THE VISION.
A NATIONAL ODE.
I.
Where iron rocks tow'r o'er
Th' Atlantic billows' roll,
Prophetic muses bore
The Poet's raptur'd soul;
And Freedom rose in light from the spray.
Behold her swiftly glide,
O'er the strong and reinless tide,
And the surges swelling pride
Round her play!
II.
Sublime the steeds rush on
Till panting next they stand
On the brow of Slieve-na-mon,
In the Sparta of our land;
And the stormy hills are mov'd at the sound.
From Cashel's royal rock
To Benburb is felt the shock,
And the startled eagles flock,
Screaming round.
III.
As she moves along the plain,
Like the march of ocean's wave,
Our martyr'd heroes slain
Rise in armour from the grave,
And they clash their phantom shields on the gale.
The fires of rage and shame
Thro' their visors barred that came,
Wrapt in wild unearthly flame
Hill and vale.
IV.
From a throne of trampled crowns,
On a mount of broken chains,
The Aventine goddess frowns
