JACOBITE RELICS.
101
In her own native strains, and with looks passing fair,
She accosted me thus, and then vanished in air. —
I grieved lest my vision too soon I might deem
The work of enchantment—a flattering dream.
Thou, who man hast redeemed by dire suffering and toil.
This redemption, oh! grant to my dear native soil;
May the woes that o'er Erin her foemen would spread,
With vengeance alight on their own guilty head!
