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19o THE GOLDEN TREASURY OF |
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Faint the lowing of kine o'er the seared yellow lawn !
And tuneless the warbler that droops on the spray !
The bright tenants that flashed through the current
are gone, For the princess we honoured is laid in the clay.
Darkly brooding alone o'er his bondage and shame, By the shore in mute agony wanders the Gael, —
And sad is my spirit, and clouded my-dream,
For my king, for the star, my devotion would hail.
What woe beyond this hath dark fortune to wreak ?
What wrath o'er the land yet remains to be hurled ? They turn them to Rome ! but despairing they shriek,
For Spain's flag in defeat and defection is furled.
Though our sorrows avail not, our hope is not lost —
For the Father is mighty ! the highest remains 1 The loosed waters rushed down upon Pharaoh's wide host, But the billows crouch back from the foot He sustains.
Just Power 1 that for Moses the wave did'st divide, Look down on the land where thy followers pine;
Look down upon Erin, and crush the dark pride Of the scourge of thy people, the foes of thy shrine. |
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