Freedom's barque to port is running,
But beware the lurking shelves;
And would you conquer tyrants' cunning,
Brethren, conquer first yourselves.
Though thy cheek insulted burn—
Though they call thee coward-slave—
Scoff nor blow shalt thou return:
Trust me, this is more than brave.
Fortitude hath shackles riven,
More than spear or flashing gun;
Freedom, like the thrones of heaven,
Is by suff'ring virtue won.
Though thy brother still deride thee,
Yield thou love for foolish hate:
He'll, perhaps, ere long, beside thee,
Proudly, boldly, share thy fate.
Discord! may kind angels chase thee
Far from hapless Erin's shores,
And the deepest hell embrace thee,
Where no fouler demon roars!
Steady! steady! ranks of Freedom,
Pure and holy are our bands;
Heaven approves, and angels lead them,
For truth and justice are our brands!
THE GATHERING OF THE NATION.
A.D. 1646.
I.
Those scalding tears—those scalding tears,
Too long have fallen in vain—
Up with the banners and the spears,
And let the gather'd grief of years
