"Too long we fought for Britain's cause,
And of our blood were never chary;
She paid us back with tyrant laws,
And thinned The Homes of Tipperary.
"But never more we'll win such thanks;
We swear by God, and Virgin Mary,
Never to list in British ranks;"
And that's The Vow of Tipperary.
FATHER MATHEW.
ODE TO A PAINTER, ABOUT TO COMMENCE A PICTURE TO
ILLUSTRATE THE LABOURS OF FATHER MATHEW.
I.
Seize thy pencil, child of art!
Fame and fortune brighten o'er thee;
Great thy hand, and great thy heart,
If well thou do'st the work before thee!
'Tis not thine to round the shield,
Or point the sabre, black or gory;
'Tis not thine to spread the field,
Where crime is crown'd—where guilt is glory.
II.
Child of art! to thee be given
To paint in colours all unclouded,
Breakings of a radiant heaven
O'er an isle in darkness shrouded!
But to paint them true and well,
Every ray we see them shedding
In its very light must tell
What a gloom before was spreading.
