A Broadside: No. 3 Sixth Year
Title
A Broadside: No. 3 Sixth Year
Subject
Ireland
Cuala Press
A Broadside
Irish Literary Revival
The Gaelic Revival
Description
PUBLISHED MONTHLY BY E. C. YEATS AT THE CUALA PRESS, CHURCHTOWN, DUNDRUM, COUNTY DUBLIN. SUBSCRIPTION TWELVE SHILLINGS A YEAR POST FREE.
300 copies only.
300 copies only.
The woodcut on page [3] has caption: " THE TATOOERS SHOP". Signed by Jack B. Yeats.
Creator
E. C. Yeats
Jack B. Yeats
Wolfe T. Mac Gowan
Publisher
Cuala Press
Date
August, 1913
Text
NAPOLEON BUONAPARTE'S FAREWELL TO PARIS
I visited the splendid city the metropolis called Paris,
Situated every morning by Sol's refulgent beams,
Conjoined by bright Aurora advancing from the Orient,
With radiant lights adorning in fire shining ray.
Commanding Scethua to retire, then the windows glance like fire
And the universe admire their merchandise in store,
While floral spreading fragrance the fertile plains to decorate,
To illuminate the royal Corsican again on the French shore.
I am Napoleon Buonaparte, the conqueror of nations,
I banished German legions - drove kings from their thrones,
I've trampled Dukes and Earls and splendid congregations,
For which I am transported to St. Helena's shore.
Like a Hannibal I crossed the Alps o'er burning sands and rocky cliffs,
Over Russian hills through snow and frost I still the laurel wore,
Now I am in a desert Isle, the very devil it would fright,
I thought to shine in armour bright thro' Europe once more.
My spread Eagles were pulled down by Wellington's allied army,
My troops in disorder could no longer stand the field,
I was sold that afternoon on the eighteenth day of June,
My reinforcements proved traitors wich caused me to yield.
Although I am in allied yoke, with fire and sword I'll make them smoke,
I conquered Dutch and Danes and surprised the Grand Signor,
I defeated Austrians and Russians, Portugese and Prussians,
As worthy Joshua, Alexander, and Great Caesar of yore.
Some says it were my first downfall the parting of my consort
And to wed the German's daughter, which grieved my heart full sore,
The female train I do not blame they never yet did me defame,
They saw my sword in battle flame and did me adore.
Now sincerely I feel the rod for meddling with the house of God,
In coining gold and images some thousands away I bore,
Such religion grieves me much for robbing of the Christian Church,
But had they gave me time and place I would them all restore.
Now to the South of Africa, to the Atlantic Ocean,
To view the wild emotion and flowing of the tide,
I was banished from my royal throne of imperial promotion,
From the French throne of Glory to see the billows glide.
Full three days I stood plain, Liberty's cause for to maintain,
Some thousands I left slain collected force annoyed,
I did not fly without revenge nor to their allied army cringe,
So now my sword is sheathed and Bonny is no more.
THE GARA RIVER
Oh give me back my ships again
Lonesome Gara, babbling Gara,
My gilded galleons of Spain
Your blue waves sunk oh bonny Gara.
Give me again the Monte bold
The beaks that dipped the deams
that rolled
The green hulled holy ships of old
That you have foundered babbling
Gara.
Give me my youth to have again
Lonesome Gara, hurried Gara,
Link upon link, a golden chain
That Time has plundered, merry Gara.
The green sweet combes, the setting sun,
The fires we lit, the yarns we spun,
The stately ships launched one by one
And one by one, lost, sunny Gara.
Wolfe T. Mac Gowan
I visited the splendid city the metropolis called Paris,
Situated every morning by Sol's refulgent beams,
Conjoined by bright Aurora advancing from the Orient,
With radiant lights adorning in fire shining ray.
Commanding Scethua to retire, then the windows glance like fire
And the universe admire their merchandise in store,
While floral spreading fragrance the fertile plains to decorate,
To illuminate the royal Corsican again on the French shore.
I am Napoleon Buonaparte, the conqueror of nations,
I banished German legions - drove kings from their thrones,
I've trampled Dukes and Earls and splendid congregations,
For which I am transported to St. Helena's shore.
Like a Hannibal I crossed the Alps o'er burning sands and rocky cliffs,
Over Russian hills through snow and frost I still the laurel wore,
Now I am in a desert Isle, the very devil it would fright,
I thought to shine in armour bright thro' Europe once more.
My spread Eagles were pulled down by Wellington's allied army,
My troops in disorder could no longer stand the field,
I was sold that afternoon on the eighteenth day of June,
My reinforcements proved traitors wich caused me to yield.
Although I am in allied yoke, with fire and sword I'll make them smoke,
I conquered Dutch and Danes and surprised the Grand Signor,
I defeated Austrians and Russians, Portugese and Prussians,
As worthy Joshua, Alexander, and Great Caesar of yore.
Some says it were my first downfall the parting of my consort
And to wed the German's daughter, which grieved my heart full sore,
The female train I do not blame they never yet did me defame,
They saw my sword in battle flame and did me adore.
Now sincerely I feel the rod for meddling with the house of God,
In coining gold and images some thousands away I bore,
Such religion grieves me much for robbing of the Christian Church,
But had they gave me time and place I would them all restore.
Now to the South of Africa, to the Atlantic Ocean,
To view the wild emotion and flowing of the tide,
I was banished from my royal throne of imperial promotion,
From the French throne of Glory to see the billows glide.
Full three days I stood plain, Liberty's cause for to maintain,
Some thousands I left slain collected force annoyed,
I did not fly without revenge nor to their allied army cringe,
So now my sword is sheathed and Bonny is no more.
THE GARA RIVER
Oh give me back my ships again
Lonesome Gara, babbling Gara,
My gilded galleons of Spain
Your blue waves sunk oh bonny Gara.
Give me again the Monte bold
The beaks that dipped the deams
that rolled
The green hulled holy ships of old
That you have foundered babbling
Gara.
Give me my youth to have again
Lonesome Gara, hurried Gara,
Link upon link, a golden chain
That Time has plundered, merry Gara.
The green sweet combes, the setting sun,
The fires we lit, the yarns we spun,
The stately ships launched one by one
And one by one, lost, sunny Gara.
Wolfe T. Mac Gowan
Original Format
Broadside
Files
Collection
Citation
E. C. Yeats, Jack B. Yeats, and Wolfe T. Mac Gowan, “A Broadside: No. 3 Sixth Year,” Linda Lear Center Digital Collections and Exhibitions, accessed April 24, 2024, https://lc-digital.conncoll.edu/items/show/1409.