For the food of the famishing people was rotten,
And the hate that is often of hunger begotten
Embittered the hearts with sedition besotten,
And the singers of Erin were silent again.
O, where is the ardour of Shiel and O’Connell,
The heart-burning eloquence poured in the cause?
Would it stimulate Parnell, impassion O’Donnell,
If of hunger they felt for a moment the claws?
For small is the gain and the glory ensuing
From the tortuous path that their feet are pursuing,