truth is to be told;

Wearing no friend-like smile
When thine heart is hot within,
Making no truce with fraud or guile,
No compromise with sin.

Open of eye and speech,
Open of heart and hand,
Holding thine own but as in trust
For thy great brother-band.

Patient and stout to bear,
Yet bearing not for ever;
Gentle to rule, and slow to bind,
Like lightning to deliver!

True to thy fatherland,
True to thine own true love;
True to thine altar and thy creed,
And thy good God above.

But with no bigot scorn
For faith sincere as thine,
Though less of form attend the prayer,
Or more of pomp the shrine;

Remembering Him who spake
The word that cannot lie,
"Where two or three in my name meet
There in the midst am I!"

I bar thee not from faults--
God wot, it were in vain!
Inalienable heritage
Since that primeval slain!

The wisest have been fools--
The surest stumbled sore:
_Strive_ thou to stand--or fall'n arise,
I ask thee not for more!

This do, and thou shalt knit
Closely my heart to thine;
Next the dear love of God above,
Such Friend on earth, be mine!

O.O.

LONDON, _January_ 1844.

* * * * *

THE LAND OF SLAVES.

"Le printemps--le printemps!"--_Berenger_.

'Twas a sunny holiday,
Scene, Killarney--time, last May;
In the fields the rustic throng,
Every linnet in full song,
Not a cloud to threaten rain,
As I walk'd with lovely Jane.

While we wander'd round the bay,
Came the gayest of the gay,
Pouring from a painted barge,
Anchor'd by the flowery marge;
Sporting round its cliffs and caves:--
Ireland is the land of slaves!

Next we met an infant group,
Never was a happier troop;
Dancing o'er the primrose plain.
"Joyous infancy!" said Jane;
"Free from care as winds and waves."
--"No, my darling, _these_ are slaves!"

On we walk'd--a garden shade
Show'd us matron, man, and maid,
Laughing, talking, _all_ coquetting,
"Here," said Jane, "I see no fretting:
Mammon makes but fools or knaves."
--"No, my darling, _these_ are slaves!"

On we walk'd--we saw a dome,
Fill'd with furious dupes of Rome,
Ranting of the sword and chain.
"Let us run away," said Jane:
"How that horrid rebel raves!"
--"No, my darling, _these_ are slaves!"

As we ran, a monster-crowd
Stopp'd us, utteri