Sunday, June 24, 2012
Had de Valera eaten Parnell’s heart
No loose-lipped demagogue had won the day.
No civil rancour torn the land apart.
Had Cosgrave eaten Parnell’s heart, the land’s
Imagination had been satisfied,
Or lacking that, government in such hands.
O’Higgins its sole statesman had not died.
Had even O’Duffy — but I name no more —
Their school a crowd, his master solitude;
Through Jonathan Swift’s clark grove he passed, and there
plucked bitter wisdom that enriched his blood.
Yeats [partly for “enriched” — also, the stolen heart of Laurence Mentula O’Toole]
Sunday, May 13, 2012
BUT, when at last usurping Jove
Old Saturn from his Empire drove;
Then Gluttony with greasy Paws,
Her Napkin pinn’d up to her Jaws,
With watry Chaps, and wagging Chin,
Brac’d like a Drum her oily Skin;
Wedg’d in a spacious Elbow-Chair,
And on her Plate a treble Share,
As if she ne’er could have enuff;
Taught harmless Man to cram and stuff.
She sent her Priests in Wooden Shoes
From haughty Gaul to make Ragous.
Instead of wholsome Bread and Cheese,
To dress their Soupes and Fricassyes;
And, for our home-bred British Chear,
Botargo, Catsup, and Caveer.
Swift, “A Panegyrick on the Dean” (mostly about crapping; see here for more)