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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 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 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,
First of Britannia's hosts her Highland band

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.



At the silence of twilight's contemplative hour,

I have mus'd in a sorrowful mood,
On the wind-shaken weeds that embosom the bower,

Where the home of my forefathers stood.
All ruin'd and wild is their roofless abode,

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,
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,
Erom each wandering sun-beam, a lonely embrace ;
For the nigbt-weed and thorn overshadowed the place,

Where the flower of my forefathers grew.

Sweet bud of the wilderness ! emblem of ali

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 and

In the days of delusion by fancy combin'd,
With the vanishing phantoms of love and delight,
Abandon my soul like a dream of the night,

And leave but a desert behind.

Be hush'd, 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 unalter'd, thy courage elate!
Vea! even the name I have worshipp'd in vain
Shall awake not the sigh of remembrance agaid;

To bear is to conquer our fate.

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