Remember all those renowned generations,

They left their bodies to fatten the wolves,

They left their homesteads to fatten the foxes,

Fled to far countries, or sheltered themselves

In cavern, crevice, or hole,

Defending Ireland’s soul.

Be still, be still, what can be said?

My father sang that song,

But time amends old wrong,

All that is finished, let it fade.

Remember all those renowned generations,

Remember all that have sunk in their blood,

Remember all that have died on the scaffold,

Remember all that have fled, that have stood,

Stood, took death like a tune

On an old tambourine.

Be still, be still, what can be said?

My father sang that song,

But time amends old wrong,

All that is finished, let it fade.

Fail, and that history turns into rubbish,

All that great past to a trouble of fools;

Those that come after shall mock at O’Donnell,

mock at the memory of both O’Neills,

Mock Emmet, mock Parnell,

All the renown that fell.

Be still, be still, what can be said?

My father sang that song,

But time amends old wrong,

All that is finished, let it fade.

—William Butler Yeats

from “Three Marching Songs”

1939