On The Death And Murder Of Receiver-General William Christian, Of Ronaldsway, Who Was Shot Near Hang Poem by Anonymous British

1.
In so shifting a scene, who would confidence place
In family power, youth, or in personal grace?
No character's proof against enmity foul;
And thy fate, William Dhône, sickens our soul.

2.
You are Derby's receiver of patriot zeal,
Replete with good sense, and reputed genteel,
Your Sustice applauded by the young and the old;
And thy fate, &c.

3.
A kind, able patron both to church and to state-
What roused their resentment but talents so great?
No character's proof against enmity foul;
And thy fate, &c.

4.
Thy pardon, 'tis rumour'd, came over the main,
Nor late, but conceal'd by a villain in grain;
'Twas fear forced the jury to a sentence so foul;
And thy fate, &c.

5.
Triumphant stood Colcott, he wish'd for no more,
When the pride of the Christians lay welt'ring in gore,
To malice a victim, though steady and bold;
And thy fate, &c.

6.
With adultery stain'd, and polluted with gore,
He Ronaldsway eyed, as Loghuecolly before,
'Twas the land sought the culprit, as Ahab before;
And thy fate, &c.

7.
Proceed to the once famed abode of the Nuns,
Call the Calcotts aloud, till you torture your lungs,
Their short triumph's ended, extinct is the whole;
And thy fate, &c.

8.
For years could Robert lay crippled in bed,
Nor knew the world peace while he held up his head,
The neighbourhood's scourge in iniquity bold;
And thy fate, &c.

9.
Not one's heard to grieve, seek the country all through,
Nor lament for the name that Bemacan once knew;
The poor rather load it with curses untold;
And thy fate, &c.

10.
Ballaclogh and the Criggans mark strongly their sin,
Not a soul of the name's there to welcome you in;
In the power of the strangers is centred the whole;
And thy fate, &c.

11.
The opulent Scarlett on which the sea flows,
Is piecemeal disposed of to whom the Lord knows;
It is hero without bread or defence from the cold;
And thy fate, &c.

12.
They assert then in vain, that the law sought thy blood,
For all aiding the massacre never did good;
Like the rooted-up golding deprived of its gold,
They languish'd, were blasted, grew wither'd and old.

13.
When the shoots of a tree so corrupted remain,
Like the brier or thistle, they goad us with pain;
Deep, dark, undermining, they mimic the mole;
And thy fate, &c.

14.
Round the infamous wretches who spilt Caesar's blood,
Dead spectres and conscience in sad array stood,
Not a man of the gang reach'd life's utmost goal;
And thy fate, &c.

15.
Perdition, too, seized them who caused thee to bleed,
To decay fell their houses, their lands and their seed
Disappear'd like the vapour when morn's tinged with gold;
And thy fate, &c.

16,
From grief all corroding, to hope I'll repair,
That a branch of the Christians will soon grace the chair,
With royal instructions his foes to console:
And thy fate, &c.

17.
With a book for my pillow, I dreamt as I lay,
That a branch of the Christians would hold Ronaldsway;
His conquests his topic with friends o'er a bowl,
And thy fate, &c.

18.
And now for a wish in concluding my song,-
May the Almighty withhold me from doing what's wrong;
Protect every mortal from enmity foul,
For thy fate, William Dhône, sickens our soul!