Page:Poems and ballads, third series (IA poemsballadsthir00swin).pdf/66

And some, by the dawn of September, at last give thanks
as for stars that smile,
For the winds have swept them to shelter and sight of
the cliffs of a Catholic isle.
Though many the fierce rocks feed on, and many the
merciless heretic slays,
Yet some that have laboured to land with their treasure
are trustful, and give God praise.
And the kernes of murderous Ireland, athirst with a greed
everlasting of blood,
Unslakable ever with slaughter and spoil, rage down as a
ravening flood,
To slay and to flay of their shining apparel their brethren
whom shipwreck spares;
Such faith and such mercy, such love and such manhood,
such hands and such hearts are theirs.
Short shrift to her foes gives England, but shorter doth
Ireland to friends; and worse
Fare they that came with a blessing on treason than they
that come with a curse.