148. to the flag of the Southern American Secessionists, flying in a British port.
In the place of thy pride, from the mast's topmost height,Thou art bathing thy folds in the sky's azure light;
The winds are at play 'midst thy red-flowing bars,
And the sunbeams repose on thy circlet of stars.
With the sunshine around thee — the blue heaven above,
'Midst things that are telling of freedom and love,
But where tempests in clouds and in darkness career,
Where the chain and the fetter with clanging resound,
Where the slave-curse hath blasted the fruits of the ground,--
'Tis there, and there only, thy waving should be;
How com'st thou to darken the Isles of the Free?
Herald of ruin, and banner of doom!--
For the day of thy triumph may finish in gloom,
And thou from the place of thy pride may'st be reft,
And in blood and in ashes thy trail may be left.
Ensign of tyranny! emblem of woe!
Type to the nations of honor's overthrow!
Standard of Mammon, and Might leagued with Wrong--
Down from our sight!--thou hast mocked us too long!
April 18, 1861.
--Waterford (Ireland) Mail.
