Last Lines

Because, like himself, O’Rahilly seemed the last voice of feudalism,
Yeats used the final line of this poem for one of his own.

I shall not call for help until they coffin me—
  What good for me to call when hope of help is gone?
Princes of Munster who would have heard my cry
  Will not rise from the dead because I am alone.

Mind shudders like a wave in this tempestuous mood,
  My bowels and my heart are pierced and filled with pain
To see our lands, our hills, our gentle neighbourhood,
  A plot where any English upstart stakes his claim.

The Shannon and the Liffey and the tuneful Lee,
  The Boyne and the Blackwater a sad music sing,
The waters of the west run red into the sea—
  No matter what be trumps, their knave will beat our
	king.

And I can never cease weeping these useless tears;
  I am a man oppressed, afllicted and undone
Who where he wanders mourning no companion hears
  Only some waterfall that has no cause to mourn.

Now I shall cease, death comes, and I must not delay
  By Laune and Laine and Lee, diminished of their
	pride,
I shall go after the heroes, ay, into the clay—
  My fathers followed theirs before Christ was crucified.



          Egan O’Rahilly


Source: O'Connor, Frank (tr); Kings, Lords, & Commons: An Anthology
from the Irish; 1962; London; Macmillan & Co; p.107