VII.

Ah! could I some girl from yon box for her youth pick, I’d love her as long as she blossomed in youth; Oh! white is the ivory case of her tooth pick, But when beauty smiles how much whiter the tooth.)

There too is the lash which, all statues controlling, Still governs the slaves that are made by the fair; For man is the pupil, who, while her eye’s rolling, Is lifted to rapture, or sunk in despair.

Bloom, theatre, bloom, in the roseate blushes Of beauty illumed by a love-breathing smile! And flourish, ye pillars,[127] as green as the rushes That pillow the nymphs of the Emerald Isle!

For dear is the Emerald Isle of the ocean, Whose daughters are fair as the foam of the wave, Whose sons, unaccustom’d to rebel commotion, Tho’ joyous are sober――tho’ peaceful, are brave.

The shamrock their olive, sworn foe to a quarrel, Protects from the thunder and lightning of rows; Their sprig of shillelagh is nothing but laurel, Which flourishes rapidly over their brows.

O! soon shall they burst the tyrannical shackles Which each panting bosom indignantly names, Until not one goose at the capital cackles Against the grand question of Catholic claims.

And then shall each Paddy, who once on the Liffey Perchance held the helm of some mackerel-hoy, Hold the helm of the State, and dispense in a jiffy More fishes than ever he caught when a boy.