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“Say, fair princess! would it grieve thee
Christian climes should we behold ?”. “Nay, bold knight! I would not leave thee
Were thy ransom paid in gold !" Now in heaven's blue expansion
Rose the midnight star to view,
Thrice she wept, and bade adieu !
Tyrant barks, in vain ye ride!"
Clasped his blooming Eastern bride.
EXILE OF ERIN.
THERE came to the beach a poor Exile of Erin,
The dew on his thin robe was heavy and chill :
To wander alone by the wind beaten hill.
the bold anthem of Erin go bragh. Sad is my fate! said the heart-broken stranger,
The wild deer and wolf to a covert can flee ; But I have no refuge from famine and danger,
A home and a country remain not to me. Never again in the green sunny bowers, [hours, Where my forefathers lived, shall I spend the sweet Or cover my harp with the wild woven flowers,
And strike to the numbers of Erin go bragh!
Erin my country! though sad and forsaken,
In dreams I revisit thy seabeaten shore; But alas ! in a fair foreign land I awaken,
And sigh for the friends who can meet me no more! Oh cruel fate! will thou never replace me In a mansion of peace—where no perils can chase me? Never again, shall my brothers embrace me?
They died to defend me, or live to deplore !
Sisters and sire ! did ye weep for its fall?
And where is the bosom friend, dearer than all ?
But rapture and beauty they cannot recall. Yet all its sad recollection suppressing,
One dying wish my lone bosom can draw, Erin ! an exile bequeaths thee his blessing !
Land of my forefathers ! Erin go bragh! Buried and cold, when my heart stills her motion, Green be thy fields—sweetest isle of the ocean! And thy harp striking bards sing aloud with devotion
Erin mavournin!-Erin go bragh!*
LINES, Written at the request of the Highland Society in Lon
don, when met to commemorate the 21st of March, the Pledge to the memory of her parted worth!
day of victory in Egypt. Pledge to the much loved land that gave us birth Invincible romantic Scotia's shore !
* Ireland my darling-Ireland for ever.
And first amid the brave, remember Moore ! And be it deemed not wrong that name to give,
In festive hours, which prompts the patriot's sigh ! Who would not envy such as Moore to live?
And died he not as heroes wish to die?
Yes, though too soon attaining glory's goal,
To us his bright career too short was giv'n; Yet in a mighty cause his phenix soul
Rose on the flames of victory to Heav'n! How oft (if beats in subjugated Spain
One patriot heart) in secret shall it mourn For him !how oft on fair Corunna's plain
Shall British exiles weep upon his urn!
Peace to the mighty dead !-our bosom thanks
In sprightlier strains they living may inspire ! Joy to the chiefs that lead old Scotia's ranks,
Of Roman garb and more than Roman fire! Triumphant be the thistle still unfurled,
Dear symbol wild! on freedom's hills it grows, Where Fingal stemmed the tyrants of the world,
And Roman eagles found unconquered foes. Joy to the band* this day on Egypt's coast
Whose valour tamed proud France's tricolor, And wrenched the banner from her bravest host,
Baptized Invincible in Austria's gore!
When bayonet to bayonet opposed
Gave but the death shot once, and foremost closed !
* The 420 Regiment
Is there a son of generous England here
Or fervid Erin ?-he with us shall join, To pray that in eternal union dear,
The rose, the shamrock, and the thistle twine ! Types of a race who shall the invader scorn,
As rocks resist the billows round their shore; Types of a race who shall to time unborn
Their country leave unconquered as of yore !
WRITTEN ON VISITING A SCENE IN ARGYLESHIRE.
Ar the silence of twilight's contemplative hour,
I have mused in a sorrowful mood,
Where the home of my forefathers stood.
And lonely the dark raven's sheltering tree; And travelled by few is the grass covered roaù, Where the hunter of deer and the warrior trode
To his hills that encircle the sea.
Yet wandering, I found on my ruinous walk,
By the dial stone aged and green,
To mark where a garden had been.
All wild in the silence of Nature, it drew,
Where the flower of my forefathers grew.
Sweet bud of the wilderness ! emblem of all
That remains in this desolate heart ! The fabric of bliss to its centre may fall;
But patience shall never depart ! Though the wilds of enchantment, all vernal anu bright,
In the days of delusion by fancy combined,
And leave but a desert behind.
When the faint and the feeble deplore;
A thousand wild waves on the shore !
elate! Yea! even the name I have worshipped in vain Shall awake not the sigh of remembrance again ;
To bear is to conquer our fate.
Composed and recited at a meeting of North Britons, in
London, on Monday, the Sth of August, 1303.
And our oath is recorded on high,
Or, crushed in its ruins to die.
'Tis the home we hold sacred is laid to our trust.
God bless the green Isle of the brave !