Then the silence was great, and the jury smiled bright, An' the judge wasn't sorry the job was made light;By my sowl, it's himself was the crabbed ould chap! In a twinklin' he pulled on his ugly black cap.
Then Shamus's mother, in the crowd standin' by, Called out to the judge with a pitiful cry:
"O judge! darlin', don't, O, don't say the word! The crather is young, have mercy, my lord;
He was foolish, he didn't know what he was doin';
You don't know him, my lord--O, don't give him to ruin! He's the kindliest crathur, the tindherest-hearted;
Don't part us forever, we that's so long parted!
Judge mavourneen, forgive him, forgive him, my lord, An' God will forgive you--O, don't say the word!" That was the first minute O'Brien was shaken,
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When he saw that he was not quite forgot or forsaken; An' down his pale cheeks, at the word of his mother, The big tears wor runnin' fast, one afther th' other;
An' two or three times he endeavored to spake,
But the sthrong manly voice used to falther and break; But at last, by the strength of his high-mountin' pride, He conquered and masthered his grief 's swelling tide;
"An'," says he, "mother, darlin', don't break your poor heart, For, sooner or later, the dearest must part;
And God knows it's better than wand'ring in fear
On the bleak, trackless mountain, among the wild deer,[Pg 116]
To lie in the grave, where the head, heart, and breast, From labor and sorrow, forever shall rest.
Then, mother, my darlin', don't cry any more, Don't make me seem broken, in this my last hour; For I wish, when my head's lyin' undher the raven, No thrue man can say that I died like a craven!" Then toward the Judge Shamus bent down his head, An' that minute the solemn death-sentence was said. The mornin' was bright, an' the mists rose on high, An' the lark whistled merrily in the clear sky;
But why are the men standin' idle so late?
An' why do the crowds gather fast in the strate? What come they to talk of ? what come they to see? An' why does the long rope hang from the cross-tree? O Shamus O'Brien! pray fervent and fast,
May the saints take your soul, for this day is your last; Pray fast an' pray sthrong, for the moment is nigh,
When, sthrong, proud, an' great as you are, you must die!-- At last they threw open the big prison-gate,
An' out came the sheriffs and sojers in state, An' a cart in the middle an' Shamus was in it, Not paler, but prouder than ever, that minute. An' as soon as the people saw Shamus O'Brien, Wid prayin' and blessin', and all the girls cryin', A wild, wailin' sound kem on by degrees,
Like the sound of the lonesome wind blowin' through trees. On, on to the gallows the sheriffs are gone,
An' the cart an' the sojers go steadily on;
An' at every side swellin' around of the cart,
A wild, sorrowful sound, that id open your heart. Now under the gallows the cart takes its stand,
An' the hangman gets up with the rope in his hand;[Pg 117] An' the priest, havin' blest him, goes down on the ground, An' Shamus O'Brien throws one last look round.
Then the hangman dhrew near, an' the people grew still, Young faces turned sickly, and warm hearts turned chill; An' the rope bein' ready, his neck was made bare,
For the grip of the life-strangling cord to prepare;
An' the good priest has left him, havin' said his last prayer. But the good priest did more, for his hands he unbound, An' with one daring spring Jim has leaped on the ground; Bang! bang! go the carbines, and clash go the sabers;
He's not down! he's alive! now stand to him, neighbors! Through the smoke and the horses he's into the crowd,-- By the heavens, he's free!--than thunder more loud,
By one shout from the people the heavens were shaken-- One shout that the dead of the world might awaken.
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The sojers ran this way, the sheriffs ran that, An' Father Malone lost his new Sunday hat; To-night he'll be sleepin' in Aherloe Glin,
An' the divil's in the dice if you catch him ag'in.
Your swords they may glitter, your carbines go bang, But if you want hangin', it's yourselves you must hang. MY SHIPS[14]
Ella Wheeler Wilcox
If all the ships I have at sea-- Should come a-sailing home to me, Ah well! the harbor could not hold So many ships as there would be,
If all my ships came home to me. If half my ships now out at sea
Should come a-sailing home to me,[Pg 118] Ah well! I should have wealth as great
As any king that sits in state,
So rich the treasure there would be
In half my ships now out at sea. If but one ship I have at sea
Should come a-sailing home to me,
Ah well! the storm clouds then might frown, For if the others all went down,
Still rich and glad and proud I'd be, If that one ship came home to me. If that one ship went down at sea, And all the others came to me,
Weighed down with gems and wealth untold, Of riches, glory, honor, gold,
The poorest soul on earth I'd be, If that one ship came not to me.
Oh, skies, be calm, oh, winds, blow free! Blow all my ships safe home to me!
But if thou sendest some awrack, To never more come sailing back, Send any--all that skim the sea, But send my love ship back to me. FOOTNOTE:
[14] By permission of the author. THE SOLDIER'S REPRIEVE R. D. C. Robbins
"I thought, Mr. Allan, when I gave my Bennie to his country, that not a father in all this broad land made so precious a gift,--no,
not one. The dear boy only slept a minute, just one little minute, at his post; I know that was all, for Bennie never dozed over a duty. How prompt and reliable he was! I know he only fell asleep one little second;--he was so young,[Pg 119] and not strong, that boy
of mine! Why, he was as tall as I, and only eighteen! and now they shoot him because he was found asleep when doing sentinel duty! Twenty-four hours, the telegram said,--only twenty-four hours. Where is Bennie now?"
"We will hope with his heavenly Father," said Mr. Allan, soothingly. "Yes, yes; let us hope; God is very merciful!"
"'I should be ashamed, father!' Bennie said, 'when I am a man, to think I never used this great right arm,'--and he held it out so
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proudly before me,--'for my country, when it needed it! Palsy it rather than keep it at the plow!'
