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THE NEW RACE, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: O ye who have vanquished the land and retain it
Last Line: Pass quick, to the rapids insensibly borne.


OYE who have vanquished the land and retain it,
How little ye know what ye miss of delight!
There are worlds in her heart -- could ye seek it or gain it --
That would clothe a true noble with glory and might.

What is she, this Isle which ye trample and ravage,
Which ye plough with oppression, and reap with the sword,
But a harp, never strung, in the hall of a savage,
Or a fair wife embraced by a husband abhorred?

The chiefs of the Gael were the people embodied;
Thy chiefs were the blossoms, the people the root!
Their conquerors, the Normans, high-souled and high-blooded,
Grew Irish at last from the scalp to the foot.

And ye! -- ye are hirelings and satraps, not nobles!
Your slaves, they detest you; your masters, they scorn!
The river lives on -- but the sun-painted bubbles
Pass quick, to the rapids insensibly borne.





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