“而爱尔兰，就像一头被鞭打的大象，跪下来迎接这个微不足道的骑手。”在不伦瑞克的女儿在她的坟墓里冰冷，她的骨灰还在潮水上漂向他们的家之前，瞧!乔治凯旋地掠过波涛，奔向他爱了很久的小岛，他像爱他的新娘一样爱着它!的确，她那辉煌而短暂的伟大时代已经一去不复返了，那个彩虹般的时代，在那里，自由可以在几个世纪的胜利中暂停几年，没有背叛，没有粉碎，没有为她的事业哭泣。的确，天主教的锁链在他的破衣烂衫上叮当作响，城堡依然屹立，元老院已不复存在，而在她那没有自由的峭壁上肆虐的饥荒，正把脚步伸向她那荒凉的海岸。向她荒凉的海岸走去——在那里，流亡者站了一会儿，凝视着，然后飞离了他的炉边;眼泪落在他的链子上、虽然从他手里掉下来、因为他出的牢狱、是他出生的地方。但是他来了!君王的弥赛亚来了!像一只漂亮的利维坦，从波涛中翻滚; Then receive him as best such an advent becomes, With a legion of cooks, and an army of slaves! He comes in the promise and bloom of threescore, To perform in the pageant the sovereign's part But long live the shamrock, which shadows him o'er! Could the green in his hat be transferr'd to his heart! Could that long-wither'd spot but be verdant again, And a new spring of noble affections arise Then might freedom forgive thee this dance in thy chain, And this shout of thy slavery which saddens the skies. Is it madness or meanness which clings to thee now? Were he God--as he is but the commonest clay, With scarce fewer wrinkles than sins on his brow Such servile devotion might shame him away. Ay, roar in his train! let thine orators lash Their fanciful spirits to pamper his pride Not thus did thy Grattan indignantly flash His soul o'er the freedom implored and denied. Ever glorious Grattan! the best of the good! So simple in heart, so sublime in the rest! With all which Demosthenes wanted endued, And his rival or victor in all he possess'd. Ere Tully arose in the zenith of Rome, Though unequall'd, preceded, the task was begun-- But Grattan sprung up like a god from the tomb Of ages, the first, last, the saviour, the one! With the skill of an Orpheus to soften the brute; With the fire of Prometheus to kindle mankind Even Tyranny listening sate melted or mute, And Corruption shrunk scorch'd from the glance of his mind. But back to our theme! Back to despots and slaves! Feasts furnish'd by Famine! Rejoicings by Pain! True freedom but welcomes, while slavery still raves, When a week's saturnalia hath loosen'd her chain. Let the poor squalid splendour thy wreck can afford (As the bankrupt's profusion his ruin would hide), Gild over the palace, Lo! Erin, thy lord! Kiss his foot with thy blessing, his blessings denied! Or if freedom past hope be extorted at last, If the idol of brass find his feet are of clay, Must what terror or policy wring forth be class'd With what monarchs ne'er give, but as wolves yield their prey? Each brute hath its nature; a king's is to reign, To reign! in that word see, ye ages, comprised The cause of the curses all annals contain, From Caesar the dreaded to George the despised! Wear, Fingal, thy trapping! O'Connell, proclaim His accomplishments! Hist!!! and thy country convince Half an age's contempt was an error of fame, And that 'Hal is the rascaliest, sweetest young prince!' Will thy yard of blue riband, poor Fingal, recall The fetters from millions of Catholic limbs? Or, has it not bound thee the fastest of all The slaves, who now hail their betrayer with hymns? Ay! 'Build him a dwelling!' let each give his mite! Till, like Babel, the new royal dome hath arisen! Let thy beggars and helots their pittance unite - And a palace bestow for a poor-house and prison! Spread--spread, for Vitellius, the royal repast, Till the gluttonous despot be stuff'd to the gorge! And the roar of his drunkards proclaim him at last The fourth of the fools and oppressors call'd 'George!' Let the tables be loaded with feasts till they groan! Till they groan like thy people, through ages of woe! Let the wine flow around the old Bacchanal's throne, Like their blood which has flow'd, and which yet has to flow. But let not his name be thine idol alone On his right hand behold a Sejanus appears! Thine own Castlereagh! let him still be thine own! A wretch never named but with curses and jeers! Till now, when the isle which should blush for his birth, Deep, deep as the gore which he shed on her soil, Seems proud of the reptile which crawl 'd