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 li^rrY RHYMES 
 
 Br 
 
 JACK M. HARRINGTON 
 
Glass \^ Ob l<S 
 
 Ci)FinRIGIlT DEPOSm 
 
THIRTY RHYMES 
 
 BY 
 
 JACK M. HARRINGTON 
 

 JUL !9 i9!0 
 
 ©CI.A499787 
 
 rta ■ fi> 
 
TO 
 
 L. E. J. 
 
 THESE 
 FOR REMEMBRANCE 
 
INTRODUCTION 
 
 These rhymes had their origin, for the most part, 
 in the Irish Rebellion of E?ster week, 1916. The 
 heroic deeds performed by many of the participants 
 and the unselfish and patriotic motives which moved 
 these noble souls to grasp the sword in freedom's 
 holy cause fired the im.agination of our author with 
 the same spirit that imbued Pearse, McDonough, 
 Plunket, Kent, Casement and a host of others. Their 
 publication is largely due to Mr. James Moore Stack 
 of Philadelphia, a schoolmate of the author and him 
 self a brother of one victim of the Rebellion, Austin 
 Stack. 
 
 The rhymes were written in Chicago, publication 
 arranged for in Philadelphia and printed in Fort 
 Worth, Texas — a shamrock of ideas. This introduc- 
 tion was written on June 5th, a date full of mem- 
 ories for all Americans. Each of the three persons re- 
 sponsible for this publication registered for military 
 service on that date. Ere this book of rhymes is out 
 of the press the career of all three will no doubt 
 have vastly changed. Let us hope Providence will 
 spare the author for further efforts in poesy when 
 the sword which has now been drawn in defense of 
 American and Irish ideals will have been sheathed 
 in glory. 
 
 DONAL O'CONNOR. 
 Fort Worth, June 5, 1917. 
 
Rhyme The First 
 
 Methinks a weary star 
 
 From some far sky 
 Found a velvet couch 
 
 In Thine eye. 
 And finding slumber 
 
 There so sweet, it seems, 
 Has never cared to waken 
 
 From its dreams. 
 
 Methinks a slender reed 
 
 From some pond pale, 
 Where Pan at twilight danced 
 
 Adown the dale, 
 Took root and grew anew 
 
 In Thy frail throat 
 And thrills and fills me now 
 
 With its note. 
 
Rhyme The Second 
 
 Rose! Rose! 
 
 Does the timid breeze that blows 
 
 From out the tropic south 
 
 Ever kiss you on the mouth 
 
 And say, I love you so 
 
 And as I blow and go 
 
 Wooded hills to roam 
 
 I shall call your heart my home; 
 
 Does it, Rose? 
 
 Rose! Rose! 
 
 Does the mellow rain that sows 
 
 Silver tears upon your cheek 
 
 Ever sadly speak 
 
 Of a love that has no part 
 
 Or no corner of its heart, 
 
 Or does it sigh and moan 
 
 For the warmth and bliss of home; 
 Does it, Rose? 
 
Rhyme The Third 
 
 Love! Love! let us wander far, 
 
 Where the silken harebells are. 
 
 Let us wander, hand in hand, 
 Over broad and emerald land, 
 
 Thinking as we go 
 
 That the fragrant breezes blow 
 
 For us alone. 
 
 Love, Love! let us listen to the notes 
 Of the skylark as he floats 
 
 Unseen through the haze 
 
 That girds the hilly ways 
 
 Thinking he is there 
 
 With his song to ensnare 
 
 Our souls alone. 
 
Rhyme The Fourth 
 
 Dear friend of youthful yesterday, oft 
 
 Do I find my thoughts turning to where Thou art. 
 
 And oft do I find a longing to see Thee 
 
 Creeping into my heart. 
 
 Full well I know the first hand to kindle 
 
 The fire of passion in me was Thine; 
 
 Just as Thy spirit first held 
 
 A soothing influence over mine. 
 
 It was Thee, and Thee alone, nursed into life 
 
 All that is good in my soul; 
 
 And of budding life and hope and ambition 
 
 Thou wer't the whole. 
 
 Thou wer't all; love, friendship, joy 
 
 And sorrow to me. 
 
 Now, when I dream of heaven, 
 
 It is but to dream of Thee. 
 
Rhyme The Fifth 
 
 I never knew it was true 
 
 That Angels came to earth 
 From God's own throne to fill the home 
 
 Of man with joy and mirth. 
 I never knew it was true 
 
 They had such charms divine; 
 Until I saw, with longing awe, 
 
 Your eyes look into mine. 
 
 I never knew it was true 
 
 That Angels from above 
 Could steal away, without dismay, 
 
 A lowly mortal's love. 
 I never knew it was true 
 
 They could be so unkind, 
 To rob a heart of its richest part 
 
 And leave the heart behind. 
 
Rhyme The Sixth 
 
 I would not like Thee to a rose — 
 A rose is vain and proud 
 
 And flings its fragrance to the breeze 
 So it may sing its praises loud. 
 
 I would like Thee to a violet; 
 
 A violet hides its head 
 And blushingly still breathes a smile 
 
 Tho' all its fragrance sweet is fled. 
 
Rhyme The Seventh 
 
 When you sing I feel 
 
 The world and all its woes fading from view 
 
 Until nothing is left 
 
 But one clear vision of you. 
 
 I see you stand 
 
 On the threshold of a wondrous land; 
 
 Where Angels flit to 
 
 And fro upon the velvet sod; 
 
 That stretches onward and above 
 
 To the mystic Throne of God, 
 
 To God, because my God is Love. 
 
Rhyme The Eighth 
 
 Sunset; and dreams 
 Beloved of Thee 
 
 Clinging to each breeze 
 That kisses me. 
 
 Twilight; and shadows 
 Lingering as they pass 
 
 To picture Thy fair face 
 Upon the grass. 
 
 Night-time; and stars 
 Longing to rejoice 
 
 At the first sweet echo 
 Of Thy voice. 
 
Rhyme The Ninth 
 
 Far on Kilkenny's sacred plain, 
 
 Where memory dwells on men who strove 
 To free their country from its chains, 
 
 They've made a grave for one I love. 
 
 And sweet it is for her to sleep 
 
 With shamrock pillowed o'er her head. 
 
 The sorrow is for us who mourn 
 In loneliness since she is fled. 
 
 The fairies with a nimble foot 
 
 Will dance and gambol thro' each grove, 
 But never will they break the sleep 
 
 Nor mar the rest of one I love. 
 
 To Thee, Oh, Ireland! famished land 
 Of sterile hope and pregnant pain. 
 
 My thoughts will turn to be with her, 
 And wandering will turn back again. 
 
 For friendship has a soul that lives 
 
 Beyond the tomb, beyond the years. 
 
 A soul from which all erring sins 
 
 Are washed away by sorrow's tears. 
 
Rhyme The Tenth 
 
 It was June time and 
 
 The roses had begun 
 To nod their perfumed heads 
 
 In honor of the summer sun. 
 I plucked one and held it to my lips 
 
 To enhale its fragrance — 
 But alas! a thorn on its stem 
 
 Pierced my cheek like a lance. 
 
Rhyme The Eleventh 
 
 Through the long, long night 
 
 By the bright fire's light 
 
 I sit and dream away 
 
 The hours as thej^ unfold; 
 
 Mid spirits in numbers untold 
 
 Whose voices seem to say: 
 
 An exile, an exile, for evermore, 
 
 You can never go back 
 
 To love's golden shore. 
 
 So make up your mind 
 
 To fret and pine 
 
 Life away for the land 
 
 You have left behind; 
 
 It is gone — 
 
 It is gone for evermore. 
 
Rhyme The Twelfth 
 
 " 'Tis better to have loved and lost 
 Than never to have loved at all." 
 
 And some men rave in wrathful strain 
 That life is love or else a bore; 
 
 They crush the! grape to drink the wine 
 And drinking fain would thirst no more. 
 
 Other mortals poor in gain 
 
 Of thoughts that elevate the mind, 
 Would have us know that ere love goes 
 
 It leaves its kin — regret — behind. 
 
 It is not so, for love is kind, 
 
 And lingers with us through the years; 
 And as the rose with summer dew 
 
 Is freshened by our lonely tears. 
 
 For hearts that grieve are hearts that love 
 In every land from sea to sea; 
 
 And when love comes it bears the torch 
 
 That lights us through eternity. 
 
Rhyme The Thirteenth 
 
 If all the world were a garden, 
 And each maiden a rosebud fair, 
 
 If I had nought to do with life 
 But pass it in solitude there; 
 
 I'd seek out where you bloomed 
 And 'neath that favored bower, 
 
 Vd lay me down to dream of you 
 Each new and fleeting hour. 
 
Rhyme The Fourteenth 
 
 I bring- you a flower; 
 Not a g^arland, but one; 
 A rose whose sweet petals 
 Reflect the tints of the setting- sun. 
 I ask you to keep it always 
 And let its fragrance be shed 
 In bringing dreams of hours 
 That still are sweet tho' fled. 
 
Rhyme The Fifteenth 
 
 I wish you more of happiness 
 
 Into each day sown; 
 
 More of health, more of wealth, 
 
 Than I have ever known. 
 
 I wish you a depth of joy and power 
 
 That still remain unwon, 
 
 On fair Olympia's fabled vales, 
 
 By Rhea's Godly Son. 
 
 But what could I wish you, 
 
 On this your wedding day, 
 
 Better than your heart may be 
 
 Filled with love alway? 
 
 Love for honor, love for truth, 
 
 Love for each kindly gift of Fate; 
 
 Love for friendship, love for home, 
 
 Love for everything but hate. 
 
Rhyme The Sixteenth 
 
 Fair Kathleen-Ni-Houlihan, 
 
 Shrill from oppression's pain, 
 Thy voice rang out across the hills 
 
 And men reached for the sword again; 
 To still the cry that pierced their hearts 
 
 And reached to God's own throne; 
 Tho' rust of years had dulled the blade 
 
 They struck deep for love and home. 
 An hundred and twelve years had fled 
 
 Since Emmet gladly gave 
 His life, his love and cherished hopes; 
 
 All! for a martyr's grave. 
 An hundred years and twelve, Kathleen, 
 
 But still his hallowed fame 
 Inspired thy brave stalwart sons 
 
 To die for thy fair name. 
 And who shall call the cause unjust 
 
 Or say that they have died in vain! 
 They tore the mask from inward strife 
 
 And waked a land to deeds again. 
 For he who dreams of freedom's crown 
 
 Must win it by his sword and hand; 
 And by our deeds alone shall we 
 
 Make thee a free and happy land. 
 
Rhyme The Seventeenth 
 
 AUSTIN STACK 
 
 Dark is the way and winding is the path 
 
 Which you must tread. 
 
 A trail bedewed by the blood 
 
 Of clansmen dead 
 
 Upon the battlefield or gallows tree; 
 
 But they will hold 
 
 A light aloft so you may be 
 
 Guided when your footsteps falter 
 
 On the sunless path 
 
 That leads to freedom's sacred altar. 
 
 Dark is the way and lonely is the road; 
 
 For none but those of courage bold 
 
 May win, and hold, 
 
 The white robed bride who waits 
 
 At the guarded gates 
 
 Of Liberty or Death. 
 
TO PEARSE 
 
 Falsehood, ridicule, derision must sink 
 
 Their poisoned blades 
 
 Into the new born heart of all great movements 
 
 That are to sway the destiny of a nation 
 
 Or a people. And from the gaping wounds 
 
 Gush forth little streams of blood 
 
 That give life to stronger emotions; 
 
 Emotions that sweep onward 
 
 To consummation and success. 
 
 So, Pearse, it is with you. 
 
 The weakling, the fool and slave of custom 
 
 Today call you mad. The paid patriot, 
 
 Hungry only for vain glory. 
 
 And licking clean the hand 
 
 Stained with his brother's blood; 
 
 Scorns your deeds as wrecking only 
 
 Hopes of freedom. But tomorrow; 
 
 When men understand, and the world 
 
 Is richer for your being and your death, 
 
 When the cassock and the hireling 
 
 Have fled the Isle that gave you birth; 
 
 Posterity will link your name 
 
 With that of Lincoln. 
 
 The battles of your race have been fought 
 
 And won by alien shores 
 
 For stranger people. Pew of Irene's sons 
 
 Sobbed out their bitter lives 
 
 Upon the soil dear to their hearts; 
 
 And even then they died, as Lincoln and Emmet 
 
 died, 
 Not for their own kin or for a selfish cause, 
 But for humanity. That men may be free. 
 Knowing nought of self but denial 
 And nought but fulfillment 
 Of the higher ideals that inspired you. 
 You struck for freedom, failed, and died. 
 But Christ, Himself, welcomed you with pride. 
 
Rhyme The Nineteenth 
 
 I hear a call at dawning 
 
 From the woods that guard the sea; 
 It wakes the dreaming dewdrops 
 
 As it wings its way to me. 
 With throbbing heart I greet it; 
 
 Ah! 'tis the voice of Thee 
 That calls to me at dawning 
 
 From the woods that guard the sea. 
 
 I see a star at evening 
 
 O'er the woods that guard the sea; 
 Its smiles of tender kindness 
 
 Shed realms of ecstasy. 
 With rapture I behold it; 
 
 Ah! 'tis the soul of Thee 
 That smiles to me at evening 
 
 O'er the woods that guard the sea. 
 
Rhyme The Twentieth 
 
 They wandered away to a garden 
 
 Where roses bloomed fresh and fair; 
 He culled a bud from its drooping stem 
 
 And wove it into her hair. 
 She heard him tell the olden tale, 
 
 So old, and yet so new, 
 And the God of love beamed bright with joy; 
 
 Beamed on the happy two. 
 
 They wandered away to a garden 
 
 Where marble slabs gleamed bright; 
 On a tiny grave 'neath a pine tree's shade 
 
 They planted a lily white. 
 The pent up tears of sorrowing years 
 
 Broke from each anguished soul, 
 And the God of love beamed bright with joy, 
 
 Beamed and collected his toll. 
 
Rhyme The Twenty-First 
 
 As friends, as lovers, 
 
 Hand in hand we could go through life. 
 
 Bound in affection 
 
 We could face each strife, 
 
 Knowing well our aims would not decay 
 
 Because love wo^ild lead 
 
 And light the darkened way. 
 
 As friends, as lovers, 
 
 The scorn of the world would be as nought 
 
 Compared to the joys that love had brought. 
 
 As friends, as lovers; 
 
 In our hearts a holy voice would chime 
 
 Telling each, "Thou art mine," 
 
 And whispering back the answer, "I am thine." 
 
Rhyme The Twenty-Second 
 
 Just a little faded rose 
 
 That holds a blissful memorie 
 Of one who, every angel knows, 
 
 Is dearer than the world to me. 
 Just a little faded rose, 
 
 The fragrance from its petals fled, 
 Which while I kiss it tenderly 
 
 Brings wishes I were dead. 
 
Rhyme The Twenty-Third 
 
 I had a rose that bloomed 
 
 In bright array; 
 Through summer's glow and 
 
 Autumn's bronzed wane; 
 Till winter's frost unwound 
 
 Its chilling lash 
 And with one blow cleft its 
 
 Heart in twain. 
 And lo! within that symboled 
 
 Shrine of love, 
 Petaled safe from eveiy breath 
 
 But truth, 
 I found a pearl and knew 
 
 It could but be 
 The kiss that you had left there 
 
 In its youth. 
 
Rhyme The Twenty-Fourth 
 
 A little pink rose 
 
 That slowly grew, 
 
 Where the air was clear 
 
 And the sky was blue,. 
 
 From a tiny bud 
 
 To majestic bloom, 
 
 Was plucked one day 
 
 By a girl for her room. 
 
 The little pink rose 
 
 Lay snug- and still 
 
 In a painted vase 
 
 On the window sill; 
 
 And often cooed in rose-like glee, 
 
 Oh! how thankful I should be 
 
 To the Fate that has 
 
 Showered its bliss on me, 
 
 And taken me far 
 
 From the rain and wind 
 
 And leaving me here 
 
 Where I may find 
 
 The kiss of a girl 
 
 On my neck at dawn 
 
 Instead of the dew 
 
 Of a summer mom'. 
 
 Her cooling breath 
 
 On my brow all day 
 
 Instead of the 
 
 White sun's scorching ray. 
 
 But the little pink rose 
 
 That slowly grew, 
 
 Where the air was clear 
 
 And the sky was blue, 
 
 Was quick to sicken 
 
 And quicker to die 
 
 When the girl's first kiss 
 
 Was a poisoned lie. 
 
Rhyme The Twenty-Fifth 
 
 I stood alone in the still dawn 
 
 Beside the casket of a dead boy, 
 
 A boy whose youth had been woven 
 
 Into my manhood. 
 
 J had known the laughter and the joy 
 
 That filled his life. He was my friend. 
 
 I laid my hand on the cold brow, 
 
 Seeking to understand why 
 
 Death should send 
 
 Its never erring messenger into the heart 
 
 That had known no part 
 
 Of life but youth and truth. 
 
 And fancy spoke with fetted breath, 
 
 Beauty is the soul of death. 
 
Rhyme The Twenty-Sixth 
 
 Goodbye. 
 
 And sweeter 
 
 It would be to say 
 
 Goodbye 
 
 To the world 
 
 And die 
 
 Than say goodbye to thee. 
 
 Sweeter far 
 
 'Twould be 
 
 To die 
 
 Than linger 
 
 Through the years 
 
 Of sighs and tears 
 
 That dreams 
 
 Of thee 
 
 Will weave for me. 
 
 Ah! sweeter love 
 
 'Twould be 
 
 Indeed 
 
 To die 
 
 Whilst thou wer't nigh, 
 
 Knowing thou wouldst 
 
 Come here 
 
 To shed a tear 
 
 Of sorrow 
 
 On my bier. 
 
 Sweeter far to die, 
 
 I say, 
 
 Than stay 
 
 Alone, 
 
 Bereft of thee, 
 
 My own. 
 
 Goodbye. 
 
Rhyme The Twenty-Seventh 
 
 TO MY MOTHER 
 
 If I could live a thousand lives, 
 
 Each life a thousand years, 
 And if each day my soul would breathe 
 
 A thousand smiles and tears, 
 They'd be as nought compared to those 
 
 I've seen thee give for me. 
 Nor could I love in all my lives 
 
 As I am loved by thee. 
 
Rhyme The Twenty-Eighth 
 
 So here, good friend, is where we part, 
 
 Moist of eye 
 
 But stout of heart, 
 
 Our trails divide. 
 Take you the way that knows the bliss 
 Of home and wife 
 And happiness, 
 
 Where dreams and love abide. 
 And mine the way that lead to deed, 
 Where courage thrills 
 And brave hearts bleed, 
 
 Where love awaits no man. 
 Where I'll meet death on gory bed 
 By some poet patriot 
 Wildly led 
 
 Into the battle's van. 
 
Rhyme The Twenty-Ninth 
 
 TO MOORE 
 
 The harp, which you in 
 
 Darkness found, 
 Stole back to rest 
 
 When nature stilled 
 The hands that sweeping 
 
 O'er its chords 
 The heart of prince 
 
 And layman thrilled; 
 But our firesides 
 
 Are sacred shrines 
 Where your loved spirit 
 
 Lingers yet 
 To warble melodies 
 
 That we 
 Once hearing never 
 
 Can forget. 
 
Rhyme The Thirtieth 
 
 You have young and soft 
 
 White arms 
 And nectar from your lips 
 
 I'd sip; 
 She has but a wrinkled 
 
 Hand 
 And parched will be her 
 
 Bridal lip. 
 
 You are loveliness com- 
 
 Bined 
 With every virtue God 
 
 Can send; 
 That soul if taking flight 
 
 From you 
 Would to an Angel beauty 
 
 Lend. 
 
 A million men have marched 
 
 For her 
 With eyes aflame and courage 
 
 True; 
 A million men have died 
 
 For her, 
 And no man died for 
 
 You. 
 
 Her breath is in the moaning 
 
 Breeze, 
 
 Her blood is in the swaying 
 
 Corn. 
 
 Her tears are on the hillsides 
 
 Bare, 
 
Her eyes are in the stars 
 
 New bom. 
 
 You would press me to your 
 
 Heart 
 And incense me with scented 
 
 Breath; 
 She will but grip me by the 
 
 Hand 
 And lead me on through pain 
 
 To death. 
 
 But here today I take the 
 
 Vow 
 To pass you by and take 
 
 For bride 
 The withered form and furrowed 
 
 Face, 
 Whate'er befall, whate'er 
 
 Betide. 
 
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