V.
No! thirsting to madness, red vengeance will pass,
Like the cloud's subtle fire, thro' a fortress of brass,
Let cannon blaze round him, or white billows flow,
He will reach, thro' them all, the heart's blood of his foe.
VI.
Do'st thou think Connemara's dark fishers can fear
The battle, who nightly thro' hurricane steer—
Who unmoor the frail skiff, from the Pin's barren sod,
To struggle with ocean, the war-horse of God?
VII.
From the Giant spar caves; from the stormy Kilkee;
From where Moher frowns over the fathomless sea,
Where the cliffs of Baltard mock the strength of the waves,
And the tempest round Arran indignantly raves;
VIII.
Shall come forth to combat a fetterless race,
Whom the rocks of the West bear to ocean's embrace—
Whose spirits like tempest, resistless and free,
Proclaim them the terrible sons of the sea.
IX.
Not the phalanx of Sparta, for threshold and shrine,
More nobly has battled, my country, than thine;
Our cause is as holy—our bosoms as true—
And Erin may have her Thermopylæ too.
THE HOUSE THAT PADDY BUILT.
"Take this—What's this?"
This is the House that Paddy built!—
This is the Parliament that sat in the House that Paddy built—
These are the slaves, who basely bent,
And sold to England the Parliament,
That sat in the House that Paddy built!
