He saw in fearful reveries arise, Phantasmagorias of those dreadful men Whose fame associate with Irish plots is, Fitzgeralds-Tones-O'Conners-Hares and then little in his eyes" "Those Emmets," not so "little in his As Doctor Watts's! He felt himself piked, roasted,—carv'd and hack'd, His big black burly body seemed in fact Full of this fright, With broken peace and broken English choking, As black as any raven and as croaking, Pompey rushed in upon his master's sight, Plump'd on his knees, and clasp'd his sable digits, Thus stirring Curiosity's sharp fidgets— "O Massa! - Massa!-Colonel!-Massa Case. Not go to Ireland!-Ireland dam bad place; Dem take our bloods-dem Irish-every drop Oh why for Massa go To have him life ?" a stop, so far a distance Putting an awful period to existence. "Not go to Ireland-not to Ireland, fellow, And murder'd, why should I be murder'd, Sirrah ?" Cried Case, with anger's tinge upon his yellow,— Pompey, for answer, pointing in a mirror The Colonel's saffron, and his own japan,"Well, what has that to do-quick-speak outright, boy?" “O Massa ”—(so the explanation ran) "Massa be killed-'cause Massa Orange Man. And Pompey killed-'cause Pompey not a White Boy!" THE INCHCAPE ROCK. By R. SOUTHEY. No stir in the air, no stir in the sea, Without either sign or sound of their shock The waves flow'd over the Inchcape Rock; The worthy Abbot of Aberbrothok Had placed that bell on the Inchcape Rock; On a buoy in the storm it floated and swung, And over the waves its warning rung. When the rock was hid by the surge's swell, The sun in heaven was shining gay, All things were joyful on that day; The sea-birds scream'd as they wheel'd around, And there was joyaunce in their sound. The buoy of the Inchcape Bell was seen |