Classic Poem

The English in Ireland

Wretched Ierne! with what grief I see
The fatal changes Time hath wrought in thee.
The Christian rites I introduced in vain:
Lo! infidelity returned again.
Freedom and virtue in thy sons I found,
Who now in vice and slavery are drowned.
By faith and prayer, this crozier in my hand,
I drove the venomed serpent from thy land;
The shepherd in his bower might sleep or sing,
Nor dread the adder's tooth, or scorpion's sting.
With omens oft I strove to warn thy swains,
Omens, the types of thy impending chains,
I sent the magpie from the British soil,
With restless beak thy blooming fruit to spoil;
To din thine ears with unharmonious clack,
And haunt thy holy walls in white and black.
What else are those thou see'st in bishop's gear,
Who crop the nurseries of learning here?
Aspiring, greedy, full of senseless prate,
Devour the church, and chatter to the state.
As you grew more degenerate and base,
I sent you millions of the croaking race,
Emblems of insects vile, who spread their spawn
Through all thy land in armour, fur and lawn;
A nauseous brood that fills your senate walls,
And in the chambers of your viceroy crawls.