403 SOXG OF THE IRISH MAIDKN. 



its attempts to secure the love of its subjects ; to grant a general par- 

 don to those convicted of political offences, suggesting that public 

 and private vengeance has been amply satisfied ; to make the details 

 of the government of the Lombardo- Venetian kingdom as indepen- 

 dent of Vienna as it can ; to reciprocate the use of the two languages 

 as a common bond between its German and Italian subjects ; to hold 

 the imperial court at Milan or Venice for a period of the year, and 

 what is most material of all, to do away with the passport system and 

 to relax the restrictions on the press, and on the introduction of 

 foreign books and journals. This is nothing less than to say to 

 Austria, change your whole system, adopt a liberal and indulgent 

 policy towards Italy instead of grinding her to the dust. No doubt 

 Prince Metternich will lend an attentive ear to these valuable sug- 

 gestions of Count Pozzo, and as soon as he shall show a disposition 

 (as no doubt he immediately will) to carry them into effect, we would 

 heartily join with the count in recommending to the youth of Italy 

 to lay aside their dreams of liberty and nationality to cease to 

 struggle against an incubus which they never can shake off, and by 

 receiving with gentleness the mixed good within their reach to try 

 to make their condition as tolerable as the state of things will allow. 



SONG OF THE IRISH MAIDEN. 



You know it, now it is betray'd 



This moment, in mine eye 

 And in my young- cheek's crimson shade, 



And in my whisper' d sigh 



You know it, now yet listen, now 



Though ne'er was love more true, 

 My plight and troth, and virgin vow, 



Still, still I keep from you, 



Ever 



Ever, until a proof you give 



How oft you've heard me say 

 I would not even his empress live, 



Who idles life away, 

 Without one effort for the land 



In which my fathers' graves 

 Were hollow'd by a despot hand 



To darkly close on slaves 



Never ! 



See ! round yourself the shackles hang, 



Yet come you to love's bowers, 

 That only he may soothe their pang, 



Or hide their links in flowers 

 But try all things to snap them, first, 



And should all fail, when tried, 

 The fated chain you cannot burst 



My twining arms shall hide 



Ever! 



