The strenuous rhymer appals me to-night
With the pitch of his strenuous song
That shrieks for the god or the goddess of Right!
Or that lashes the legions of Wrong
With a vicious and venomous thong—
By Crumbs!
With a knotted and merciless thong!
He points, with the pointer of arrogant rhyme,
To the pathway of Wealth and Renown,
Where weary fools falter and fall, as they climb
To their Goal, that so grimly looks down
From its gloomy and sinister crown—
Ah me!
From its blasted and desolate crown!
And still, on the stretch of the moon-silvered sand,
With the ripple of waves on the bar
There comes, from a point jutting down from the land,
A discordant Voice, echoing far:
“Steer your boat, steer your boat for a star!”
There you are!
And the Voice is quite sure of the star!
And to-night, dear Eileen! in our cockle-shell ship,
To our star that is constant and true,
We will float on the stream where the willow-boughs dip
’Neath a sky that is wondrously blue,
And a myriad eyes twinkle through—
All for you!
And for me, while I live loving you!
Let earnest men answer the crack of the whip,
With their shibbolethed banners aflap—
On the fur-covered planks of our cockle-shell ship,
As I lie with my head on your lap,
I do not care one Commonwealth rap
What may hap!
Not — one — blooming — young — Commonwealth — rap!
Let other hands delve ’mid the garbage and grime,
And let other lips puff till they blaze—
Oh! ’tis weary work marching when fools beat the time—
But ’tis easy to drift and to laze
All our nights and our jubilant days,
Sweet Eileen!
All our nights, starry nights, and our days!