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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,
When to quit her father's mansion,

Thrice she wept, and bade adieu !
“Fly we then, while none discover;

Tyrant barks, in vain ye ride!"
Soon at Rhodes the British lover

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 :
For his country he sighed, when at twilight repairing

To wander alone by the wind beaten hill.
But the daystar attracted his eye's sad devotion,
For it 'rose o'er his own native isle of the ocean,
Where once, in the fire of his youthful emotion,
He
sang

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 !
Where is my cabin-door, fast by the wild wood?

Sisters and sire ! did ye weep for its fall?
Where is the mother that looked on my childhood?

And where is the bosom friend, dearer than all ?
Oh! my sad heart ! long abandoned by pleasure,
Why did it doat on a fast fading treasure !
Tears like the rain drop, may fall without measure;

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!
Joy for the day on red Vimeria’s strand,

When bayonet to bayonet opposed
First of Britannia's hosts her Highland band

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 !

LINES,

WRITTEN ON VISITING A SCENE IN ARGYLESHIRE.

Ar the silence of twilight's contemplative hour,

I have mused in a sorrowful mood,
On the wind shaken weeds that embosom the bower,

Where the home of my forefathers stood.
Al ruined and wild is their roofless abode,

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.

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Yet wandering, I found on my ruinous walk,

By the dial stone aged and green,
One rose of the wilderness left on its stalk,

To mark where a garden had been.
Like a brotherless hermit, the last of its race,

All wild in the silence of Nature, it drew,
From each wandering sunbeam, a lonely embrace;
For the night weed and thorn overshadowed the place,

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,
With the vanishing phantoms of love and delight,
Abandon my soul like a dream of the night,

And leave but a desert behind.
Be hushed, my dark spirit! for wisdom condemns

When the faint and the feeble deplore;
Be strong as the rock of the ocean that stems

A thousand wild waves on the shore !
Through the perils of chance, and the scowl of disdain,
May thy front be unaltered, thy courage

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.

PATRIOTIC STANZAS,

Composed and recited at a meeting of North Britons, in

London, on Monday, the Sth of August, 1303.
OUR bosoms we'll bare to the glorious strife,

And our oath is recorded on high,
To prevail in the Cause that is dearer than life,

Or, crushed in its ruins to die.
Then rise, fellow freemen, and stretch the right-hand,
And swear to prevail in your dear native land.

'Tis the home we hold sacred is laid to our trust.

God bless the green Isle of the brave !

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