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 SOUVENIR 
 
 OP 
 
 Robert Emmet's 
 
 SPEECH FROM 
 THE DOCK 
 
 First Time in Verse by 
 
 MRS. E. M. GRIFFIN HOEY 
 
library of CONGRESS 
 Two Gooles Received 
 JUL 28 1904 
 a Copyright Entry 
 \uL\ \%~lqo if 
 CLAS3 X CX XXoL No. 
 
 1 COPY b 
 
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 Patriotic speech in the dock as delivered by Robert 
 Emmet at the Session House in Dublin, before Lord 
 Norbury when he was sentencing him to death Sep- 
 tember 19, 1803. 
 
 He was executed the next day and died with calm 
 serenity, age 25, for his country. 
 
 Young Emmet was one of God's created noblemen. 
 His generous, chivalrous nature and his romantic love 
 endeared him to mankind. 
 
 His impromptu celebrated speech is composed in 
 verse for the first time 
 
 By Mks. E. M. Griffin Hoey. 
 
My Lord*:— 
 
 You ask me what I have to say 
 
 Against the doom of death ? 
 That question if I answered you 
 
 Would be a waste of breath! 
 My sentence! it has been pronounced 
 
 In yonder castle halls! 
 Your pampered hangman bides his time 
 
 Beneath the prison walls!! 
 
 I have this to say: False calumnv 
 
 You do upon me heap! 
 For the accusations in that dock 
 
 Some day your soul shall weep 
 I ask no mercy from this Court! 
 
 My condemnation's wrote! 
 But tarnish not my memory 
 
 As it through Time shall float 
 
You have dared with foulest slander 
 
 To crush my life and hope! 
 Your venal enough to swing me! 
 
 Yet when you cast the rope, 
 It shall anchor me to Erin, 
 
 In her loved arms I'll rest, 
 There sheltered from fierce calumnies 
 
 Beneath the shamrocks rest 
 From calumny's fierce storm! 
 
 Were I to only suffer death, 
 
 In silence I would bow! 
 Ye t to stain my name for ever 
 
 With oblique you vow. 
 Posterity shall be my judge! 
 
 A smile lights up his face, 
 My name shall twine around the hearts 
 
 Of mv loved Irish race! 
 
 The man may die, his memory lives, 
 
 And from that friendly port, 
 When my shade joins the martyr'd dead, 
 
 Hosannas shall burst forth. 
 The bugle call of angels wake 
 
 A host to fight for thee, 
 Till the sun bursts over Erin, 
 
 On flag of Liberty. 
 
 [Interrupted by Lord Norbury.] 
 
If we dare to doubt one moment 
 
 What Government will say, 
 You set man against his brother, 
 
 And rule like beasts of prey. 
 In every land your pirate band 
 
 Blights as they pass by, 
 Then raise their eyes to heaven, 
 
 'Tis all for God thev cry. 
 
 With blasphemy and tyranny 
 
 You crush the rights of man, 
 Make your cutthroats and assassins 
 
 Barbarous as they can. 
 You mock the widow's falling tears, 
 
 The orphan's bitter cry. 
 Oh God! I could not bear it, 
 
 'Twere better I should die. 
 
 Lord Norbury interrupted Mr. Emmet, saying the 
 mean, wicked enthusiasts who felt as he did ivere not 
 equal to their wild designs. 
 
 Immaculate God, I appeal, 
 
 By Thy Throne do I swear, 
 By the blood of Erin's martyrs, 
 
 The most blest spirits there. 
 The aim of my life Thou knowest, 
 
 To make the tyrants flee, 
 And burst the bonds of slavery 
 
 My own dear land from thee. 
 
 Lord Norburv: "I am not here to listen to treason. 
 
A man who wants no epitaph 
 
 Until his country's free, 
 Wont let the weapon of envy 
 
 Impeach his probity. 
 To early death you consign me 
 
 With accusations rave, 
 Still my name I am preserving, 
 
 Yes, even in the grave. 
 
 [Again interrupted by the Court. 
 
 You remnant of mortality! 
 
 The life-blood you have shed 
 Is crying aloud for vengeance 
 
 From living and from dead! 
 Oh, yes, you will interrupt me 
 
 'Neath scaffold's terror: Shame! 
 Wont let a dying patriot 
 
 Even vindicate his name. 
 
 Where now is your vaunted justice 
 
 To a prisoner at the bar? 
 Yet my people they are listening 
 
 And hear me from afar! 
 They shall spurn thy name forever! 
 
 Unhallowed is your fame! 
 To my country I'm bequeathing 
 
 A proud and honored name! 
 
 [Here he was interrupted by Lord Norbury and told 
 to listen to the sentence of the Law.'] 
 
Why does your lordship insult me? 
 
 Asking the reason why 
 That you cannot doom your victim 
 
 To on the scaffold die. 
 'Tis my name I am defending 
 
 From prejudice and hate, 
 To my people I am speaking 
 
 With a dying martyr's faith. 
 
 How cruel is the policy 
 
 Condemns a man to die, 
 Stifles the breath he longs to use 
 
 To call on the Most High. 
 You cry out to me: Be silent! 
 
 On my last rights encroach, 
 Cast aspersions on my character, 
 
 Upbraidings and reproach. 
 
 You say: I have sold my country, 
 
 Another cruel blow! 
 Then ask why death you can't pronounce, 
 
 Why mock your victim so? 
 The form prescribes that you should ask, 
 
 And now as there you sit, 
 To a priest of the oracle 
 
 I know I must submit. 
 
But 'neath your scathing calumny, 
 
 I insist upon the form 
 To stand here as a dying man 
 
 Repelling taunts with scorn. 
 With tenderness a judge should pass 
 
 The sentence that has loomed, 
 Not gloat on the supposed culprit 
 
 He has already doomed. 
 
 [Lord Norbury said: "You may proceed."] 
 
 You say "as emiss'ry of France 
 
 I'd my country sever! 
 That I wanted change of masters!" 
 
 God forbid it ever! 
 As our auxiliaries in war 
 
 And our allies in peace 
 We invited them join us 
 
 'Till our thraldom would cease! 
 
 [Interrupted by the Court.] 
 
 And shall I listen here to you! 
 
 With shameless falsehood vow 
 That as emissary of France 
 
 I've sold my country now! 
 And for what end debase myself, 
 
 By birth! by wealth! and deed! 
 Among the noblest in the land 
 
 Might I not proudly lead! 
 
The crudest taunt you yet have thrown 
 
 I leave it to my God ! 
 Is that for gold to France I sold 
 
 My own loved sacred sod! 
 Cowardly! Weak! and venal Judge! 
 
 My name you cannot brand, 
 As man to man I stand to-day 
 
 Your peer in any land. 
 
 If the French came, proud invaders — 
 
 I should upon them turn, 
 With sword and torch would beat them back 
 
 If not my country burn! 
 On the last green spot of Freedom 
 
 Among the flames I'd lie, 
 As a holocaust for Erin 
 
 There would I proudly die! 
 
 To emulate George Washington 
 
 Was my chief desire! 
 His sacrifice! His daring deeds! 
 
 Had set my soul on fire! 
 I only asked the aid of France 
 
 To bring the thing about, 
 So like that brave, noble hero 
 
 We'd turn the tvrants out! 
 
Implacable the enemy 
 
 Our bosom makes its lair. 
 Relentless the cruelties 
 
 My people have to bear! 
 You say I am accountable 
 
 For blood that will be shed! 
 I repel all accusations 
 
 Your satellites have said! 
 
 You say " I am the keystone 
 
 Of all conspiracy! " 
 That's an honor but you know not 
 
 The noble men with me, 
 Whose splendor, virtues and genius, 
 
 Are well known in the land! 
 Who with scorn disdains your friendship, 
 
 Or touch your blood-stained hand! 
 
 [Lord Norbury again interrupted.'] 
 
 You can circle the horizon 
 
 That bounds our tearful Isle, 
 See the legions you have martyr'd 
 
 With happy faces smile! 
 Yon dismal cloud, the lightning's flash, 
 
 Show reservoir of blood! 
 There, you'll swim with Ireland's traitors, 
 
 In its dark, loathsome flood! 
 
 [Lord Norbury: "Have I to sit here and listen to 
 you?"] 
 
Ever doomed to execration, 
 
 Thine hirelings and thee! 
 Ireland don't forget the murders 
 
 Of patriots like me! 
 We behold their names emblazoned 
 
 Like sunlight in the sky, 
 It is glorious to be a martyr, 
 
 Because they never die! 
 
 [Lord Norbury interrupted again.] 
 
 Do you think you can appall me, 
 
 And gag me as a slave, 
 Slandering my reputation, 
 
 While passing to the grave ? 
 I fear not the Omnipotent, 
 
 Shall meet Him soon on high! 
 He knows I would gladly perish 
 
 To make the Britons fly! 
 
 [Lord Norbury says: "The son oj your father using 
 such language.'"] 
 
 Spirits of the illustrious, 
 
 Beholding this sad scene, 
 Know the noblest and the bravest 
 
 Have perished for the Green! 
 They hear my last words cheer you on, 
 
 When gleam your swords on high, 
 Will bless, each one, a rebel's son, 
 
 Who never feared to die!! 
 
Oh! my venerated Father 
 
 Look down upon thy son, 
 For patriotic principle 
 
 You see my race is run! 
 In youthful days thou hast instilled 
 
 If was noble to ye life! 
 The redemption of my country 
 
 From misery and strife. 
 
 Let no man when I am dead 
 
 With dishonor attaint, 
 No one, would now dare defend me 
 
 Not if he were a saint. 
 In other times shall men arise 
 
 From our proud unborn race, 
 The wrongs of Erin will avenge 
 
 For mine smote England's face! 
 
 [Interrupted again. 
 
 They'll find me waiting by a tomb, 
 
 My name there uninscribed! 
 I'll join the marching hosts that day — 
 
 — Were my dust petrified! 
 The hour will come, ye hypocrites! 
 
 The writing's on the wall' 
 For Irishmen to save your crown 
 
 On bended knees you'll fail! 
 
 [Interrupted by Lord Norbnry.) 
 
My lords you're very impatient 
 
 For the sacrifice, Wait! 
 Death's terrors congeals not my blood, 
 
 It thrills to circulate. 
 Though you are bent to destroy me 
 
 It to heaven shall cry 
 Hasten! thou God-given heroes 
 
 'Neath whose swords tyrants die. 
 
 Loved Erin when you have risen 
 
 'Mid the plaudits of men, 
 Let my epitaph be written — 
 
 And not until then! 
 The sweet charity of silence — 
 
 It is all I now crave 
 As I sink into the bosom 
 
 Of the cold, silent grave. 
 
 In obscurity let me rest! 
 
 When the tyrants have fed, 
 You'll proudly the harp and sunburst 
 
 Wave over your loved dead! 
 Let no man write my epitaph 
 
 Till my country has won 
 Her own place among the nations! 
 
 My lords, I have now done!! 
 
BY THE AUTHOR. 
 
 This centennial year of Robert Emmet's death is 
 causing discussion as to his interment, the place 
 being concealed fearing confiscation by the English 
 Government. Only a few men knew the spot and it 
 was guarded tenderly. Before coming to this country it 
 was pointed out to me, and the reason for doing so 
 explained, I kept the secret and supposed the men in 
 charge were known to the proper parties. Now it 
 appears they are not. 
 
 Discussing the question, I found many Irish, as well 
 as Irish Americans, had never read Mr. Emmet's 
 speech. I thought if it was condensed a little and put 
 in verse it might induce perusal and lead to a study of 
 the heart-felt speech of the young hero within the grasp 
 of death, which is a key to the inhuman persecutions 
 of our people and show the world why Ireland is the 
 Mother of Patriots. 
 
 The breathing patriotism of the speech I have en- 
 deavored to illustrate with the hope that some more 
 brilliant mind will do it the justice it deserves. The 
 essentials of it will be found in the lines with a 
 word or sentence added only to complete a verse. 
 
 The heart of Robert Emmet was a font from which 
 the pure life-spring of thought took its rise. Its trib- 
 utaries submerging all consideration for his own wel- 
 fare and surrounding his mind, so that it became an 
 isle of love, upon which he stood enthralled, looking 
 with sorrow on the untold sufferings of his people, until 
 every fibre of his noble nature thrilled with devotion 
 
and intrepidly he consecrated himself to her sacred 
 cause, for which he died on the scaffold. His severed 
 head was spiked and exhibited on the jail wall in 
 Thomas Street, to deter others from defending their 
 Motherland. 
 
 That deed was poor policy, and has, and will, in- 
 carnate millions, with the heart and feelings of Emmet, 
 who will swoop down some day like an avalanche and 
 bury the oppressors in oblivion. 
 
 Then the sun-kissed epitaph of Robert Emmet will 
 be written. 
 
 i-, 
 
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LIBRARY OF CONGRESS 
 
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