Twas on Transylvania's Bannat 'When the crescent shone afar, 'Like a pale disastrous planet 'O'er the purple tide of war

'In that day of desolation,
'Lady, I was captive made;
Bleeding for my Christian nation
'By the walls of high Belgrade.'

"Captive! could the brightest jewel
'From my turban set thee free?'
'Lady, no!-the gift were cruel,
'Ransom'd, yet if reft of thee.

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 heav'n'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

Clasp'd 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 sigh'd, when at twilight repairing
To wander alone by the wind-beaten hill.

But the day-star 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,

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! 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 :
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 !*

* Ireland my darling-Ireland for ever.

LINES

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 phoenix 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 far Corunna's plain
Shall British 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 hills 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 union dear,

The rose,

the shamrock, and the thistle twine!

Types of a race who shall th' invader scorn,
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.