Now all at once a magic seem’d to creep into me bones—
Me whisky-mellow’d Oirish voice burst forth in Prussian tones!
Oi felt a sthrange sinsation, and in fancy seem’d to see
Instad of dear ould Shannon’s banks, the gently rippling Spree—
No, not the Spree ye think Oi mane, but that which softly flows
Through glorious Deutschland’s grassy leas, where warr an’ kultur grows.
Ochone! Ochone! Where am Oi now? What conflict am Oi in?
Do Oi belong in Dublin town or back in Ould Berlin?
A week ago me son was borrn; his christ’nin’s not far off;
Oi wonther will I call him Mike, or Friedrich Wilhelm Hoff?
’Tis hard indade fer one loike me to know jist where he’s at;
Oi wonder if me name is Hans or if it shtill is Pat?
DESCRIPTION: In his poem “Ye Ballade of Patrick von Flynn,” Lovecraft mocks Irish-Americans who, with Ireland’s interests in mind, supported Germany rather than England in World War I.
CITATION: Lovecraft, H. P. “Ye Ballade of Patrick von Flynn.” The Ancient Track: The Complete Poetical Works of H. P. Lovecraft. Edited by S. T. Joshi, Hippocampus Press, 2013, pp. 215-7.