Hi I dont remember where I came across this, thought it about summed it up. Men smile at childhoods play no more, Music and song, their day is o'er; At wine, at Mass the kingdoms heirs Are seen no more; changed hearts are theirs. No praise in builded song expressed They hear, no tales before they rest; None care for books and none take glee To hear the long-traced pedigree. The packs are silent, there's no sound Of the old strain on Bregian ground. A foreign flood holds all the shore, And the great wolf-dog barks no more. Woe to the Gael in this sore plight! Henceforth they shall not know delight. No tidings now their woe relieves, Too close the gnawing sorrow cleaves. anonymous 17th century Irish poet