“Though dark are our sorrows, today we’ll forget them,
And smile through our tears, like a sunbeam in showers:
There never were hearts, if our rulers would let them,
More form’d to be grateful and blest than ours.
But just when the chain,
Has ceased to pain,
And hope has enwreathed it round with flowers,
There comes a new link,
Our spirits to sink
Oh! the joy that we taste, like the light of the poles,
Is a flash amid darkness, too brilliant to stay;
But, though ’twere the last little spark in our souls,
We must light it up now, on our Prince’s Day.2. Contempt on the minion who calls you disloyal!
Though fierce to your foe, to your friends you are true;
And the tribute most high to a head that is royal,
Is love from a heart that loves liberty too.
While cowards, who blight
Your fame, your right,
Would shrink from the blaze of the battle array,
The Standard of Green
In front would be seen
Oh, my life on your faith! were you summon’d this minute,
You’d cast every bitter remembrance away,
And show what the arm of old Erin has in it,
When roused by the foe, on her Prince’s Day.
He loves the Green Isle, and his love is recorded
In hearts which have suffer’d too much to forget;
And hope shall be crown’d, and attachment rewarded,
And Erin’s gay jubileee shine out yet.
The gem may be broke
By many a stroke,
But nothing can cloud its native ray;
Each fragment will cast
A light to the last
And thus, Erin, my country, though broken thou art,
There’s lustre wiithin thee, that ne’er will decay;
A spirit which beams through each suffering part,
And now smiles at all pain on the Prince’s Day.”
– Thomas Moore, from Irish Melodies, Vol. 4
(Written for a féte in honor of the Prince of Wales’s Birthday, given by Moore’s friend, Major Bryan, at his seat in the county of Kilkenny.)
Patriot Melodies, Vol. 1/6/21
Toby Ben Israel
A paraphrase for our times of Irish Melodies, Vol. 4 by Thomas Moore
Though dark are our sorrows, today we’ll forget them,
And smile through our tears, like a sunbeam in showers;
There never were hearts, if our rulers would let them,
More formed to be grateful and blessed than ours.
But just when the chain has ceased to pain,
And hope has woven it round with flowers,
There comes a new link our spirits to sink.
Oh! the joy that we taste, like the light of freedom at the polls,
Is a flash of liberty amid darkness, too brilliant to stay;
But, though there were the last little spark in our souls,
We must light it up now, on our Patriots’ Day.
Contempt on the minions who call you disloyal!
Though fierce to your foe, to your friends you are true;
And the tribute most high to a head that is loyal,
Is love from a heart that loves liberty too.
While cowards, who blight, your fame, your right,
Would shrink from the blaze of the battle array.
The Green Mountain Boys in front would be seen,
Oh, my life on your faith! were you summoned this minute,
You’d cast every bitter remembrance away,
And show what the arm of old Ethan has in it,
When roused by the foe, on our Patriots’ Day.
Mr. Trump loves purple mountains majesties, and his love is recorded
In our hearts which have suffered too much to forget;
And hope shall be crowned, and attachment rewarded,
And Patriots’ joyful celebration shall shine out yet.
Our nation may be broke by many a stroke,
But nothing can cloud its native ray or our flag today;
Each fragment will cast a light to the last
And thus, America, my country, though broken thou art,
There’s luster within thee, that will never decay;
A spirit which beams through each suffering part,
And now smiles at all pain on this Patriots’ Day.
St. Liberty’s Day
Toby Ben Israel
A paraphrase for our times of St. Crispin’s Day Speech: From Henry V by William Shakespeare
Patriot:
O that we now had here
But one ten thousand of those men that fought for freedom
That died for independence!
President:
What’s he that wishes so?
My dear Patriot? No, my fine warrior;
If we are marked to die, we are even now
To do our country loss; and if to live,
The fewer men, the greater share of honor.
God’s will! I pray thee, wish not one man more.
Dear Lord, I am not covetous for gold,
Nor do I care whoever feeds upon my cost;
It yearns me not if men my garments wear;
Such outward things dwell not in my desires.
But if it be a sin to covet honor,
I am the most offending soul alive.
No, faith, my friend, wish not a man from Concord or Normandy.
God’s peace! I would not lose so great an honor
As one man more I think would share from me
For the best hope I have. O, do not wish one more!
Rather proclaim it, Patriot my friend, throughout the army,
That he which has no stomach to this fight,
Let him depart; his passport shall be made,
And dollars for travel put into his purse;
We would not die in that man’s company
That fears his fellowship to die with us.
This day is called the feast of Liberty.
He that outlives this day, and comes safe home,
Will stand a tip-toe when this day is named,
And rouse him at the name of Liberty.
He that shall live this day, and see old age,
Will yearly on the vigil feast with his neighbors,
And say “Tomorrow is Saint Liberty.”
Then will he strip his sleeve and show his scars,
And say “These wounds I had on Liberty’s day.”
Old men forget; yet all shall be forgot,
But he’ll remember, with advantages,
What feats he did that day. Then shall our names,
Familiar in his mouth as household words –
Donald Trump, Michael Flynn and Rudy Giuliani,
Jenna Ellis and Sydney Powell, Mo Brooks and Josh Hawley – patriots all –
Be in their flowing cups freshly remembered.
This story shall the good man teach his son;
And Liberty, sweet Liberty shall never go by,
From this day to the ending of the world,
But we in it shall be remembered –
We few, we happy few, we band of brothers;
For he today that sheds his blood with me
Shall be my brother; be he never so vile,
This day shall gentle his condition;
And gentlemen in America comfortable in their beds
Shall think themselves accursed they were not here,
And hold their manhood cheap while any speaks
That fought with us upon Saint Liberty’s day.