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6th October 1891
He cleared his throat once or twice and then began to recite:
He is dead. Our Uncrowned King is dead. O, Erin, mourn with grief and woe For he lies dead whom the fell gang Of modern hypocrites laid low.
He lies slain by the coward hounds He raised to glory from the mire; And Erin's hopes and Erin's dreams Perish upon her monarch's pyre.
In palace, cabin or in cot The Irish heart where'er it be Is bowed with woe--for he is gone Who would have wrought her destiny.
He would have had his Erin famed, The green flag gloriously unfurled, Her statesmen, bards and warriors raised Before the nations of the World.
He dreamed (alas, 'twas but a dream!) Of Liberty: but as he strove To clutch that idol, treachery Sundered him from the thing he loved.
Shame on the coward, caitiff hands That smote their Lord or with a kiss Betrayed him to the rabble-rout Of fawning priests--no friends of his.
May everlasting shame consume The memory of those who tried To befoul and smear the exalted name Of one who spurned them in his pride.
He fell as fall the mighty ones, Nobly undaunted to the last, And death has now united him With Erin's heroes of the past.
No sound of strife disturb his sleep! Calmly he rests: no human pain Or high ambition spurs him now The peaks of glory to attain.
They had their way: they laid him low. But Erin, list, his spirit may Rise, like the Phœnix from the flames, When breaks the dawning of the day,
The day that brings us Freedom's reign. And on that day may Erin well Pledge in the cup she lifts to Joy One grief--the memory of Parnell.
Mr Hynes sat down again on the table. When he had finished his recitation there was a silence and then a burst of clapping: even Mr Lyons clapped. The applause continued for a little time. When it had ceased all the auditors drank from their bottles in silence.
Pok! The cork flew out of Mr Hynes' bottle, but Mr Hynes remained sitting flushed and bareheaded on the table. He did not seem to have heard the invitation.
"Good man, Joe!" said Mr O'Connor, taking out his cigarette papers and pouch the better to hide his emotion.
"What do you think of that, Crofton?" cried Mr Henchy. "Isn't that fine? What?"
Mr Crofton said that it was a very fine piece of writing.
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