LINES
William S. OBrien Wnlton on board 11. M.S. Swift, July '27, 1849.
Written upon being interrupted, whilst reading Lalla Rookh to my companions, by sergeant Perry, sergeant of Marines, who has been ordered to put out our light every night at 9 o'clock. G re-it Albion, hero at midnight hour Surrounded by thy guns, I sing the triumph of thy power O'er Ireland's patriot sons. 'Twas not enough to state thy ire Our limbs with chains to bind But tbou must quench the living fire Which still illumes our mind Whon we with poesy divine Stave to beguile the night, _ Fat sergeant Peiry comes sit nine And robs us of our light. Twas once to England's, Tars of old, A pride with men to fi»ht, But now thoir duty is we're told To put the muse to flight. The fiowns of darkness thus avail Sweet learning's gentle joys, And sleepless we our lot bewail Oppreot with heat and noise. E\ult proud England o'er the foe At length he owns thy might, His mind its culture must forego While thus deprived of light.
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New Zealander, Volume 7, Issue 597, 3 January 1852, Page 3
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183LINES New Zealander, Volume 7, Issue 597, 3 January 1852, Page 3
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