A WORD FROM IRELAND.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume V, Issue 217, 22 June 1877, Page 3

A WORD FROM IRELAND.

TO JOHN BOYLE o'BEILLY, FBOM JOHN P. JOHNSON, BOSNABEE, SLANJE, COUNTY MBATH, IBELAND. Deab exiled friend, though years have fled, And cherished hopes and friends be dead, Since classic Boyne last met your view, My heart hath still a home for you — Each meadow pathway, tangled glen, Recalls thy face to me, as when, In flush of youth and patriot hopes, We trod these velvet verdant slopes Beside the Boyne — whose course alone Since those bright days no change hath known. All else is changed, the home you loved — Each stone, each tree, and shrub removed — Hath left no mark, save where the sod A blot of verdure shows to God. Yes, dew-tears shed upon the scene. Still deepen there the pastures green. And witness where all else is fair. Against the wrong was wreaked there. Oh ! how my heart hath bled to see Upon the spot so dear to thee, The herds of strangers — on thy hearth Which once lit love and manly mirth— Their selfish fatness, stolid stare, Types of their English owner there. To-day the gifts of hearb and mind Once honoured in our Isle can find Nor home, nor friendship — these bereft, The grazier and the bullocks left. Oh ! well the orphaned flowers grown wild, Where once thy treasured garden smiled, In wantonness of grief may droop, And, bowed in lonely sorrow, stoop To kiss the earth which these profane — The only mourners that remain. Another mourner might have come A pilgrim to this well-loved tomb Of all her youthful joys and love, Had not th' All Merciful above Spared the kind mother heart that lies Glasnevin's shade beneath. These eyes Ne'er look on Dowtli but gathering tears The tribute pay of him who bears The story of tliy patriot part, Thy mother's love and broken heart. But — truce with grief — the shamrock still Is nursed by every vale and hill, And whispers hope, however drear Our Ireland's outlook may appear. Even standing by the fatal flood, Divides her sons (oh, cursed feud Of creed and race ! was sacred name E'er prostituted to such shame?) I hail the day when all shall join With lovo and 'trust to bridge the Boyne — For all around my eye can trace The footsteps of au ancient race ! With Tara's Hill and Slane in view, I cannot think the parvenu Worship of wealth will sully theft, Or mar thy boyish chivalry Ihe Paschal Fire that lit Slane Hill, In Ireland's heart is burning still ; What, tho' our flesh has folt the fire, The flame must still to heaven aspire, And shed as still it points above A ring of Christ's and Ireland's love ! The valour hid in Comma's grave,* Fires many a breast to-day as bra.ve — It nob at home beyond the wave — For sad the truth my pen must trace, Here's but the refuse of our race. But mother Ireland looks to all For answer to her succour-call ; And should it sound, not one I know Would answer with such patriot glow, Such love-born sacrifice, as ha Whose life has prove I his constancy.

* Kiiijj Oonnac'-. tfnue is o'ose to the Bridge of 110-iiiavee. pivt of the Battlefield of the Boyne. Indeed, .ill the places namedahove are situated on that ill-fated field.