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But the day-står 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 lived, 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 that 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 wildwood ?
Sisters and sire, did ye weep for its fall ?
And where is the bosom-friend, dearer than all ?
But rapture and beauty they can not recall !
“Yet --- all its sad recollections suppressing
One dying wish my lone bosom shall 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 MAVOURNEEN! ERIN GO BRAGH!”
can'o-py, the covering of smoke.
l'ser (o'zer), a river of Germany. Lin'den, for Hohenlinden, in Ger
many. Mu'nich (mū'nik), capital of Bavaria.
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; Then rushed the steed, to battle driven ; And, louder than the bolts of heaven,
Far flashed the red artillery.
But redder yet those fires shall glow
Of Iser, rolling rapidly.
'Tis morn, but scarce yon lurid sun Can pierce the war-clouds, rolling dun, Where furious Frank and fiery Hun
Shout in their sulphurous canopy.
The combat deepens. On, ye brave,
And charge with all thy chivalry!
Few, few shall part where many meet !
Shall be a soldier's sepulcher.
LORD ULLIN'S DAUGHTER.
Loch-gyle' (lok-gile'), a lake in Scot | wa'ter-wraith (-răth), water-spirit. land.
wight (wit), man, person. sore, greatly.
win'some, winning, attractive.
A CHIEFTAIN to the Highlands bound
Cries, “ Boatman, do not tarry!
To row us o'er the ferry."
“Now, who be ye would cross Lochgyle,
This dark and stormy water ?”. “Oh, I am chief of Ulva's isle,
And this, Lord Ullin's daughter.
“ And fast before her father's men
Three days we've fled together;
My blood would stain the heather.
“His horsemen hard behind us ride :
Should they our steps discover,
When they have slain her lover?”
Out spoke the hardy island wight,
“I'll go, my chief; I'm ready: It is not for your silver bright,
But for your winsome lady;
“And, by my word, the bonny bird
In danger shall not tarry ;
I'll row you o'er the ferry.'
By this the storm grew
apace, The water-wraith was shrieking, And in the scowl of heaven each face
Grew dark as they were speaking.
But still as wilder blew the wind,
And as the night grew drearer, Adown the glen rode arméd men,
Their tramping sounded nearer.
“Oh, haste thee, haste!” the lady cries;
'Though tempests round us gather : I'll meet the raging of the skies,
But not an angry father."
The boat has left a stormy land,
A stormy sea before her, -
The tempest gathered o'er her.
And still they rowed amidst the roar
Of waters fast prevailing.
His wrath was changed to wailing.
For sore dismayed, through storm and shade,
His child he did discover: