The Wrongs of Ireland, historically reviewed from the Invasion to the present time; a national poem, with copious illustrations, to which is prefixed, an Eulogium to Ogygia

Front matter

THE WRONGS OF IRELAND StaoriniUg aubittoeto, FROM THE INVASION TO THE PRESENT TIME, A NATIONAL POEM, IN SIX CANTOS, WITH COPIOUS ILLUSTRATIONS; TO WHICH IS PREFIXED, AN EULOGIUM TO OGYGIA. By JAMES SYLVIUS LAW, Esq. I sing of wrongs— and crimes unprecedented, Unparalleled in guilt — by Heaven lamented, Which to my Country's hapless lot befel, Too great in magnitude for Muse to tell, Through ages sabled with their dark misdeeds, And stamped with infamy, that far exceeds The crimsoned registers of other nations, Of Earth's dread scourges, bronzed with execrations, Since feet unhallowed pressed sad Erin's shore, In Saxon mail, to swell her streams with gore — Oppress her sons — and bind, in penal chains, The blue-wing'd Goddess of her hills and plains : Celestial Freedom, who has pined, in tears, Beneath the bondage of six hundred years !

A NON Dai) (tu : PUBLISHED BY R. GRACE, 3, MARY's-ST. ; AND SOLD BY THE PRINCIPAL BOOKSELLERS THROUGHOUT THE EMPIRE. 1831. T. Coubtnev, Printer, 18, Whitesriar-street, Dublin. DEDICATION. TO THE MAGNANIMOUS SONS OF IRISH INDEPENDENCE, WHO, WITH UNCOMPROMISING PATRIOTISM, HAVE UNITED THEIR ENERGIES FOR A REPEAL OF THE UNION; AND TO THE PHILANTHROPIC ADVOCATES OF CIVIL AND RELIGIOUS LIBERTY, WITH E7ERY ZEALOUS SUPPORTER OF SENATORIAL REFORM Cijis Rational fflotm, AS A TRIBUTE OF ESTEEM TO THEIR PUBLIC VIRTUES, IN BEFRIENDING HUMAN RIGHTS, IS RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED, BY THE AUTHOR. TO THE READER. On a general inspection of the following Work, some errors of the Press appear, which have unavoidably escaped the Au thor's observation during the progress of the Work, and for ■which he begs leave to apologise.

But inasmuch as he consi ders the formal correction of errors, when prefixed or appended to a book, rather as a blemish than an advantage, he hopes the indulgent reader will excuse the punctilious notification of such literal defects. With respect to the volume now presented to the Public, he begs leave to state, that he has studiously endeavoured to com prise, within the following sheets, as much matter as would swell out three volumes of a similar size, according to the modern style of the London Press. But, as heavy and expen sive works, however national in character, are, at present, unsuited to civil exigence and the too general depression of trade, he has preferred a condensed, to an amplified form, to meet, what he conceives, the wishes of his liberal patrons, bv furnishing them with a publication at a moderate rate, though pregnant, at least, with amass of materials, if not of interesting historical commentaries.

Canto. I

Sad, slow, and solemn, let my numbers flow In reverend pomp, comporting with my theme; For I must sing of wrongs and sovereign woe, That long has brooded o'er the Muse's dream : Let sadness like a melancholy stream, [verse, Breathe plaintive murmurs through my mournful While 1 enlarge on Erin's griefs supreme, And my ill-fated Nation's ills rehearse: Ah me ! I enter on my task with pain, For sorrows deep, engross my plaintive strain ! II. With trembling hand of caution, 1 aspire To advocate my country, and lo sweep With pity's minstrelsy her pensive Lyre, WhileFeeling's current, through my heart runs deep : My nation's wrongs, that haunt the hours of sleep, And frightful images, by day, present, My troubled soul in wakeful tortures keep, That make the sympathies <.f life lament. My mother Isle, with all her thousand woes, Robs peace of rest, and murders my repose.

III. With retrospective vision, I review Her former glory, when she was a Queen, O'er-canopied with skies of azure blue, With zoning seas of sparkling waters green ; I sigh to think how mighty she had been Before her unanticipated fa.ll — Ere foreign foes upon her fields were seen, Or rapine revelled in her Regal Hall ; But wo is me ! unconsciously she fell, Without a crime — as Pity's Muse shall tell Long-during bondage has her spirit broke — For ages past her children have been slaves : Submissively, they groan beneath the yoke Of Britain's proud Osiris — King of waves ! Our lovely Isle has been a Land of Graves — A theatre of carnage, blood, and spoil, The gulf of avarice deep, that yawns and craves The fat, the wealth, and produce of the soil, Nor feels satiety with these alone, But sucks our country's marrow from the bone.

V. God of the wronged ! Thou just one, slow to wrath ! The cycle of our bondage, most severe, Is known to thee, since misery crossed the path Of our prosperity — and wafted here Her pestilence and plagues, from year to year, To curse our Island with infernal pests And foreign evils, that have wrung the tear From our regrets — and sighs from many breasts : O God of Retribution ! come and see, Plow Erin suffers for her faith to thee ! VI. Come, Father of the injured, and behold Her tribulation — and thy succours lend To wearied patience, tried like melted gold, To prove the worth of virtue. Thou the Friend Of Innocence abused, in mercy send, To us thy children, timely, heavenly aid Against injustice, to whose will we bend, That drains our wealth — and would our lives invade; And help us, Father, in the dang'rous hour !

Oh ! break our chains, and crush the tyrant'spower ! Harp of the West ! awake, the Minstrel calls — (1) Too long thy soul hath slumbered in the halls Of desolation, where unswept— unstrung- Deep, mournful silence sealed thy silver tongue, Till ages rolled away on leaden wing, Dark as a polar night, uncheered by spring. Thou lyre, of many voices, that hast slept, So longuntuneful, while thy country wept, Awake ! if music lives among thy wires, For Sorrow's Muse, thy votive Bard, inspires To touch thy chords of melancholy tone That best can chime to sad Ierne's moan. Spirit of love, and war, and woful songs ! Be ours the theme of injured Erin's wrongs, Since first, by Saxon perfidy, betrayed, She sat a mourner in the lonely shade Of Woe's sad Cypress, in desponding mood, The symbol of distressful widowhood.

If griefs perennial have not damped too much Thy hallowed strings with life-benumbing touch If ruthless persecution, practised long, With ceaseless rigour, on thy wires of song, Has left the inspiring principle behind To move the tender sympathies of mind, Such as thy plaintive melody could yield In former days, when from the well-fought field, The Laurelled Chief indulged in softer charms, Infused by beauty, than the clang of arms, As peace, with all its magic influence stole, Divinely, on his music-chastened soul. Harp of the West! if still in thee remains The spelful spirit of thy former strains, That breathed the pathos of celestial things, And Heaven's intelligence through breasts of Kings, Moving the passions with persuasive sway, Unfolding, to ideal worlds, the way, Through all th' unbounded realms of sentient thought, With all the powers of life and action fraught ; Associate with the Sylvian Muse thy tones, While ghost-like Memoryutterssighs and moans ; And we, in concert, plaintively will tell, How Erin suffered, and how Erin fell ; With all th' accumulated, varied woes That banished peace, and martyred her repose, During her long, dark, shadowy, starless night, Uncheeredby Hope's illusive, mental light, Or aught that comforts patience, to bestow, One gleam of gladness, on her sombre woe.

Creative Wisdom, when this ample Globe Received existence, clad in verdant robe, Our lovely Isle, with richest treasures graced, Rising in beauty from the watery waste : Amid the green-waved main she proudly stood, Fair as the fabled daughter of the flood, Sweet-smiling to the skies that gild the West The first of Europe's Isles, supremely blest ; Thecliine of Health-. of zephyr-loving flowers — Of beauty, vernal sweetness, suns, and showers, Green velvet vales, and woody, tow'ring Slieves Whence many a fertilizing stream receives Its crystal source, to irrigate a land, Like Eve, made perfect, by her maker's hand, And. haply gifted, all earth's Isles above With marks of favour from Eternal Love. The native Muse defines her, as the sphere Of blooming Spring throughout the rolling year, Enriched with plenty, wealthy in her stores Of mineral treasures, and metallic ores : With ample Bays, broad lakes, and noble ports, To which the Commerce of the earth resorts, To flap, with pleasure, in the Western breeze, Her swan-w hite sails, secure from stormy seas.

Her scenes Autumnal, greet the eye of morn, With yellow fields of richly-waving corn, That, with their graceful garniture, unfold The heaving bosom of a sea of gold. Her undulating hills, with forests crowned, Shed sylvan grandeur on the vales around, And view their leafy honors, where below In mirror-streams, they downward, bending grow, By bright reflection, towards th' inverted skies, That far beneath attract th' observer's eyes, When heaven, and heaven's reflected dome appear Above, below, around, one glorious sphere ! Far o'er this blessed land the foot may stray, Undreading serpents lurking in its way ; No poisonous reptile basks amid her bowers, With pestilential breath to taint her flowers, That like her blushing daughters, chaste and fair, With odorous exhalations scent the air, That fans her garden-landscapes, and improves The mild, green verdure of her graceful groves.

Ah ! who with unadmiring, heedless sight, Has ever viewed this land of soft delight? Or who that ever looked upon her yet, Could leave her verdant shores without regret? In Geographical position, placed Apart from Rapine, in the watery waste : From foreign envy screened by shielding seas — By war unspoiled — in opulence and ease— This beauteous Island, physically blest, Man's paradise of Nature in the West, For ages shone, with all her emerald charms, The seat of learning, and the nurse of arms: Saw prosperous virtues thriving in her soil — Abundance smiling on industrious toil — Health greeting Peace— and Love saluting Joy, Where pleasures reigned, unblended with th' alloy Of hope's incertitude, or cares that shade The sunshine of the soul, when fears invade The realms of mind, to raise discordant strife, Among the powers of intellectual life.

Throned on her mossy hills, she sat sublime, Surveying placidly her pleasant clime, That lay encompassed, with its Ocean-zone, Beneath her eye, all Freedom's, and her own. Such was the Isle whence honour had its birth, Where social friendship brightened every hearth, And glowed in every breast, enlarging wide The hospitable heart of generous pride, Whose active virtues sympathised and felt For human woe, with pity prone to melt; Like virgin snow, before the warming sun, When first he shines earth's morning scenes upon, Succeeding terrors of a stormy night When Winters, bloomless wastes are cold and white Exalted in her greatness, and endowed With attributes to make her spirit proud : Possessed of power's vast elements — a Queen, She spread her vestment of Imperial Green, To Liberty, and Day's effulgent God, In gorgeous, regal majesty abroad, Tuning her wild harp to harmonious lays, The songs of glory, and the hymns of praise; A happy land, with children great and free, Th' unrivalled Empress of the Western Sea, Brightening with Genius, peacefully she reigned With independence— and had long maintained Internal quiet — if her sacred ground, Her fame, and glory, had not shed around A native, sun-bright radiance, to illume The envious land that sealed her direful doom.

First Avarice led the bloody.handed Dane, Impelled by hardihood and thirst of gain, To darken round her shores, like wintry storms, When elemental war, in cloudy forms (26) J IBKLAND, Lowers on the fading landscape, where complain Pale visaged Autumn and her languid train, As sad creation, and the mournful skies, With mutual sufferings seem to sympathise. Roused from their Island dens, for spoil and prey, Through paths of blood, to mark their savage way, With Tigrine fury — breathing fire and flame, The predatory sons of LoUghlin came, In evil hour, to meet her Lion hosts, In frightful conflict on our peaceful coasts, Whereon Invasion had not once imprest A hostile foot, since to her climate blest, The sons of Golamh sought her sacred ground With letters, science, laws, and fame renowned ; With school philosophy to gild their train, From southern fields— from once ennobled Spain.

To Scandinavia woful was the cost, Sustaining struggles which she bravely lost, Against a fearless, independent race Whose courage never shrunk from foeman's face. Too delicate of honour— and of life— Too prodigal, to shun, or shrink from strife, They met th' invaders, as the torrent meets The brushwood in its course— and mighty feats Of death and doughty valour were achieved; Yet still with succours strengthened and relieved, Th' hostile foe, maintained, by force of arms, A dangerous post midst restless war's alarms; Till native prowess triumphed in its might, And Loughlin's sons torsook the field of fight, When opposition could but ill withstand, The conquering spirit of our steel-girt land. The Danes subdued— intestine peace restored, By patriot heroism's vengeful sword ; A more insidious, yet less dreadful foe- Assailed our shores, to Erin's lasting woe.

Oh ! fatal day ! when Slrigul's gloomy chief First stained with native blood the Shamrock's leaf, And planted in our soil the seeds of strife That rankly throve, embittering human life With poisonous fruit, whose fell, malignant bane Effused its deadly juice through every vein Of Civil Liberty, and lastly brought A wild paralysis of sense, that wrought Destructive consequences to our slate From year to year, too painful to relate. dF IRELAND. From one immoral, soul-polluting cause, The philosophic Muse of History draws The sad effects of one, inglorious deed, To rouse a nation, made our country bleed, For centuries dark, from every streaming pore, And drenched our lovely Isle with human gore. Ill-fated hour ! when Dervorgalla fled With Leinster's Monarch from her husband's bed,(2) To spread of civil war, the wasting flame O'er all the kingdoms of our Isle of fame.

Traitor of traitors ! Wretch by heaven accurs'd ! Mac Murchad ! Matricide ! of foes the worst ! Thou crime-stained Monster ! can thy ashes rest In peaceful grave, upon thy country's breast? That generous breast perfidiously betrayed, When crouching low, thou eourtedst foreign aid Against thy brethren, who, to punish vice, By force compelled thee to affix a price, For proffered services, on child and nation. When bartering Freedom for thy vindication. How came Fitzstephen, with his train of Knights, Fitzgerald, Prendergast, to steal our rights ; How Strongbow sought, by base Mac Murchad's side, The villain-father of his plighted Bride ; Or how was duped O'Conor's royal mind; What frauds were practised, faithless treaties signed, 'Tis bootless for the Muse to sing, or tell Since Memory knows the painful facts too well.

Say, was it conquest ? No, it was deceit, Guile, artifice and baseness, all-complete, That triumphed o'er a nation much too brave, And credulous, to scan the mail-clad knave, That wore Hypocrisy's obscuring veil, To mask the man, behind the coat of mail. Next came, in all the pageantry of pride, The great Arch-Hypocrite, across the tide, With gorgeous, regal train of knights and squires, To win submission from our thoughtless sires, When saintly blood was ready to awake Avenging British ire for Becket's sake. So sought our Island's shores in modern times, A sceptred visitant mature in crimes ; An equal hypocrite, with specious guile, To prove th' allegiance of this loyal Isle, When flying from a people's execration, For deeds of perfidy and reprobation, That stamped a character upon the man Who stood the first in persecution's van, With heartless infidelity, to wound A virtuous consort, good and blameless found, Noble in soul, and generous as the sun, Yea, excellent in worth to all, save one Whose jaundiced, moral vision ill could see A woman's virtues in their majesty.

Oh! persecuted Princess ! injured Queen ! Gone down to dust, to slumber there serene, The emblem of my martyred land thou art, Wounded in pride, till suffering broke thy heart: Left like a royal wreck, by tempests tost, On Desolation's shores, when all was lost Which once, in life, possessed the powers to bind, To temporal hopes, thy heaven-exalted mind. Thy cares have ceased, thy woes have gone to rest, Stilled is the troubling tumult in thy breast; Yet live, and ever will, thy wrongs, thy name, A light, a landmark on the heights of fame, To guide the bark of history, calm and smooth. Through shoals of error to the port of truth ; And future ages, to thy woes severe Will oft concede a sympathising tear, When they who persecuted thee, may only claim For execrable deeds, ignoble fame ! Th' ambitious Autocrat, Plantagenet, With double-dealing tongue, our chieftains met, And, with his specious, plausible deceit, Cajoled our princes, prostrate at bis feet ; Imposed upon hierarchial sages' sense.

With Bull libellious, craft and sly pretence, Till dupes involuntary, learned too late, Their own misconduct from their country's fate. In that accursed hour were forged the chains That bound our land to penalties and pains, And linked to Slavery's yoke, by slow degrees, The fairest, noblest island of the seas. Why were our sires so easily enslaved ? Of rights and liberty, so soon bereaved T" Were not our fathers, lions in tbe fight, } With hearts of strength thatnerved the arm of might >- To wield the deathful spear and lance of light ? .> (29) E Then did their courage sail, that never shrunk Before in battle, till, by steel, it sunk? What cause unnerved our heroes in their strength, So dreaded by the Danes, that they, at length, Before a weaker, treacherous arm should bow, To plight allegiant faith, and civil vow, To vile transgressors— and, in tameness, crave The servile boon — the privilege of a slave ? 'Twas not their military pride that bent, So much as meek Religion, innocent And inoffensive, that, to papal will, Bowed the submissive neck, that's bepded still.

To legatine authority, when Rome Directs in spirituals, that won't presume To touch at temporalities — or things Exclusively the right of regnant kings. 'Twas Adrian's Bull, insidiously obtained From papal ignorance, that bound and chained Our fathers' freedom to religious zeal, Which blindly sacrificed (but not to steel) This fertile land, to duty, deemed divine, To Erin's grief— to all her sons, and mine ! Long pent within a pale, th' adventurous few, Who kept the Norman-Saxon good in view, Dwelt insecurely on their petty state — On all sides Ocean — or impending fate ; Their habitation fixed on stormy shores — Peace unenjoyed — the soemen at their doors ! Their lot unenviable, thus to bear Precarious life in doubtfulness and care. In this toparchial province of our land, The Saxon Satrap held his sole command, From age to age of ceaseless civil strife, Of varied fortune — and discordant life, Whose rubric calendar of bloody crimes, Records the chronic annals of the times When barbarous policy, in mischief prided, That loved, in hate, to see mankind divided ' Still, virtually unconquered Erin, held Her regal power — and force by force repelled, Whenever predatory thirst of gain Allured the Saxon from his fenced domain.

Too strong to yield to inroads, or admit The foe's encroachments o'er the limits set. The Irish held dominion, and enjoyed Their Brehon laws — yet oftentimes employed The hostile weapons of their feudal spirit, Their fellow-countrymen, to disinherit, Unheeding, and undreading foreign foes That couchant lay their peace to discompose. Presumptuous Ignorance! that would pretend, Or boastingly assert, for sordid end, That Ireland, as a nation, sunk subdued, A British Province ! — till with guile embued, The Scottish mongrel-blooded James the First, With prejudice replete — a pedant nursed, United Britain's rival thrones, and threw His Pictish shade, my country ! over you. Conscious, at least, of partial, high descent From Erin's kings, he claimed in Parliament, Illustrious birth-right from our royal race ; Loud boasted of the lineage he could trace To Golamh's sons — a fair and lucid line As glory ever traced with light divine !

Was pride the prompter of his boastful theme ? Or did his egotism only stream From sly duplicity, but to deceive The land, still overready to believe In false appearances, when native pride Is with its fond credulity allied? Confiding in an artful flatterer's words, To us more fatal found than flaming swords, Our country yielded to Britannic sway — To Stuart's power — and Freedom mourns the day That saw her brave Ultonian patriots yield To dubious faith — and quit th' unconquered field. Ulster ! the last defender of the throne, The Bardic sphere of haughty-soul'd Tirowen, (4) That ceaseless scourge of Anglo-Saxon power, The Bulwark of the North— the Fortress-tower Of Independence, by the fearless guarded, (5) Alas ! how basely hast thou been rewarded, For trusting overmuch to Pictish faith That spoiled thee of thy all, save Glory's wreath, Which patriotic valour had derived From Fame — of which thou couldst not be deprived Ill-fated country ! wronged and injured more, Perhaps, than Nation ever was before, Or since the day when English domination, Commenced, deceitfully, thy subjugation.

The blackest chain of aggravated crimes That ever linked a land to fatal times ; The foulest deeds that history can record, Impressed with infamy, by heaven abhorred : The worst transgressions ever practised yet By cruel man — without remorse — regret — Or fellow-feeling, 'twas thy doom to see, - And feel, sad Erin! through man's harsh decree ! 'Twas not enough to grasp thy fair domains, With all thy wealth — and load thy sons with chains ; 'Twas insufficient for uncurbed desire, To see thy record-rolls in flames expire, That so a jealous Island, without fame, Might blast th' immortal honours of thy name; To satiate lawless passions, cruel, base, 'Twas not enough of vengeance — to erase The monumental features of a Land Renowned for greatness— ere th' unlettered band Of savage Britons had emerged to light, From native Barbarism's mental night.

No! these could not suffice the envious hate Of all the monstrous ministers of fate, Whose iron-hearted tyranny destroyed The all of Freedom which our sires enjoyed : With more than Gothic fury walked abroad These Island Vandals— sordid sons of fraud, Marking their impious blood-encrimsoned path With rapine, malice, death, insatiate wrath; And what, in Europe, Vandal, Goth, and Hun, In merciless destruction, left undone, Was here accomplished, by our fame deflowered, When dragon flames unsparingly devoured Antiquity's colossal, reverend Pile — Th' Historic Column of our learned Isle. Destruction yielded fell, demoniac joy To those who sought our honours to destroy, By every means that evil could suggest Within th' imbruted monster's, vicious breast. The fiend of devastation, wing'd with strife, Here ruled, Hell's Regent, o'er the powers of life, For ages of eventful, crimeful years, O'er which remembrance wept her bloody tears.

This hungry demon, vulturine, for prey— For blood, still thirsty, held infernal sway O'er human victims, and like vampire crept, By stealth, on innocency, while it slept, To sap the vital fountain to its source, Without compunctious feelings or remorse ; And though a thousand life-streams flowed to slake This craving, fire-fiend of the burning lake; Yet still, for centuries, this imp remained, Unsated in desire, though blood was drained Profusely, and, at will, from many a pore, Till cruelly itself could crave no more! Unhappy land ! to lasting miseries fated ! What monstrous evils have been generated In man's degenerate mind upon thy breast, To wake thy sorrows and disturb thy rest, Since first a hostile, Saxon foot defiled Thy generous soil, when honour was beguiled ! Black is the chain of crimes thou hast to count— Of invoiced miseries, long and large th' amount: Faith, duped by perfidy — and Truth deceived— Virtue contemned — and Falsehood most believed— Bravery insulted— Greatness vilified, By slanderous tongues that infamoush lied Against a nation's creditable name Whose noble sons were brilliant lights of fame.

My country ! great in qualities divine, Thy moral skies with luminaries shine, And hitherto have shone with radiance clear, Bright'niog Antiquity's dark Hemisphere. How hast thou been traduced ! fair Isle of saints ! And made the parent-fountain of complaints, By underlings of power, who stigmatised The cittributes they wanted, and despised : Treated that majesty they could not brook, With insolence of speech and scornful look, That spoke the dastard spirit, low and mean, Inflamed with envious jealousy and spleen Against a Land of heroes whose renown Had worn, in times remote, the civic crown Os western literature, when shadowy night, In Gothic darkness, veiled the world of light, And, o'er th' horizon of sad Europe, spread Her raven-robe — as frighted genius fled From Vandal barbarism's gloomy sphere, To our Fiath-Innis, and the Muses here.

What earth-born manners could not emulate, Met here the vengeance of vindictive hate : Malignant envy always most abhors Those qualities which virtue most adores ; And narrow-minded ignorance can prize Nought that is great, unviewed with jaundiced eyes: Th' illiterate may not learn, by reach of thought, What eagle-eyed philosophy has taught, Or science fathomed, by intelligence, Deep in the mine of human excellence. 'Twas thus with our traducers — young in knowledge, The camp their school — thefieldof Mars their college, They hated Ireland and her polished sons, As Greece and Rome had been by savage Huns, And all that rude, uncultivated hive, Which waning majesty allowed to thrive, When luxury debased — and wealth unnerved That spirit which erewhile had never swerved, But led to conquest and the victor's prize, Th' intrepid brave, and Valour's best allies.

Rapine their study — vice and fraud their tutors — Their practice cruelty — our persecutors Maligned our nation, and, with specious lies, Essayed her civil honours to disguise, By every means which baseness could suggest, And all the arts iniquity possessed : By fire and faggot-— falsehood and revilers — Calumnious historians---sly compilers Whom sordid selfishness, with language smooth, Inspired with hostile enmity to truth. Never before had day's effulgent sun Beheld a Land, by man, so much undone, Since first, with Godlike, world-surveving eye, He looked on nature from the ethereal sky, As thou, my country ! cruelly hast been Beyond what fame records— or eye hath seen Fox fifty-nine*, and sulls/a* hundred years Os penal torture---tyranny---and tears— WTrongs — persecutions— murders — confiscations — Rapacious wars — exactions — profanations — Assassin deeds — with factions and divisions Toparchial rivalship — unjust excessions — Chains — dungeons — exile — multifarious cares, And nameless evils, left to Slavery's heirs.

Yet why attempt t' enumerate all the ills That lowered like storm-clouds round our native hills With horrors, shadowing dark, their verdant hues, Midst scenes best suited to the tragic Muse. Compared to Irishmen, enslaved, degraded By English foes, who treacherously invaded Our peaceful shores, the Helots, in degree, Were less in thraldom, happier, and more free In Pelop's land, beneath the Spartan yoke, Even with their humbled pride, and spirit broke. Less persecuted were the Carih slaves, In western Isles, beyond th' Atlantic waves, By Spanish tyranny, when blood-hounds chased The blameless Indians through their island— waste, Where Man's rapacity and thirst for gold Imbruted Christains, and made cowards bold. Nor were the peaceful children of the sun, When wolves Iberian rushed their fields upon, With greater cruelty, or madder zeal Obliged to suffer, than our sires to feel The harsh inflictions of a tyrant's rod — Th' abuse of power — the insolence of fraud.

We've had Pizarros, yea ! and doubly cruel ! As crafty Cortezes, in long renewal : We've had our Montezumas — oft betrayed — Our Guatimozins, dying undismayed ; With Atabalipas, who felt the ire Of despotism's steel, if not its fire. Painful the task, my Muse, to damp the strings Of Erin's native Lyre, with crimes of Kings, Or royal Minions, clothed with consequence, To trample on the rights of Innocence, From Geoffry's Race through all the regal line To Guelph the Fourth— that now, in life's decline * The date is here altered, from 7 to 9 to suit the present tim? from the year 1828 when this part of the poem was written. The sceptic sways(7)— not one, of all the host, Has wafted peace or friendship to our coast; Nor has there passed one uneventful reign— Nnr unproductive of distress and pain, To this hope-sickened Isle, whose self-denial And patience, long have been afflictive trial, Bonds— punishment— and humbling degradation, With stern disdain and stoic resignation.

A time there was of most severe correction, When mere Hibernians met with no protection :(8) To them, the loss of life, was life to others, And sonsslew sires, and brethren butchered brothers(9) Through instigating causes-— always traced To those, commissioned to " divide and waste." History records, what truth, in pain, hath spoken, That treaties here were held, but to be broken ; Nor this a grievance singly to be stated, When those who parleyed, commonly were fated To fall beneath th' Assassin's reeking knife, When Irish Chiefs, through honour, martyred life.(lO) Peace to the Manes of those victims brave, They rest, with all their laurels in the grave, While, marked with infamy's disfiguring brand, Have sunk the murderous satraps of the land ; Doomed, like Erostratus to damning fame(ll) That fixes endless odium on their name.

Thy unforgiven crime, my Country dear. That cause of secret sighs, and many a tear, Was not thy mild submission to thy fate, But that thou wast magnanimous, and great- Polished in manners— skilled in arts and letters, And rich in saint and sage, when pagan fetters Chained down the barbarous spirit of that nation, Which, first from thee, received illumination !(1 2) Priority of greatness, to a land Whose vast ambition would the world command, Suggested first the Tyrannous design Of striking at the root of glory's line, By fiery Ordeals, that, in time, consumed The names of saints and heroes, long inhumed In venerated graves, with every trace Of honour registered of Erin's race ; That so, in Saracenic flames, might perish All, thy nobility, so loved to cherish,(13) Thereby indulging fiendish expectation To break the spirit of th' Ogygian Nation, (36) BJ& That rivalled all the learned world beside, In literary worth, and virtuous pride.