Dublin At Dawn.

In the chill grey summer dawn-light         We pass through the empty streets;      The rattling wheels are all silent;         No friend his fellow greets.      Here and there, at the corners,         A man in a great-coat stands;      A bayonet hangs by his side, and         A rifle is in his hands.      This is a conquered city;         It speaks of war not peace;      And that's one of the English soldiers         The English call "police."      You see, at the present moment         That noble country of mine      Is boiling with indignation         At the memory of a "crime."      In a path in the Phoenix Park where         The children romped and ran,      An Irish ruffian met his doom,         And an English gentleman.      For a hundred and over a hundred         Years on the country side      Men and women and children         Have slaved and starved and died,      That those who slaved and starved them         Might spend their earnings then,      And the Irish ruffians have a "good time,"         And the English gentlemen.      And that's why at the present moment         That noble country of mine      Is boiling with indignation         At the memory of a "crime."      For the Irish ruffians (they tell me),         And it looks as if 'twere true,      And the English gentlemen are so scarce,         We could not spare those two!      In the chill grey summer dawn-light         We pass through the empty streets;      The rattling wheels are all silent;         No friend his fellow greets.      Here and there, at the corners,         A man in a great-coat stands;      A bayonet hangs by his side, and         A rifle is in his hands.      This is a conquered city;         It speaks of war not peace;      And that's one of the English soldiers         The English call "police."