Welcome of Tyrants?

 Trump is making a high-profile trip to Ireland this weekend to attend a golf tournament. The New York Times this morning notes that his arrival in that country has prompted "protests and praise." 

Praise?!! I thought. I was outraged. How could the Irish let me down so grievously? I had my Byron quotes all cued up. 

In Byron's poem "The Irish Avatar," he bemoaned the warm reception King George III found in Ireland on a state visit, even as he was oppressing its inhabitants:

Shout, drink, feast, and flatter! Oh! Erin, how low

Wert thou sunk by misfortune and tyranny, till

Thy welcome of tyrants hath plunged thee below

The depth of thy deep in a deeper gulf still!

I felt inclined to cry out the same in response to any Irish welcoming committee "praising" Trump!

But then I read further in the Times article. 

And the "praise" in question started to sound distinctly muted.

"There’s much of Donald Trump’s presidency and politics that I wouldn’t agree with," says one interviewee; "But we also have to be mindful of the relationship between Ireland and the U.S."

Another fellow says: "I think he’s a good man [....] He’s a big golfer. He seems to enjoy life and he just says what he thinks."

But the man's own daughter reportedly shook her head with skepticism even as he said this. 

Meanwhile, other people in Ireland are planning to meet him with "No Kings" signs at the ready. 

They are mad—and rightly so—about his illegal Iran war (among other things) that has violated the UN Charter and is raising prices globally, not just in the U.S.

"We just can’t capitulate to that narrative that people in Ireland somehow or another are backing Trump" the Times quotes one protester; "All it takes is for good people to stay silent for an incorrect view to be drawn."

It doesn't sound like the "praise" or the "welcome of tyrants" in Ireland actually runs too deep. 

So, good on you, Ireland! Well done. It will have to be a different note from Byron's poem that we will end on, in this case: 

There was something so warm and sublime in the core

Of an Irishman’s heart, that I envy[...]

‘Tis the glory of Grattan, and genius of Moore!