IRISH INSURGENTS

NZ Truth, Issue 580, 29 July 1916, Page 12

IRISH INSURGENTS

AND IRISH IDEALS

PATRIOTS AND PARLIAMENTARIANS-PRIESTS ANDs PARSONS

(By "Odin O'Mel.^

ROBERT EMMET.

Last week readers of "Truth" were requested not to be carried away by the mere details of Emmet's life, but to look upon' the man as a willing martyr, who died that Ireland might live. . Listen now to EMMET'S WORDS FROM THE DOCK: A man m my situation has not only to encounter the difficulties of fortune and the -force of power over minds which it has corrupted ; [ or subjugated, but 'the difficulties L of established prejudice. A man ; dies, but his memory lives. That ; mine may not perish, that it may ! live m the respect of my countryj men, I seize upon this opportunity to vindicate myself from some of the charges .alleged against me. When my spirit shall be wafted to a more friendly port, when my shade shall have joined the band of ; those martyred heroes who have shed their blood on the scaffold and m the field m the defence of their country and of virtue, this is my hope — I wish that my memory and name may animate those who survive me, while I look down with complacency on they destruction of that perfidious Government which upholds its domination by blasphemy of the> Most Htgh; which displays its power over man as over the 7 beasts of the forest; which sets I man against his brother and lifts I his hand m the name of God against the throat of his fellow who believes or doubts a little more or lees than the Government standard; a Government that Is steeled : to barbarity by the cries of the orphans and tho tears of the wid- ■ ows it has made. Yes, my Lords, a man who does not wish to have his epitaph written until his country is liberated will ; not leave. a weapon m the power .of envy or a pretence to impeach the probity which he means to preserve even m the grave to which tyranny consigns him. What I have spoken was not intended for your Lordship, whose situation I commiserate rather than envy; my expressions were for my countrymen. If there is a true Irishman present let my last words cheer him m the hour of his affliction. ... I have but one request to ask at my departure from this world. It is the charity of its silence. Let no man write my epitaph; for as no man who knows my motives dare now vindicate them, let no prejudice or ignorance f asperse them. Let them and me rest m obscurity and peace, and ray tomb remain uninscribed and my memory m oblivion, until other times and other men can do justice to my character. When my country takes her place among the nations of the earth, then and not until then, let my epitaph bo written. I have done. ' There is no apology needed for reproducing THE ABOVE IMMORTAL WORDS, as the full speech has become a portion of English literature, and can be perused In histories, dramas, and m that very interesting book, "Speeches From the Dock." «' In these our curious days, despite his place m history, one might almost hesitate to write or say anything about Robert Emmet or men like him. One of the tragedies of greatness In Irish patriotism is that the hero becomes a victim sacrificed and resacriflced on the unpatriotic altars of countless political debating societies. He becomes a test for such renegades as the Redmonds, William Q'Brien, Tim Healy and Co, who are always spellbound at the magnificence of their own empty oratory; who utilise our hero to catch "poor Pat and his colleen," but who take good care that they do not inculcate the principles for which liUnmet lived and died. Oh, Ireland, how you have been misled and bled by the rambling rogues who have battened on you for a century—the lay politicians of the Redmond, O'Brien and Healy types, and the political clerics of all beliefs who dominate every form of human activity, and who hold you body and soul, "wool and purse." What Is the sum total of their splendid efforts? The land that was

your own since "the , twilight of fable" •has been taken from;thelandlord, and, as you werßCthe chattel of the landlords, with the land you were secured i by the / Government; m other words, you have exchanged the I British" Exchequer beinir^dwthe owner of your, acres. After paying the .rental fixed by the Government, -paying: it 50 years and more, you are "to become your own landlord at last, SO YOU ARE INFORMED. You have been granted laborers* cotjtages, for which you pay a reatal, old I age pensions (when the old folk reach (•seventy years of age) at the rate per I head of 5/- per week, and an insurance scheme that has failed to work except j to the advantage of the officials em- < ployed. Lastly, because six counties ! m the north claim to be ultra-Protes- ! tant, and consequently afraid of the | priests and the 60 solid blockheads of the Irish Parliamentary Party, the re- • maining 26 counties that are Catholic, and Nationalist are to have a miserable Parliament m Dublin, the upper ■ chamber of which is to be nominated !by the Imperial Government. The | rabid Unionists of the north, m their i six. little counties, are to maintain the old connection with Mother England, and Bhould a Tory party secure full power m Britain again, as is very likely m the near future, what becomes of the makeshift "talking hous.e" m Dublin? It may continue to exist, but under what conditions? Ah! the Tories are far-eeeing, too far-eeeing for Johnny Redmond. The very fact that such a rotten provisioned arrangement is practically agreed to after the Sinn Fein rising, plainly proclaims to the world that funk drove the Imperial authorities to do something. And what panic sows shall he reap m terror. The seeds of fresh revolts are already m the making owing to the unwise dismemberment of Ireland into two sectarian campa. Truly, Ireland, you are triply cursed. Religious animosities and political scheming are, awful blights In themselves, bat wilful misgovernment by alien rulers la Infinitely worse.

Daniel O'Connell and his constitutionalism have faded from the walls of many an Irish home. John Redmond has no place on the walls and he never will be seen there. Emmet, though never mentioned In the Catholic pulpits, and

RIDICULED AND REvTLED In the Protestant pulpits, Is treasured by the faithful Irish people. In cabin and mansion, **the darling of Erin" adorns a wall all to himself, The blood that he poured from his veins m Thomas-street, Dublin, for the land and people he loved, has mystically nourished the martyr's seed; for m this eventful year of our Lord, 1916, Pearse, MacDonagh, Clark, Connelly, Plunkett and MacDermott have followed m his gory footsteps. "Ahi hangin' and^ shootin' ore bad ways of wtnnin' a dog's love, and yet it's a civilised way they have of wooing us Irish," an old Wexford man said to , (he writer recently.

Ireland! has been used and abused by her own and the stranger, bat she is awakening. As we have already said, the old type of priest la fast dying out, and political action has got a considerable set-back, owing to the shameless conduct of the Redmonds, the O'Briens, and the He&lys, who, by the way, hate one another. Hundreds of the younger clergy no longer believe In political action, and are convinced, like the workers, writers, thinkers and poets, that Ireland must purge and free herself from within; that Ireland's destiny is not to be a province like an English shire (which Home Rule will merely make of her), but a nation free and self-contained, eventually to be linked up m the free bonds. of fraternity with the other nations (not Empires), and thus help to bring that great day nearer when every distinctive people the world over shall each be a friendly republic, but all united for the purposes of humanity and justice. Some call such a world unity freely borne, the workers' republic, others the world's republics, the free states of the world, etc. All Empires, monarchies and "expanding" republics (as, for instance, Prance was) retard such process, but the process Is evolving all the same. Thus we see that by adhering to Emmet's principles, and by having a bid for liberty for herself, Ireland has actually progressed farther towards the great humanitarian ideal. than any of the nations m the present "world war. .Honco EMMET HAS BECOME A WORLD \ FORCE, and the eyes of the world are upon Ireland. If every tongue was cut out In Ireland to-day we might hope for salvation through humility and by ways of labor m a land where talk had ceased. Hero one has no troubled conscience. A policy of deeds, uot words, is urged. To die a martyr and be the subject of some men's oratory — ngh! Douglas one© wrote of Shakespeare: "But now thy praises have become too loud On vulgar lips, and every yelping cur Yaps thee a paean. The whiles little i men Now big enough to worship In a crowd, Spit their small wits at thee. Ah, better then The broken shrine, the lonely worshipper." And that. In a more tragic sense. Is truo of Robert Emmet The man who fails has his proper position. The man whose life has been one continual protest against failure, cannot be called a failure. What makes Emmet the most nttractivo figure In tho great army of Irish Nationalists previous to 1916, Is that ho attempted the impossible, and that his enterprise was doomed to failure from tho first. And yat. In theso strango days, it le possible to look back over seven conturlee — this to one's

thinking is the philosophy of Robert Emmet — it Is possible to look back over seven centuries of hideousness and horror, treachery and desolation, and to contemplate the measare of injustice, and say without exaggeration, that if the whole sufferings of Ireland bad •produced nothing save the life of Robert Emmet, they should be gladly borne. It took nearly seven centuries of misery tp form this one man, and if Ireland could re-live her life by the blotting crat of the soul and life of Emmet "she should retain Emmet: rather than lose his soul and gain the world. "Emmet is a' glittering: and priceless gem which could never sparkle m the crown of a tyrant." THE EPITAPH. There's a grave m the heart of Erin, A grave that is all alone, There is no wreath on its bosom. No name on its sealing stone; And^; thi<i»" surge of a mighty city Goes ever through dark and light Wnere.the ashes of Robert Emmet Are Tying In peace to-night. In: the kindly land of the stranger, The land where we dare be free, W©l gather to-night to bless the life Tbat'was given for you and me; The 1 life that was bright and dreaming, "Theilife that was lone and sweet, The", life that was thrown as a sacrifice At Erin's hapless feet While the lowliest serf around us Is leaping to glory's callr * Shall we weep o'er the grave of Emmet Who blazed a way for us all? Shall we speak of our centuried failures While a century lies before, And the sword's as strong to right a wrong" To-day as m the days of yore? Oh, no! by the gods of battle, By the hopes of a million men, The blood that was shed on Thomasstreet, • Shall burgeon In blood again;' 'Twill bloom m the glory of flashing steel. Through thunder, and smoke, and flame. Flung up to God on a ransomed sod, That is holy with Emmet's name. j He died on a Dublin scaffold, As a martyr for freedom dies; He lies like a king m Erin, Awaiting the dawn to rise. Oh, sons of a murdered nation. If you're one with his blood and bono Come, swear to-night that your hands shall write That name upon Emmet's stone, (To be continued.)