CLAUSE TWENTY-SIX. (A COTTER’S REVERY ON THE EMIGRATION CLAUSE OF THE LAND ACT.)

I’ve been towld there’s a chance in the distance, For struggling poor sowls like myself, To brighten our dreary existence, An’ even to gather some pelf, In a land where the soil is but waitin’ The wooin’ of shovels an’ picks That we’ll take whin we’re all emigratin’ To fortune by Clause Twenty-six. It’s hard and it’s sad to be hurried Away from the strings of my life— From the spot where my mother lies buried, The place where I coorted my wife. Sweet home of my birth, to forsake you, My conscience remorsefully pricks— I can’t tell if to lave or to take you, Bewilderin’ Clause Twenty-six. For it’s rather too bitther my fate is, When my luck like a stranger goes by, When blight settles down on the praties, An’ the cow that I trusted turns dry; Whin the turf is too damp to be fuel, An’, crouched o’er a handful of sticks, I curse you, misfortune so cruel, An’ pray for you, Clause Twenty-six. Whin the rain through the thatch finds a way in, Till we sleep in a cheerless cowld bath; Whin the hens are teetotal at layin’, An’ the pig is as thin as a lath, Whin the childer are pinin’ an’ ailin’, An’ losin’ their mirth an’ their tricks— Oh, I long for the ship to be sailin’ That’s chartered by Clause Twenty-six. And often at night I’ve a notion, Whilst hungry they’re lyin’ in bed, In that plintiful land o’er the ocean They wouldn’t be cryin’ for bread; They might even an odd pat of butther Along with their stirabout mix; Oh, my heart is too full for to utter Its thoughts of you, Clause Twenty-six. To see the health-roses assimble On the cheeks of my boys, an’ the curls Once again in the bright mornin’ trimble With the innocent laugh of my girls; An’ to feel that herself would be aisy, Nor frettin’ at trouble or fix. Mavrone! but I’m mighty nigh crazy Considerin’ Clause Twenty-six.