As we pushed away from the sight of the Irish hills, Shakspere, leaning against the foremast, in pathetic tone exclaimed: _Farewell, old Erin, land of nameless sorrow, Albion crushes thee for opinion's sake; 'Twixt the Bulls of Rome and Laws of England Thy children are robbed, banished and murdered. And cast away from native land, like leaves Bestrewing forest wilds, bleak and lone. Merged in lands of Liberty, thy children Shall rise again, a new born glorious race-- Triumphant in home, church and State, honored, Masters of War, Wit, Eloquence and Poetry. Move out and move on, like the rising sun Whose face so oft is clouded with shadows, Yet, shall burst forth again in noonday splendor-- Irradiating a bleak and cruel world!_ CHAPTER XI. RURAL ENGLAND. "ROMEO AND JULIET" _"I know a bank where the wild thyme blows; Where ox-lips and the nodding violet grows; Quite over-canopied with luscious woodbine, With sweet musk roses and the eglantine."_ * * * * * _"Stony limits cannot hold love out; And what love can do, that dares love attempt."_ We remained in Liverpool three days, and then determined to return to London by land, crossing through the inland shires, taking in Manchester, Sheffield, Derby, Birmingham, Coventry, Warwick, and on to Stratford, where clustered the dearest objects of our affection. We were ten days walking, riding and resting at taverns, in our rural tour of Old Albion. The fields were furrowed for the grain, the birds sang from every hedge and forest domain, the cattle, sheep and swine grazed in lowing, bleating, grunting security along winding streams, public fields or on the velvet meadows of rich yeoman or lordly estates, while the men, women, boys and girls that we encountered seemed to be infused with the delights of May blossoms, forest wild flowers and refreshing showers, all noting the practical prosperity of England. How different these rural scenes to those we had recently encountered in poor down-trodden Ireland, the Niobe of nations, besprinkled with the tears of centuries for the loss of her crushed and exiled children. _Yet, the world is moving upward To the heights where Freedom reigns; Where the sunshine of redemption Shall give joy for all our pains, When the cruel hands of tyrants Shall be banished from the land With our God the only Master Of Dame Nature true and grand!_ We arrived in sight of Stratford as the sun set over the hills of Arden, and as the pigeons and rooks sought their nests for the night, a golden glow flashed over the evening landscape. The last rays of Sol shone in dazzling splendor upon the pinnacle of old Trinity Church as we gazed with ravished eyes on the winding, glistening Avon, meandering through emerald meadows and whispering wild flowers to the silvery Severn.