The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore Collected by Himself. In Ten Volumes |
 | I, II. |
 | III, IV. |
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| V. |
| VI, VII. |
| VIII, IX. |
| X. |
 | The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore |  |
148
PADDY'S METAMORPHOSIS.
1833.
About fifty years since, in the days of our daddies,
That plan was commenced which the wise now applaud,
Of shipping off Ireland's most turbulent Paddies,
As good raw material for settlers, abroad.
That plan was commenced which the wise now applaud,
Of shipping off Ireland's most turbulent Paddies,
As good raw material for settlers, abroad.
Some West-India island, whose name I forget,
Was the region then chos'n for this scheme so romantic;
And such the success the first colony met,
That a second, soon after, set sail o'er th' Atlantic.
Was the region then chos'n for this scheme so romantic;
And such the success the first colony met,
That a second, soon after, set sail o'er th' Atlantic.
149
Behold them now safe at the long-look'd for shore,
Sailing in between banks that the Shannon might greet,
And thinking of friends whom, but two years before,
They had sorrow'd to lose, but would soon again meet.
Sailing in between banks that the Shannon might greet,
And thinking of friends whom, but two years before,
They had sorrow'd to lose, but would soon again meet.
And, hark! from the shore a glad welcome there came—
“Arrah, Paddy from Cork, is it you, my sweet boy?”
While Pat stood astounded, to hear his own name
Thus hail'd by black devils, who caper'd for joy!
“Arrah, Paddy from Cork, is it you, my sweet boy?”
While Pat stood astounded, to hear his own name
Thus hail'd by black devils, who caper'd for joy!
Can it possibly be?—half amazement—half doubt,
Pat listens again—rubs his eyes and looks steady;
Then heaves a deep sigh, and in horror yells out,
“Good Lord! only think,—black and curly already!”
Pat listens again—rubs his eyes and looks steady;
Then heaves a deep sigh, and in horror yells out,
“Good Lord! only think,—black and curly already!”
Deceiv'd by that well-mimick'd brogue in his ears,
Pat read his own doom in these wool-headed figures,
And thought, what a climate, in less than two years,
To turn a whole cargo of Pats into niggers!
Pat read his own doom in these wool-headed figures,
And thought, what a climate, in less than two years,
To turn a whole cargo of Pats into niggers!
150
MORAL.
'Tis thus,—but alas! by a marvel more true
Than is told in this rival of Ovid's best stories,—
Your Whigs, when in office a short year or two,
By a lusus naturæ, all turn into Tories.
Than is told in this rival of Ovid's best stories,—
Your Whigs, when in office a short year or two,
By a lusus naturæ, all turn into Tories.
And thus, when I hear them “strong measures” advise,
Ere the seats that they sit on have time to get steady,
I say, while I listen, with tears in my eyes,
“Good Lord! only think,—black and curly already!”
Ere the seats that they sit on have time to get steady,
I say, while I listen, with tears in my eyes,
“Good Lord! only think,—black and curly already!”
| The Poetical Works of Thomas Moore | |