Classic Poem

Of old ye warr'd on men: to-day
On women and on babes ye war;
The noble's child his head must lay
Beneath the peasant's roof no more!

I saw in sleep the infant's hand
His foster-brother's fiercely grasp;
His warm arm, lithe as willow wand,
Twines me each day with closer clasp!

O infant smiler! grief beguiler!
Between the oppressor and the oppress'd,
O soft unconscious reconciler,
Smile on through thee the land is bless'd.

Through thee the puissant love the poor;
His conqueror's hope the vanquish'd shares:
For thy sake by a lowly door
The clan made vassal stops and stares.

Our vales are healthy. On thy cheek
There dawns, each day, a livelier red:
Smile on, before another week
Thy feet our earthen floor will tread.

Thy foster-brothers twain for thee
Would face the wolves on snowy fell:
Smile on! the Irish enemy
Will fence their Norman nursling well.

The nursling as the child is dear; —
Thy mother loves not like thy nurse!
That babbling mandate steps not near
Thy cot, but o'er her bleeding corse!