Page:The Spirit of the Nation.djvu/79

Rh IX.

There's woe in Bearra,

There's woe in Glengarragh,

And from Bantry unto Dunkerron,

All Desmond hears their grief,

And wails alone their chief—

"Is it thus, is it thus that you return, you return—

Is it thus, is it thus that you return?"

I.

When tyranny's pampered and purple-clad minions

Drive forth the lone widow and orphan to die,

Shall no angel of vengeance unfurl his red pinions,

And, grasping sharp thunderbolts, rush from on high?

II.

"Pity! oh, pity!—A little while spare me,

My baby is sick—I am feeble and poor;

In the cold winter blast, from the hut if you tear me,

My lord, we must die on the desolate moor!"

III.

'Tis vain—for the despot replies but with laughter,

While rudely his serfs thrust her forth on the wold;

Her cabin is blazing, from threshold to rafter,

And she crawls o'er the mountain, sick, weeping, and cold.

IV.

Her thinly-clad child on the stormy hill shivers—

The thunders are pealing dread anthems around—

Loud roar in their anger the tempest-lash'd rivers—

And the loosen'd rocks down with the wild torrent bound.