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Ireland.—What stranger turns for refuge to ray hall, Whose gate still opens wide to misery's call?—

James.—Thy James alas! in want and woe I come To seek the shelter of thy friendly home.

Ireland.—Woe! that the sanction of thy sacred name, Should come to deepen destitution's claim; When foes discomfited should trembling flee Before thy reeking blade!—but woe is me! Gazing upon his baffled brand, the Gael Curses the hordes that warp the eternal scale; And rend with ruffian hand the trembling string, That waked the heart to rapture's fervid spring; Or at the shrine its deep devotion poured. When Christ looked down where Christian priests adored.