A Broadside: No. 11 Sixth Year

Title

A Broadside: No. 11 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.
The woodcut on page [3] has the caption: "The Death of Lord Edward Fitzgerald in a Dublin Waxworks". Signed by Jack B. Yeats.

Creator

E. C. Yeats
Jack B. Yeats

Publisher

Cuala Press

Date

April, 1914

Text

THE GREEN LINNET
Curiosity bore a young native of Erin
To view the gay banks of the Rhine,
When an Empress he saw, and the robe she was wearing
All over with diamonds did shine;
A goddess in splendour was never yet seen
To equal this fair one so mild and serene,
In soft murmurs she says; my sweet linnet so green,
Are you gone- will I never see you more?

The cold lofty Alps you freely went over,
Which nature had placed in your way,
That Marengo Saloney around you did hover
And Paris did rejoice the next day;
It grieves me the hardships you did undergo,
Over mountains you travelled all covered with snow.
The balance of power your courage laid low,
Are you gone- will I never see you more?

the crowned heads of Europe, when you were in splendour,
Fain would they have you submit,
But the Goddess of Freedom soon bid them surrender,
And lowered the standard to your wit;
Old Frederick's colors in France you did bring,
Yet his offspring found shelter under your wing,
That year in Virginia, you sweetly did sing,
Are you gone - will I never see you more?

That numbers of men are eager to slay you
Their malice you viewed with a smile,
Their gold through all Europe they sowed to betray you
And they joined the Mamelukes on the Nile.
Like ravens for blood their vile passions did burn
The orphans they slew and caused the widow to mourn
They say my linnet's gone and ne'er will return
Is he gone- will I never see him more?

When the trumpet of war the grand blast was sounding,
You marched to the north with good will,
To relieve the poor slaves in their vile sack clothing
You used your exertion and skill;
You spread out the wings of your envied train
While tyrants great Caesar's old nest set in flame,
Their own subjects they caused to eat herbs on the plains,
Are you gone - will I never see you more?

In great Waterloo, where numbers laid sprawling
In every field, high and low,
Fame on her trumpets true Frenchmen were calling,
Fresh laurels to place on her brow;
Usurper did tremble to hear the loud call,
The third old Babe's new buildings did fall,
The Spaniards their fleet in the harbour did call,
Are you gone - I will never see you more?

I'll roam thro' the deserts of wild Abyssinia,
And yet find no cure for my pain;
Will I go and enquire in the isle of St. Helena?
No, we will whisper in vain.
Tell me, you critics, now tell me in time,
The nation I will range my sweet linnet to find,
Was he slain at Waterloo, or Elba, or the Rhine?
If he was - I will never see him more.

Original Format

Broadside

Files

072.pdf

Citation

E. C. Yeats and Jack B. Yeats, “A Broadside: No. 11 Sixth Year,” Linda Lear Center Digital Collections and Exhibitions, accessed November 26, 2022, https://lc-digital.conncoll.edu/items/show/1417.