Human transgression owes, were surer paid
(The fratricidal blood, too often spilt)
By purgatorial pains, on earth endur'd
Ages of tribulation, mid the wrongs
Quick spir'ts abhor; or victory alli'd
To faith, outlaw'd and militant, were due,

To nerve with will twofold, a great resolve,
That spurns the tyrant and subverts his ways,
In the long struggle, lest it perish whole.

Then would the Just, ere biding time they search,
Foregone conclude, as late in heaven propos'd,
Blackwater's coming strife: Fardora's son
The victor with the tribal force he leagu'd,
Their penance due a little while to wait;
But judgment stay, till of that boon preferr'd,
The sequel in the distant years they find:
Which like infers what equal justice claims,
If to the Saxon cause, good works redound.

Then searching through the maze of Universe, Earth's distant orb they find; there little trace Of Eden; save as guardians nearer set Upon the airy fringe of the great globe, Two cherubs in the Eve and Morn appear.

"Tween these the earth revolves, her nights and days,
Her climes and seasons four; but they unmov'd,
O'er fields of light, their watch incessant keep,
Their mystic shapes in priestly purple stol'd,
And wing'd like angels in cathedral hues

That lume the solemn chancel. In like mood,
And floating eastward, Eire's Isle, their search,
Leaving the western ocean in night's shade,
Attended by the morning star, appears.

In size, her disk, a satellite might seem,

E'en the chaste moon of the great continent

She follow'd from the deep; and shines to view,

A beauty austere; a stern recluse or sphere

Where gods might dwell, to which, the world's approach
Were a defilement: save what lingering smiles,
Under her veil of flitting clouds, disclose

A land of verdurous life, where all the blooms
That earth with heaven compare, so native breathe
Their perfumes on her greens. There Aina first,

Her fairy world began, with vivid scenes *
To mortals bless'd; all beauty's naked forms,
Life size or puny, as they list, but chaste;

The Moon.

Vindictive to unfavour'd eyes, that dare

With looks profane; if by the sportive brook,
Or spell-bound ruin, revelry they keep,
Or on the pastures of green-sided hills,
Sacred to Aina, which the Lordly sun
Hath never scar'd: his seasons duly care
Her lymph creation, wheresoe'er their court,
Wrought of her beams on limber stalks, they keep,
And spread the feast, and blandish haughty lips
With filter'd julep from a golden cup,

Fresh pluck'd and fragrant for their fairy Queen.
But hark the skylark chanting to the dawn!
The sun of all the nations, from bright dreams
Awakes; and mounting, hails the world with hope.

Before his car, the kingdom of his eye

Salutes the hills in friendship, and beneath,

Glosses the cheek of lake and river fam'd,

Dispels the mist, and gives the flowers to smile; Earth's purest offspring, whose pale innocence The twinkle of his beam first taught to blush. But when from ocean's brow he scans the shore, In meditation of his length of days,

At Eire's feet he lingers, to recall

With hope the happy memories of her reign:

How oft in years he hail'd the Holy Isle,
Whose wisdom honour'd his inferior ray,

To spread her glory's fame, and hither light

The nations, for their lore. How hard to think, Such loveliness should ever bosom grief!

Life's font so bless'd beget a world of tears!

The Rock of Arranmore.

SCENE 1.

The forthcoming victory at the Yellow Ford, being conditionally assumed as foregone, its first sequence, after a second victory on Seaghais' Hills, presented to the celestial courts, is the judgment of heaven upon the Gael, in the overthrow at Cremna, for the crimes of the Tribemonster. Eire with her bleeding breast, fallen into a deadly swoon, unseen and unheard of, seems lost forever. Arising after forty-eight years, she wanders to the Isle of Arranmore, where she revives Banba, whom she finds expiring in the agony of grief. Banba recounts to her the afflictions of her people since her defeat at Cremna. Eire, abandoned to the tale of horror, cries aloud to all the nations. Cromwell's descent on Banba. Her despondency. The ancient oracles are dumb. Eire sends her forth to consult the Christian shrines. Saint George, before the heavenly Powers, reflects upon the scene.

At Eire's wounds, now spirits that once had hearts,
Alien or friends on earth, behold, they mourn!

And in their courts on high, their judgment blend
With interceding looks and human sighs,

13