amháin | voiceless

A voiceless song sang from within, singing…

Say something. Make her hear. With look to look. Songs without words...

Sinn Fein amhain! The friends we love are by our side and the foes we hate before us... She swore to him as they mingled the salt streams of their tears that she would ever cherish his memory, that she would never forget her hero boy who went to his death with a song on his lips as if he were but going to a hurling match in Clonturk park...

and I tramping Dublin this while back with my share of songs and himself after me... My hell, and Ireland’s, is in this life. It is what I tried to obliterate my crime. Distractions, rookshooting, the Erse language (he recited some), laudanum (he raised the phial to his lips), camping out. In vain! His spectre stalks me. Dope is my only hope... Ah! Destruction! The black panther! With a cry he suddenly vanished and the panel slid back...

The dear dead days beyond recall. Love’s old sweet song...

James Joyce | Ulysses