ENGLAND AND IRELAND.
I.
"DARE, haggard Spectres, lurking to betray
The innocent to death, to murder trust, To gloat o'er ancient grandeur in the dust, Who from your native Hell bath ope'd your way ?"
" Dost thou remember, in her darkest day The Land of Sorrow from her bosom thrust Her dying sons, since England, named the just, Such justice shewed, that on the hills there lay Gaunt corpses : they were happy,—did not see The improvements ;' land improved with tears of blood, Our sacred homes (your eye-sores, built of mud) Roofless and smouldering ; but we saw, and we Remember now, and o'er the wide, dark sea Return, just England,—thus return to thee !"
H.
But oh, thou Land of Sorrow, deeply wronged, Wrong not thyself ! What ! Murder's livery wear, And common human loyalty forswear, Broadcasting death among the life that thronged Trustingly forth F For justice thou hast longed, And now, oh, now ! thy heart's desire is near, Wilt thou with murderer's bloody hands appear, Repeating sins that to the past belonged, To claim that justice thou hast cast away ?
Oh, sons of Ireland, hear me !—hear the cry For mercy on our land whose dawn is nigh, But murderers, liars, cowards stop the way. England, repentant, strives to right the wrong, But Ireland wrongs her right. Lord God, how long ?
L. KNOX.
Previous page
