IRELAND IN 1778.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume V, Issue 259, 19 April 1878, Page 9

IRELAND IN 1778.

B V JO H X LOC XE.

We take the following from a poem written in celebration of the Emmet Centenary for the ' Boston Pilot.' Beside the cold, wMte. moaning sea, Beat by the west wind's dampsome pinions, — A queen, devoid of wreath and crown, A stranger in her own dominions, Stood Ireland, gazing wistfully Beyond the fabled western islands, As if her eyes had caught some gleam From Bunker's Hill or Hudson's Highlands. | The sable raiment of the night, — A night of centuried prolongation, Hung pall-like o'er her, muffling more Her languid bosom's faint pulsation. Her fair white limbs had feeble grown With slavery's cordage 'round them twisted : The heedless world had nigh forgot . . ', That such a land at all existed 1 'Twas only when some dazzling mind Like Burkc's shot forth auroral lustre, v ',[,. Or when some crescent sword like Clare's, : Won France the victor's laurel cluster, That men remembered still there stood An island 'mid the vast Atlantic, Whose ancient glory far surpassed The splendours claimed for realms romantic. But oh ! What clouds of change had come ! Her ancient lords now upstarts' vassals, The stray winds roaming thro' her fanes, The night-birds hooting round her castles : The bravest of her sons exiled, Her soul's supremest yearnings baffled, Her tonsured slain, and O, dread Lord, Thy altar-tables made the scaffold!