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THE EXILE OF ERIN.
of plunder, devoting them and their possessions to the rapacity of hireling cruelty! If I were, an American, as I am an Englishman, while a foreign troop was landed in my country, I never would lay down my arms !-never! never! never!
THE EXILE OF ERIN.–GEORGE NUGENT REYNOLDS. W HERE came to the beach a poor exile of Erin,
1 The dew on his thin robe was heavy and chill;
To wander alone by the wind-beaten hill :
He sang the bold anthem of “ Erin go bragh!”
“ Sad is my fate!”-said the heart-broken stranger
"The wild deer and wolf to the 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,
And sigh for the friends that can meet me no more!
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 ?
And where is the bosom-friend, dearer than all ?
Ah! my sad soul, long abandoned by pleasure !
But rapture and beauty they cannot recall ! “ Yet, all its sad recollections 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 !'”
ABSALOM.—N. P. WILLIS. TT ING DAVID'S limbs were weary. He had filed
A From far Jerusalem ; and now he stood With his faint people, for a little rest, Upon the shore of Jordan. The light wind Of morn was stirring, and he bared his brow To its refreshing breath, for he had worn The mourner's covering, and he had not felt That he could see his people until now. They gathered round him on the fresh, green bank, And spoke their kindly words; and, as the sun Rose up in heaven, he knelt among them there, And bowed his head upon his hands to pray. Oh! when the heart is full,—when bitter thoughts Come crowding thickly up for futterance, And the poor common words of courtesy Are such a very mockery—how much The bursting heart may pour itself in prayer! He prayed for Israel; and his voice went up Strongly and fervently. He prayed for those Whose love had been his shield; and his deep tones Grew tremulous. But, oh! for Absalom,For his estranged, misguided Absalom,
The proud, bright being, who had burst away,
The pall was settled. He who slept beneath
“Alas! my noble boy! that thou shouldst die!
Thou, who wert made so beautifully fair!
That death should settle in thy glorious eye,
And leave his stillness in this clustering hair !
My proud boy Absalom!.
As to my bosom I have tried to press thee.
Like a rich harp-string, yearning to caress thee,
And cold lips, Absalom !
Of music, and the voices of the young;
And the dark tresses to the soft winds flung;
To meet me, Absalom !
Like a bruised reed, is waiting to be broken,
Yearn for thine ear to drink its last deep token!
To see thee, Absalom !
“ And now, farewell! 'Tis hard to give thee up,
With death so like a gentle slumber on thee:And thy dark sin !-Oh! I could drink the cup,
If from this woe its bitterness had won thee. May God have called thee, like a wanderer, home,
My erring Absalom !”.
He covered up his face, and bowed himself
THERE IS NO DEATH.
THERE IS NO DEATH.
WHERE is no death! The stars go down
1 To rise upon some fairer shore; And, bright in Heaven's jeweled crown,
They shine forevermore.
There is no death! The dust we tread
Shall change beneath the summer showers To golden grain or mellow fruit,
Or rainbow-tinted flowers.
The granite rocks disorganize
To feed the hungry moss they bear;
From out the viewless air.
The flowers may fade and pass away- . They only wait, through wintry hours,
The coming of the May.
Walks o'er the earth with silent tread,
He leaves our hearts all desolate
He plucks our fairest, sweetest flowers; Transplanted into bliss, they now
Adorn immortal bowers.
The bird-like voice whose joyous tones
Made glad this scene of sin and strife, Rings now in everlasting song
Beneath the tree of life.
And where he sees a smile too bright,
Or hearts too pure for taint of vice, He bears it to that world of light,
To dwell in Paradise.