THE IRISH IN GALLIPOLI

Where Aegean cliffs with bristling menace front The treacherous splendour of that isley sea, Lighted by Troy’s last shadow; where the first Hero kept watch and the last Mystery Shook with dark thunder. Hark! the battle brunt! A nation speaks, old Silences are burst. ’Tis not for lust of glory, no new throne This thunder and this lightning of our power Wakens up frantic echoes, not for these Our Cross with England’s mingle, to be blown At Mammon’s threshold. We but war when war Serves Liberty and Keeps a world at peace. Who said that such an emprise could be vain? Were they not one with Christ, who fought and died? Let Ireland weep: but not for sorrow, weep That by her sons a land is sanctified, For Christ arisen, and angels once again Come back, like exile birds, and watch their sleep. Francis Ledwidge