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“ Erin, my country! though sad and forsaken,
In dreains 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 looked on my childhood ?
And where is the bosom-friend dearer than all ? Ah my sad heart, long abandoned by pleasure ! Why did it dote on a fast-fading treasure ! Tears like the rain-drops 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 !"
GERMAN DRINKING SONG.
Sweet Iser! were thy sunny realm,
And flowery fountains mine ;
To prop the tender vine.
* Ireland, my darling Ireland for ever.
My golden flagons I would fill
And under each green spreading bower,
To many a sportive hour.
Like rivers crimsoned by the beam
Oí yonder planet bright,
Profusion of delight!
(For wine can triumph over woe ;)
A Paradise below!
LOCHIEL'S WARNING. 40
LOCHIEL, Lochiel ! beware of the day,
But hark! through the fast flashing lightning of war, What steed to the desert flies frantic and far? 'Tis thine, oh Glenullin ! whose bride shall await, Like a love-lighted watch-fire, all night at the gate. A steed comes at morning: no rider is there; But its bridle is red with the sign of despair. (254)
Weep, Albin !* to death and captivity led !
Go, preach to the coward, thou death-telling seer !
Ha ! laugh’st thou, Lochiel, my vision to scorn,
False Wizard, avaunt! I have marshalled my clan:
• The Gaelic appellation of Scotland, more particularly the Highlands
Then welcome be Cumberland's steed to the shock!
-Lochiel, Lochiel, beware of the day! For, dark and despairing, my sight I may seal, But man cannot cover what God would reveal: 'Tis the sunset of life gives me mystical lore, And coming events cast their shadows before. I tell thee, Culloden's dread echoes shall ring With the bloodhounds, that bark for thy fugitive king. Lo! Anointed by Heaven with the vials of wrath, Behold, where he flies on his desolate path! Now, in darkness and billows, he sweeps from my sight: Rise! rise ! ye wild tempests, and cover his flight! ...
'Tis finished. Their thunders are hushed on the
* An English historian, after enumerating the severe executions of the Highland rebels at Culloden, Carlisle, and elsewhere, concludes hy in. forming us, that thousands experienced his Majesty's mercy, in being transported for life to the plantations!
Accursed be the faggots, that blaze at his feet,
-Down, soothless insulter! I trust not the tale ; For never shall Albin a destiny meet, So black with dishonour, so foul with retreat. Though my perishing ranks should be strewed in their gose, Like ocean-weeds heaped on the surf-beaten shore, Lochiel, untainted by flight or by chains, While the kindling of life in his bosom remains, Shall victor exult, or in death be laid low, With his back to the fleld, and his feet to the foe! And, leaving in battle no blot on his name, Look proudly to heaven from the death-bed of fame.
On Linden, when the sun was low,
Of Iser, rolling rapidly.
But Linden saw another sight,
The darkness of her scenery.
By torch and trumpet fast arrayed,
To join the dreadful revelry.
Then shook the hills, with thunder riven;