The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere

The statesmen of this day I deem a tribe
That dwarf-like strut, a pageant on a stage
Theirs but in pomp and outward equipage,
Ruled inly by the herd or hireling scribe.
They have this skill, the Power they dread to bribe:
This courage, war upon the weak to wage:
To turn from self a Nation's ignorant rage:
To unstaunch old wounds with edict or with jibe.
Ireland! The unwise one saw thee in the dust
Crowned with eclipse, and garmented with night,
And in his hear the said, ‘For her no day!’
But thou long since hadst placed in God thy trust,
And knew'st that in the under-world, all light,
Thy sun moved eastward. Watch! that East grows grey!

1851.

University of Virginia Library

III. IRELAND AND THE ‘ECCLESIASTICAL TITLES ACT.’