Page:The Spirit of the Nation.djvu/20

8

Oh, God's earth is fair! and a glimpse you may catch, As you peer o'er the wall of some neighbouring park, Of lawn, grove, and paddock—but lift not a latch, Or be torn by the dogs at your footsteps that bark! Sweet valley and glade, beauteous lake, stream, and river, Bestud ev'ry turn in our evergreen isle; Ye have heard they are lovely, but glanced at them never, Save yoked like scorned beasts to unrecompensed toil!

Crawl on, ye vile slaves! not a sod is your own, Of the soil where your fathers coursed free as the airs; Not a bird dare ye shoot, where their footsteps have flown; Not a fish dare you draw from the streams that were theirs! With your sweat your land-tyrants their 'scutcheons adorn, And would coin your heart's blood, as your hearts they have riven! You have asked for free bread—they refuse it with scorn; If you starve at their will, you deserve it, by Heaven!

John Bull was a bodach, as rich as a Jew— As griping, as grinding, and conscienceless too; A wheedler, a shuffler, a rogue by wholesale, And a swindler moreover, says GRAINNE ṀAOL!

John Bull was a banker, pursy and fat, With gold in both pockets, and plenty of that; And he tempted his neighbours to sell their entail— 'Tis by scheming he prospers, says GRAINNE ṀAOL!