Another Irish landlord gone to grass,
Slain by the bullets of the tenant class!
Pray, good agrarians, what wrong requires
Such foul redress? Between you and
the squires
All Ireland’s parted with an even
hand—
For you have all the ire, they all the
land.
GENESIS.
God said: “Let there be Man,”
and from the clay
Adam came forth and, thoughtful, walked
away.
The matrix whence his body was obtained,
An empty, man-shaped cavity, remained
All unregarded from that early time
Till in a recent storm it filled with
slime.
Now Satan, envying the Master’s
power
To make the meat himself could but devour,
Strolled to the place and, standing by
the pool,
Exerted all his will to make a fool.
A miracle!—from out that ancient
hole
Rose Morehouse, lacking nothing but a
soul.
“To give him that I’ve not
the power divine,”
Said Satan, sadly, “but I’ll
lend him mine.”
He breathed it into him, a vapor black,
And to this day has never got it back.
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