Three Songs to the Same Tune

By W. B. YEATS

IN politics I have but one passion and one thought, rancour against all who, except under the most dire necessity, disturb public order, a conviction that public order cannot long persist without the rule of educated and able men. That order was everywhere their work, is still as much a part of their tradition as the Iliad or the Republic of Plato; their rule once gone, it lies an empty shell for the passing fool to kick in pieces. Some months ago that passion laid hold upon inc with the violence which unfits the poet for all politics but his own. While the mood lasted,' it seemed that our growing disorder, the fanati- cism that inflamed it like some old bullet imbedded in the flesh, was about to turn our noble history into an ignoble farce. For the first time in my life I wanted to write what some crowd in the street might understand and sing ; I asked my friends for a tune ; they recommended that old march, ".07Donnell Abu." I first got my chorus, " Down the fanatic, down the clown," then the rest of the first song... But I soon tired of its rhetorical vehemence, thOught that others would tire of. it finless I found Some gay playing upon its theme, some half- serious exaggeration and defence of its rancorous chorus, and therefore I made the second version. -Then I put into a simple song a commendation of the rukof the able and-the educated, man's old delight in submission ; I wrote round the line " The soldier takes pride in saluting his captain," thinking the while of a Gaelic poet's lament for his lost masters : "My fathers served their fathers before Christ was crucified." I read my songs to friends, they talked to others, those others talked, and now companies march to the words " Blueshirt Abu," and a song that is all about shamrocks and harps or seems all about them, because its words have the particular variation upon the cadence of " Yankee Doodle " Young Ireland reserved for that theme. I did not write that song i I could not if I tried. Here are my songs. Anybody may sing them, choosing

clown " and " fanatic " for himself, if they are singable— musicians say they are, but may flatter—and worth singing. FIRST SONG Justify all those renowned generations ; They left their bodies to fatten the wolves, They left their homesteads to shelter the foxes, Fled to far countries, or sheltered themselves In cavern, crevice or hole, Defending Ireland's soul.

Those fanatics all that we do would undo ; Down the fanatic, down the clown, Down, down, hammer them down, Down to the tune of O'Donnell Abu.

Justify all those renowned generations, Justify all that have sunk in their blood, Justify all that have died on the scaffold, Justify all that have fled or have stood, Or have marched the night long, Singing, singing a song.

Those fanatics, &c.

Fail, and that history turns into rubbish, All that great past to a trouble of fools ; Those that conic after shall mock O'Donnell, Mock at the memory of both O'Neills, Mock Emmet, mock Parnell, All the renown that fell.

Those fanatics, &c.

SECOND SONG Grandfather said in the great Rebellion Hear gentlemen, ladies and all mankind, Money is good and a girl might be better, But good strong blows are delights to the mind. Come march, singing this song, Swinging, swinging along.

Those fanatics, &c.

A girl I had, but she followed another ; Money I had and it went in the night ; Strong drink I had, and it brought me to sorrow ; But a good strong cause and the blows are delight. Come march, singing this song, Swinging, swinging along.

Those fanatics, &c.

Money is good, and a girl might be better No matter what happens or who takes the fall, But a good strong cause—the rope gave a jerk there.

He said no more for his throat was too small.

Come march, singing this song, Swinging, swinging along. , Those fanatics, &c.

, THIRD SONG Soldiers take pride in saluting their Captain, The devotee proffers a knee to his Lord, Some take delight in adoring a woman. What's equality ?—Muck in the yard Historic Nations grow From above to below.

Those fanatics, &c.

When Nations are empty up there at the top, When order has weakened or faction is strong, Time for us all boys, to hit on a tune boys, Take to the roads and go marching along ; Lift, every mother's son, Lift, lift, lift up the tune.

Those fanatics, &c.

Soldiers take pride in saluting their captain, Where are the captains that govern mankind ? What happens a tree that has nothing within it ? 0 marching wind, 0 a blast of the wind Marching, marching along.

Lift, lift, lift up the song.

Those fanatics all that we do would undo ; Down the fanatic, down the clown, Down, down, hammer them down, Down to the tune of O'Donnell Abu.