The Gazette
Davenport, Scott, Iowa
July 1, 1847

IRELAND'S APPEAL
By Mrs. L.H. Sigourney

Pale Erin towered her rocky strand
    In frantic anguish press'd,
And shrieks of wild, imploring pain
    Burst from her laboring breast.

Her children in their vigor fell,
    To secret shafts a prey-
And marr'd by famine's plague spot dire,
    In fearful numbers lay,

For all around her mournful realm
    The smitten harvest spread,
While sad the furrow'd church-yard told
    The planting of the dead.

Wake! glorious Nation of the West-
    Wake to thy sister's woe,
Her earnest hands to thee are spread-
    Thy liberal aid bestow.

Bid thy rich harvests load the wave,
    Unlock compassion's stream,
And with the surplus of they wealth
    Her misery redeem.

Haste!- pluck the poison'd arrow forth
    That rankles in her breast-
And win the blessing of the skies,
    Oh, fair and fruitful West.