You had the prose of logic and of scorn, <br />And words to sledge an iron argument, <br />And yet you could draw down the outland birds <br />To perch beside the ravens of your thought <br />The dreams whereby a people challenges <br />Its dooms, its bounds. You were the one who knew <br />What sacred resistance is in men <br />That are almost broken; how, from resistance used, <br />A strength is born, a stormy, bright-eyed strength <br />Like Homer's Iris, messenger of the gods, <br />Coming before the ships the enemy <br />Has flung the fire upon. Our own, our native strength <br />You mustered up. But I will never say this, <br />Walking beside you, or looking on you, <br />With your strong brow, and chin was like a targe, <br />And eyes that were so kindly of us all. <br /> <br />And sorrow comes as on that August day, <br />With our ship cleaving through the seas for home, <br />And that news coming sparkling through the air, <br />That you were dead, and that we'd never see you <br />Looking upon the state that you had builded. <br /> <br />The news that came was like that weight of waters <br />Poured on our hopes! Our navies yet unbuilded, <br />Our city left inglorious on its site, <br />Our fields uncleared, and over <br />Our ancient house the ancient curse of war! <br />And could we pray, touching the island-homeland, <br />Other than this: 'Odysseus, you who laboured <br />So long upon the barren outer sea; <br /> <br />Odysseus, Odysseus, you who made <br />The plan that drove the wasters from the house, <br />And bent the bow that none could bend but you: <br />Be with us still: <br />Your memory be the watcher in our house, <br />Your memory be the flame upon our hills.<br /><br />Padraic Colum<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/odysseus-in-memory-of-arthur-griffith/
