"WHO FEARS TO SPEAK OF"—NINETEEN-SIX?
[Thoughts on "a Bill for the Better (sic) Government of Ireland."]
There was an Isle all green and fair
Where milk and whisky used to flow,
Where, thanks to lavish legislators,
The pious cult of pigs and taters.
Filled with content the balmy air—
Eight little years ago!
Distressful she had been, a land
Of kine curtailed and burning ricks,
Until we others oped our purses
To rectify her feudal curses
And freed the soil with generous hand—
Prior to nineteen-six.
Though still the casual moonlight raid
Occurred at seasons, just for joy,
New brands of owners, fat and thriving,
Had lost their use for cattle-driving,
And agitation's artful aid,
Pined for its old employ.
Then came the Liberals in and eyed
This land where Peace had poised her wings;
And "O!" said they, "how sad a smutch on
Our clean United Kingdom's 'scutcheon!
It is our duty to provide
A Better State of Things."
Eight years ago! And now we see
The dogs of war about to bay;
The Bill for Ruling Ireland Better
(Strangely enough) has so upset her
That pretty soon there ought to be
The Devlin's self to pay.
So, when the general atmosphere
Becomes opaque with flying bricks,
And those who ran the Home Rule movement
Bid me applaud this marked improvement,
From pure politeness I shall fear
To speak of nineteen-six.
O. S.