NATIONAL PRESAGE Unhappy Erin, what a lot was thine! Half-conquered by a greedy robber band; Ill governed with now lax, now ruthless hand; Misled by zealots, wresting laws divine To sanction every dark or mad design; Lured by false lights of pseudo-patriot league Through crooked paths of faction and intrigue; And drugged with selfish flattery's poisoned wine. Yet, reading all thy mournful history, Thy children, with a mystic faith sublime, Turn to the future, confident that Fate, Become at last thy friend, reserves for thee, To be thy portion in the coming time, They know not what -- but surely something great. -- John Kells INGRAM (1823-1907)