot’s God that we adore will shield us from despair.
Fair bosoms rise and love drawn sighs by mountain, stream and vale,
And day and night in prayers unite for us and Innisfail.

Here, chained beneath the tyrant’s hand, by martyrs’ blood we swear
To Freedom and to Fatherland we still allegiance bear;
Nor felon’s fate nor England’s hate nor hellish-fashioned jail
Shall stay this hand to wield a brand one day for Innisfail.

Edwardsville Intelligencer (Edwardsville, Illinois) Mar 16, 1892

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