The Poetry Corner

Death Of D'Arcy Mcgee

By Nora Pembroke (Margaret Moran Dixon McDougall)

He stood up in the house to speak, With calm unruffled brow, And never were his burning words More eloquent than now Fresh from the greatest victory That mortal man can win The triumph against fearful odds. Over besetting sin 'Twas this gave to his eloquence That thrilling trumpet tone Moving all hearts with those bright thoughts Vibrating through his own Thoughts strong, and wise, and statesmanlike, Warm with the love of Right That gave his wit its keenest edge, His words their greatest might He little thought his last speech closed, That his career was o'er, That those who hung upon his words Should hear his voice no more. He walked home tranquilly and slow, Secure, and unaware, That there was murder in the hush Of the still midnight air. "Tis morning," said he, knowing not That he had done with time; That a bloody hand would our country stain With another useless crime. He stood before a portal closed To him for evermore, Behind him with uncreaking hinge Oped the eternal door. And ere the east grew red again, His life blood's purple flow Had made that pavement holy ground, And filled the land with woe. My country! Oh my country! What is to thee the gain? Wilt nourish trees of liberty In blood so foully slain?