The Liverpool Standard and General Commercial Advertiser.
Liverpool, Merseyside, England, 1841-07-20 00:00:00

TO DANIEL O'CONNELL, ESQ

(For the Liverpool Standard)
Oh, Dan, my dear boy ! you are left in the bogs,
As scurvil; treated as one of your hogs,
That 's petted and fatted, then sold and transported,
With shouts, blows, and kicks, from the hut where he snorted ;
Thence ne'er to return to the mire that he loved,
Nor gobble the grubs in the mud where he moved.
So you, my dear Dan, have by Dublin's proud city
Been kicked out of place in a manner I pity.
'Tis lucky you thought o't in time to bequeath
Your talents and wit to the people of Meath ;
Else the Great Liberator of Ireland himself
Might for years have ingloriously lain on the shelf,
Aud some other patriot had slipt in, content
To fill your position and finger the rent.
A measure to Ireland and you so injurious
Would have made all the whigs in the empire furious.
The conduct of Dublin just shows what ingratitude
All mankind possess when they once give it latitude :
To you, who for Ireland have lifted your voice,
Till the land has resounded with murder and noise,
To be kicked from your seat for the city of Dublin
Must occasion sensations unpleasant and troubling :
To be shoved out of place in a manner so shocking,
Is, saying the least of it, very provoking.
'Tis strange that your countrymen cannot conceive
You possess all the virtues you 'd make them believe ;
Or admit that their rights and the national weal
Depend on their shouting " Hurrah for Repeal !"
Or that burning of houses and shedding of blood
Are for Ireland the certain precursors of good ;
Or that keeping the toe of a pope or a priest
T. a hnnn that will make every Irishman blest;
Or that laws can be good that afford their protections
To blackguards for breaking men's heads at elections ;
Or that riot and robbery, and murder and hate,
Are things to make Irishmen happy or great.
On these points 'tis evident Dublin's electors
Have formed from yourself very different conjectures :
'Tis plain, my dear Dan, if the truth must be told,
Your countrymen think you are now rather old—
That your mind and your morals are grown somewhat rusty,
And your daily harangues rather vapid and musty.
Like a tool that is worn, you have served out your day ;
They have used you, and now they have cast you away.
'Tis time, my dear Dan, as you 're getting down stairs,
To think now and then about saying your prayers,
And leave it to others to bother their heads
About Irish affairs, while you 're counting your beads,
With a priest at your elbow to point out the road
Where your soul may sojourn in some pleasant abode,
As all men must die. If selected to go
To a seat in the house of the regions below—.
I mean purgatory—the place is too warm
To talk of injustice, repeal, or reform ;
Besides, all the rulers are tyrants like tories,
And won't listen a moment to one of your stories ;
They won't hear of changes in that situation,
Though they keep up a constant, red-hot agitation.
The rulers that reign in the kingdom of Fireland
Will do justice to you, though they may not for Ireland.
I've seriously thought on these matters, and so
Recommend some reform in yourself ere you go.
Leave Irish affairs to men younger and wiser,
And pardon the freedom used by the adviser.
July 17, 1841. D.