IV.
Oh, idiots! feel ye not the lash—
The fangs that clutch at gold?
From rogues so insolent what hope
Of mercy do ye hold?
The pallid millions kneel for food;
The lordling locks his store.
Hath earth, alas! but one Tyrol,
And not a Hofer more?
LAMENT FOR THE DEATH OF OWEN ROE O'NEILL.
Time—10th Nov., 1649.Scene—Ormond's Camp, County Waterford.Speakers—A Veteran of Owen O'Neill's clan, and one of the horsemen, just arrived with an account of his death.
I.
"Did they dare, did they dare, to slay Owen Roe O'Neill?"
'Yes! they slew with poison him they feared to meet with steel.'
"May God wither up their hearts! May their blood cease to flow!
May they walk in living death, who poisoned Owen Roe!
II.
Though it break my heart to hear, say again the bitter words."
'From Derry, with false Cromwell, he marched to measure swords;
But the weapon of the Saxon met him on his way,
And he died at Clough Oughter, upon Saint Leonard's Day.'
III.
"Wail, wail for The Mighty One! Wail, wail ye for The Dead;
Quench the hearth, and hold the breath—with ashes strew the head.
How tenderly we loved him! How deeply we deplore!
Oh! it makes me mad to think I shall never see him more.
