Man of despair and death, Bought and slaved in the gangs, Starved and stripped and left To the pitiful pitiless night, Away with your selfish thoughts! Touch not your ignorant life! Are there no masters of slaves, Jeering, cynical, strong— Are there no brigands (say), With the words of Christ on their lips And the daggers under their cloaks— Is there not one of these That you can steal on and kill? O as the Swiss mountaineer Dogged on the perilous heights His disciplined conqueror foes: {39a} Caught up one in his arms And, laughing exultantly, Plunged with him to the abyss: So let it be with you! An eye for an eye, and a tooth For a tooth, and a life for a life! Tell it, this hateful strong Contemptuous hypocrite world, Tell it that, if we must live As dogs and as worse than dogs, At least we can die like men! Tell it there is a woe Not for the conquered alone! {39b} _An eye for an eye_, _and a tooth_ _For a tooth_, _and a life for a life_! DUBLIN AT DAWN. In the chill grey summer dawn-light We pass through the empty streets; The rattling wheels are all silent; No friend his fellow greets. Here and there, at the corners, A man in a great-coat stands; A bayonet hangs by his side, and A rifle is in his hands. This is a conquered city; It speaks of war not peace; And that’s one of the English soldiers The English call “police.” You see, at the present moment That noble country of mine Is boiling with indignation At the memory of a “crime.” In a path in the Phœnix Park where The children romped and ran, An Irish ruffian met his doom, And an English gentleman. For a hundred and over a hundred Years on the country side Men and women and children Have slaved and starved and died, That those who slaved and starved them Might spend their earnings then, And the Irish ruffians have a “good time,” And the English gentlemen. And that’s why at the present moment That noble country of mine Is boiling with indignation At the memory of a “crime.” For the Irish ruffians (they tell me), And it looks as if ’twere true, And the English gentlemen are so scarce, We could not spare those two! In the chill grey summer dawn-light We pass through the empty streets; The rattling wheels are all silent; No friend his fellow greets. Here and there, at the corners, A man in a great-coat stands; A bayonet hangs by his side, and A rifle is in his hands. This is a conquered city; It speaks of war not peace; And that’s one of the English soldiers The English call “police.” THE CAGED EAGLE.