as I watched that isle’s
  career,
Through the varied scene and the joys serene of many a future year;
And, oh! what a thrill did my bosom fill as I gazed on a pillared pile,
Where a senate once more in power watched o’er the rights of that lone
  green isle!

THE PRICE OF FREEDOM.

Man of Ireland, heir of sorrow,
  Wronged, insulted, scorned, oppressed,
Wilt thou never see that morrow
  When thy weary heart may rest? 
Lift thine eyes, thou outraged creature;
  Nay, look up, for man thou art,
Man in form, and frame, and feature,
  Why not act man’s god-like part?

Think, reflect, inquire, examine,
  Is it for this God gave you birth—­
With the spectre look of famine,
  Thus to creep along the earth? 
Does this world contain no treasures
  Fit for thee, as man, to wear?—­
Does this life abound in pleasures,
  And thou askest not to share?

Look! the nations are awaking,
  Every chain that bound them burst! 
At the crystal fountains slaking
  With parched lips their fever thirst! 
Ignorance the demon, fleeing,
  Leaves unlocked the fount they sip;
Wilt thou not, thou wretched being,
  Stoop and cool thy burning lip?

History’s lessons, if thou’lt read ’em,
  All proclaim this truth to thee: 
Knowledge is the price of freedom,
  Know thyself, and thou art free! 
Know, O man! thy proud vocation,
  Stand erect, with calm, clear brow—­
Happy! happy were our nation,
  If thou hadst that knowledge now!

Know thy wretched, sad condition,
  Know the ills that keep thee so;
Knowledge is the sole physician,
  Thou wert healed if thou didst know! 
Those who crush, and scorn, and slight thee,
  Those to whom thou once wouldst kneel,
Were the foremost then to right thee,
  Didst thou but feel as thou shouldst feel!

Not as beggars lowly bending,
  Not in sighs, and groans, and tears,
But a voice of thunder sending
  Through thy tyrant brother’s ears! 
Tell him he is not thy master,
  Tell him of man’s common lot,
Feel life has but one disaster,
  To be a slave, and know it not!

Didst but prize what knowledge giveth,
  Didst but know how blest is he
Who in Freedom’s presence liveth,
  Thou wouldst die, or else be free! 
Round about he looks in gladness,
  Joys in heaven, and earth, and sea,
Scarcely heaves a sigh of sadness,
  Save in thoughts of such as thee!

THE VOICE AND PEN.

Oh! the orator’s voice is a mighty power,
  As it echoes from shore to shore,
And the fearless pen has more sway o’er men
  Than the murderous cannon’s roar! 
What burst the chain far over the main,
  And brighten’d the captive’s den? 
’Twas the fearless pen and the voice of power,
  Hurrah! for the Voice and Pen! 
                                Hurrah! 
  Hurrah! for the Voice and Pen!