But the Plan of Campaign, as its authors confess,
Was not, on the whole, a decided success:
And the blackguardly minion whom tyrants employ
Evicted at last great Cornelius Molloy.
The Saxon oppressor, still potent for harm,
Gave Peter a lease of Cornelius' farm:
Which Peter accepted with virtuous joy—
For he lived quite adjacent to Mr Molloy.
Cornelius was angry (and faith he'd a right),
So he came with a party to Peter's by night,
And they shot through the door, with intention to slay
That traitor and land-grabber, Peter O'Shea.
Poor Peter was pained, but he scorned to show fear:
"Sure the law will protect me so long as I'm here:
'Tis an iligant holding and little to pay;
Och! 'twas only wid shnipe-shot!" said Pether O'Shea.
But the Liberal Party observed with dismay
The outrageous proceedings of Peter O'Shea;
And Mr O'Kelly, our pride and our joy,
Made a law for restoring Cornelius Molloy.
Cornelius came back to his former abode,
And Peter was houseless, and starved on the road:
For Justice, whose methods O'Kelly can tell,
Gave Cornelius his holding and Peter's as well.
It is this which inspires us with feelings of awe
For the standards of Justice embodied in Law:
And tenants, the law when inclined to obey,
Will be cheered by the instance of Peter O'Shea.
THE END OF IT
Must we then cease to exist as a party,
Sink to the items that once we have been,
All for the scruples of Justin M'Carthy,
All for Committee-Room No. 15?
This is the end of a decade of labour,
Blood that we might have—conceivably—shed,
Daily incitements to boycott your neighbour,
Daily allusions to ounces of lead!