THE ILLUSTRATED LONDON NEWS. [Nov. 27, 1852.]
THE DAWN OF A BRIGHTER DAY
BY FRANCIS BENNOCH.
|From the bustling east to the idle west–
From the north to the southmost shore–
O’er the hill, through bog, in light, and fog,
You may travel all Ireland o’er.
Where energy, liberty, love, were dead,
Or in senseless stupor lay,
Hope– smiling beams,
And its radiance streams
On the dawn of a brighter day.The pestilence came like a quenchless flame
On the breath of a poisonous wind;
You might reckon its force and track its course
By the ruin it left behind:
Nor beauty, nor youth, nor sex was spared–
Its imssion was still to slay!
From the desolate past
There cometh at last
The dawn of a brighter day.
Though kindred fled from kindred dead,
|What matter, although the pauper’s rags
May flutter before the breeze!–
Dead leaves are seen ‘mid the living green
Of the leafiest forest trees.
Though poverty lurks, and beggary works,
In the South, wherever we stray;
Yet, all around
Is increasingly found
The dawn of a brighter day.Here many will find hearts warm and kind;
Maids beautiful, lithe, and sweet–
You might envy the favoured grass they press
In the tread of their naked feet!
A flood of melody swells the voice,
And stealeth the soul away:
‘Tis beaty supreme
Fulfilling the dream
That told of a brighter day.
By head and hand, on sea and land,