Almost before it was over, the rising became part of the great patriotic tradition of Ireland, and on all sides new songs were heard celebrating it and those who took leading parts in it. Some of these songs were heavy with a sense of the nation's tragedy. Others--those written by men who had taken part in the rising--were often full of wit, that dauntless Irish spirit that does not forsake men even in defeat and imprisonment. But the most moving, now the most popular of them all, was written by a nun. It is sung to the tune of "Who Fears to Speak of '98?" and begins: Who fears to speak of Easter Week? Who dares its fate deplore? The red-gold flame of Erin's name Confronts the world once more! So, Irishmen, remember, then, And raise your heads with pride, For great men, and straight men Have fought for you and died! The spirit wave that came to save The peerless Celtic soul, From earthly stain of greed and gain Had caught them in its roll; Had raised them high to do or die, To sound the trumpet call, To true men, though few men, To follow one and all! Upon their shield, a stainless field With virtue blazoned bright, With temperance and purity, With truth and honor, right; And now they stand at God's right hand, Who framed their dauntless clay, Who taught them, and brought them The honor of to-day! The ancient foe hath boasted,--lo: That Irishmen were tame! They bought our souls with paltry doles, And told the world of slaves; That lie, men, will die, men, In Pearse and Plunkett's graves! Here is a song written by a member of the Irish Republican army while he was confined in Richmond Barracks, Dublin, a month after the rising. It is sung to the tune of "The Mountains of Mourne": I In Dublin's fair city there's sorrow to-day For the flower of her manhood who fell in the fray; Her youths and her maidens, her joy and her pride Have gone down in battle, in war's raging tide. II They came forth to fight for a cause that was grand, When freedom and liberty called to their land; In the ardor of youth, in the spring of the year, They came without falter, they fought without fear. III Near the noon of that day on that April morn, Their tramp shook the street where young Emmet was born; They waved high their banner, white, orange and green, And it waved over freemen, the men of '16! IV And high o'er the Liffey it waved in the wind, Over hearts that were brave and the noblest of minds; And they fought as of old, and they held the old town Till their banner, unsullied, in darkness went down. V In that Easter Week, dear old Dublin was freed, By the blood of her sons from Swords to the Sea, Oh, proudly again does she raise her old head When the nations lament and salute her bold dead! VI