Poems (Truesdell)/An Appeal to Queen Victoria in behalf of the Irish

by Helen Truesdell

AN APPEAL TO QUEEN VICTORIA,

IN BEHALF OE THE IRISH.

WRITTEN DURING THE LATE FAMINE IN IRELAND.

"The oats were blighted on the stalk,—
 The corn before its bloom,—
And many a hand that held the plow
 Is pulseless in the tomb!
There is no playing in the streets—
 The haggard children move
Like mournful phantoms, mute and slow,
 Uncheered by hope or love."—Mrs. Sigourney.

Oh! take the bauble from thy brow,—
 Yes, lift it from thy head,—
And sell those costly gems of thine,
 And buy thy people bread!

What! does indignant shame light up
 That queenlike brow of thine?
And dost thou deem an insult lurks
 In every written line?

Oh, lady! think thee of the tears
 Thy starving people shed,
As their pale children gather round,
 And beg in vain for bread.

You gaze upon your princely band
 Of children in their pride,
As, blest with every luxury,
 Before your throne they glide;

And think you not that they too feel
 A deep, deep love for theirs,
Although of penury and want
 They are the bitter heirs?

Yes, many an Irish mother, now,
 Beholds her starving child!
And gazes on its agony,
 Until her brain grows wild.

And thou, a woman, and a queen,
 Say, canst thou hesitate
To save thy people from their woe,
 Before it be too late?

In aiding them, thou too mayst save
 Thy valued crown to thee;
For even now the cry is heard,
 "Make way for liberty!"