I A dense fog rises from the broad bosom of the Ohio. It ensnares the river banks in its mysterious embrace, veils tree and rock with somber mist, and mocks the sun with angry frown. Within the House of Death is felt the chilling breath, and all is quiet and silent in the iron cages. Only an occasional knocking, as on metal, disturbs the stillness. I listen intently. Nearer and more audible seem the sounds, hesitating and apparently intentional. I am involuntarily reminded of the methods of communication practiced by Russian politicals, and I strive to detect some meaning in the tapping. It grows clearer as I approach the back wall of the cell, and instantly I am aware of a faint murmur in the privy. Is it fancy, or did I bear my name? "Halloa! " I call into the pipe. The knocking ceases abruptly. I hear a suppressed, hollow voice: "That you, Aleck?" "Yes. Who is it?" "Never min. You must be deaf not to hear me callin' you a...
A Voice of Ireland
Yes-tear down our homes! leave the hearthstone cold As the hearts of you who have laid it bare; And stone from stone let the walls be rolled, And our home be one with the outer air, Heap wrong on wrong! We have had to bear More wrongs than ever our tongues can tell; One right is left us-we still forbear, O England, to use it-the right to rebel! We have borne so much that a little more, You think, may be borne by us unrepaid? And our backs must bow as they bowed before, While on quivering flesh are the lashes laid? O England, are you never afraid Of us you have tortured so long and so well? Do you never doubt which the Fates would aid- Of us or you-if we rose to rebel? Do you ne... (From : AnarchyArchives.)