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Oh cruel fate! will thou never replace me
Where is my cabin-door, fast by the wild wood ?
Sisters and sire! did ye weep for its fall?
And where is the bosom friend, dearer than all?
But rapture and beauty they cannot recal.
Yet all its sad recollection suppressing,
One dying wish my lone bosom can draw : Erip! 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 !*
* Ireland my darling-Ireland for ever.
Written at the request of the Highland Society in Lon.
don, 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 amid the brave, remember Moore !
And be it deem'd 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 phonix soul
Rose on the flames of victory to Heav'n!
llow oft (if beats in subjugated Spain
One patriot heart) in secret shall it mourn For him!-how oft on far Corunna's plain
si Britis exiles weep upon his urn!
Peace to the mighty dead our bosom-thanks
In sprightlier strains the 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 unfurl'd,
Dear symbol wild ! on freedom's kills it grows, Where Fingal stemm'd the tyrants of the world,
And Roman eagles found unconquer'd foes.
Joy to the band* this day on Egypt's coast
Whose valour tam'd proud France's tricolor, And wrench'd the banner from her bravest host,
Baptiz'd Invincible in Austria's gore !
Joy for the day on red Vimeira's strand,
When bayonet to bayonet oppos'd,
Gave but the death-shot once, and foremost clos'd!
Is there a son of generous England here
Or fervid Erin ?-he with us shall join, To pray that in eternal imion dear,
The rose, the shamrock, and the thistle twine!
Types of a race who shall th' invader scora,
As rocks resist the billows round their shore; Types of a race who shall to time unborn
Their country leave unconquer'd as of yore!
* The 42d Regiment.
WRITTEN OX VISITING Å SCENX IN ARGILESAIRE.
At the silence of twilight's contemplative hour,
I have mus'd 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-cover'd road, 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 ali
That remains in this desolate heart!
But patience shall never depart!
And leave but a desert behind.
Be hush'd, my dark spirit! for wisdom condemns
When the faint and the feeble deplore;
A thousand wild waves on the shore !
May thy front be unalter'd, thy courage elate!
To bear is to conquer our fate.