Whether the dream was born in a herdsman’s shed
Or died in a stone breakers’ yard it still lives on
Through rhyme and reason in many a heart,
A revised history, a contested legacy
Some will look back and call it sublime
Some will say it was a glorious madness
The bittern will cry in the wild sky unheard
And Pearce will have gone his way in sadness
Betty may have grown up cherishing her father’s lines
Believing that he lies in shame with the foolish dead,
Where he fell at Ginchy, buried in some unknown grave
No honour, just blame, she a child of circumstance.
The sixteen who died for Ireland’s freedom
Will be more remembered for their gallant part,
Fifteen face a firing squad in Kilmainham prison yard.
Roger Casement to hang on the gallows in Pentonville
Tearful mothers, weeping wives, lamenting lovers
Take away lines and letters and parting gifts
As brave men say last farewells and give reasons,
Denying futility, claiming the supreme sacrifice
“Your life, Seán, your beautiful life.”
Mary, take these four buttons from my coat,
The only gift Mac Diarmada had left to give
Joseph, my little man, be a priest if you can.
Counting the cost, McDonagh was ready to pay
And ‘his song floated upwards on the wings of daring’.
Ceannt faced the firing squad after his confession
Content that Ireland had shown she was a nation
Heuston died on a soap box, a youthful, calm and fearless face
Joseph Plunkett went to death husband to his darling Grace
Marriage vows exchanged in the prison chapel, bayonets fixed
To the witness words of the Enniskillens chanting prayers.
Beside crucifix carrying priests they walked at dawn
To where a wooden box and sand bags marked a place,
Where they stood to wait, blindfolded and hands bound,
Before their writhing bodies fell on blood they jointly shed.
‘Untie my hands, remove the blindfold’.
Wishes of McBride, duty bound, the officer denied.
A white target square upon his breast, Con Colbert
Moved it to a higher place, upon his heart to rest.
Thomas Clarke entrusted to his wife a final message
To let the Irish people know that he and fellow-signatories
Had struck the first successful blow for freedom
And the next blow would win through’. He died happy.
Hanrahan, Daly and Willie Pearce joined freely in the fight
And walked to death as brave as any that had gone before.
Men of vision, Sons of Ireland, faithful and they fought
And the dream lived on in the conscious heart of a nation.
~~~~~~~~~~
Text: © Rose Morris
Rose Morris was born near Dungannon, in Co. Tyrone. Having retired from a career in Art and Design Education in Greater Manchester she now spends more time pursuing her creative interests and involvement in community projects in Manchester and County Tyrone.
She co-founded the Manchester Irish Writers group with Alrene Hughes in 1994.
Her continued involvement and sharing within that group has greatly enhanced the development of her own writing.
Her short stories, monologues and poetry have been included in the Manchester Irish Writers’ published collections; The End of the Rodden, The Retting Dam, Stone of the Heart, Drawing Breath and Changing Skies.
Rose wrote 'Proclaim the Dream' for MIW's commemorative event, '1916: The Risen Word', which was performed at the Irish World Heritage Centre, Manchester on March 10 2016. MIW received the generous support of the Embassy of Ireland for this event.
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