Chapter CLXXXI: National Presage

Unhappy Erin, what a lot was thine!
Half-conquer’d by a greedy robber band;
Ill govern’d now with lax, now ruthless hand;
Mislead by zealots, wresting laws divine
To sanction every dark or mad design;
Lured by false lights of pseudo-patriot league
Through crooked paths of faction and intrigue;
And drugg’d with selfish flattery’s poison’d wine.
Yet, reading all thy mournful history,
Thy children, with a mystic faith sublime,
Turn to the future, confident that Fate,
Become at last thy friend, reserves for thee,
To be thy portion in the coming time,
They know not what--but surely something great.

_John Kells Ingram._

SIGERSON