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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 sigh’d, when at twilight repairing
To wander alone by the wind-beaten hill.
But the day-star attracted his eye's sad devotion,
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, Where my forefathers liv’d, shall I spend the sweet
hours, 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 sea-beaten shore;
But alas! in a far foreign land I awaken,
And sigh for the friends who can meet me no more! Oh cruel fate! wilt 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 look'd on my childhood ?
And where is the bosom-friend, dearer than all ? Oh! my sad heart! long abandon’d 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!
* Ireland my darling-Ireland for ever.
WRITTEN AT THE REQUEST OF THE HIGHLAND SOCIETY IN
LONDON, WHEN MET TO COMMEMORATE THE 21ST OF MARCH, THE DAY OF VICTORY IN EGYPT.
Pledge to the much lov'd land that gave us birth!
Invincible romantic Scotia's shore !
Pledge to the memory of her parted worth !
And first, amidst the brave, remember Moore !