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The Ode which is here inserted, because of its relation to the subject of the preceding Colloquy, was written in the winter of 1821-2, a few months after his Majesty's visit to Ireland, and some years before that religious movement had manifested itself there, which may in its consequences, through God's blessing, produce more benefit to that country, than could be effected by any act of human legislation.

How long, O Ireland, from thy guilty ground

Shall innocent blood
Arraign the inefficient arm of Power ?

How long shall Murder there,
Leading his banded ruffians thro' the land,

Range unrepress'd ?

How long shall Night
Bring to thy harmless dwellers, in the stead
Of natural rest, the feverish sleep of fear,

Midnight alarms,
Horrible dreams, and worse realities?
How long shall darkness cover, and the eye

Of Morning open upon deeds of death?


In vain art thou by liberal Nature's dower

Exuberantly blest;
The Seasons in their course

Shed o'er thy hills and vales
The bounties of a genial clime, in vain;

Heaven hath in vain bestowed

Well-tempered liberty,
(Its last and largest boon to social man)
If the brute Multitude from age to age,
Wild as their savage ancestors,

Go irreclaimed the while,
From sire to son transmitting still

In undisturbed descent,

(A sad inheritance!) Their errors, and their crimes.


Green Island of the West !
Thy Sister Kingdom fear'd not this

When thine exultant shores

Rung far and wide of late, And grateful Dublin first beheld her King,

First of thy Sovereigns he Who visited thy shores in peace and joy.



Oh what a joy was there!
In loud huzzahs prolong'd,
Surge after surge the tide
Of popular welcome rose;

And in the intervals alone
Of that tumultuous sound of glad acclaim

Could the deep cannon's voice
Of duteous gratulation, tho’it spake

In thunder, reach the ear.

From every tower the merry bells rung round,

Peal hurrying upon peal, Till with the still reverberating din The walls and solid pavement seem'd to shake, And every bosom with the tremulous air

Inhaled a dizzy joy.


Age that came forth to gaze,

That memorable day Felt in its quicken'd veins a pulse like youth; And lisping babes were taught to bless their King, And grandsires bade the children treasure up The precious sight; for it would be a tale

The which in their old age Would make their children's children gather round

Intent, all ears to hear.


Were then the feelings of that generous time

Ephemeral as the joy?
Pass'd they away like summer clouds,

Like dreams of infancy,
Like glories of the evening firmament,

Which fade, and leave no trace ?
Merciful Heaven, oh let not thou the hope
Be frustrate, that our Sister Isle may reap

From the good seed then sown
Full harvests of prosperity and peace;

That perfect union may derive its date

From that auspicious day,
And equitable ages thence
Their lasting course begin!


Green Island of the West,

While frantic violence delays That happier order, still must thou remain In thine own baleful darkness wrapt ;

As if the Eye divine, That which beholdeth all, from thee alone

In wrath had turn'd away!


But not for ever thus shalt thou endure,

To thy reproach, and ours,
Thy misery, and our shame!
For Mercy shall


forth To stablish Order, with an arm'd right hand;

And firm Authority With its all-present strength controul the bad,

And with its all-sufficient shield

Protect the innocent: The first great duty this of lawful Power Which holds its delegated right from Heaven.


The first great duty this; but this not all,
For more than comes within the

Of Power, is needed here;

More than to watch insidious discontent, Curb, and keep curb’d the treasonable tongue, And quell the madden'd multitude :

Labours of love remain;...
To weed out noxious customs rooted deep
In a rank soil, and long left seeding there;
Pour balm into old wounds, and bind them up;

Remove remediable ills,
Improve the willing mind,
And win the generous heart.
Afflicted Country, from thyself

Must this redemption come,
And thou hast children able to perform

This work of faith and hope.


Oh for a voice which might recal

To their deserted hearths
Thy truant sons ! a voice

Whose virtuous cogency
Might with the strength of duty reach their souls ;
A strength that should compel entire consent,

And to their glad obedience give
The impulse and the force of free good-will!

For who but they can knit
The severed links of that appointed chain,
Which when in just cohesion it unites
Order to order, rank to rank,

In mutual benefit,

So binding heart to heart, It then connecteth Earth with Heaven, from whence

The golden links depend.

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