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“ 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! 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-drop, may fall without
measure, 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 mavourneen_Erin-go-bragh !"
* Ireland my darling.
the Harper aited his Hog.
N the green banks of Shannon, when Sheelah was nigh, No blithe Irish lad was so happy as I; No harp like my own could so cheerily play, And wherever I went was my poor dog Tray. When at last I was forced from my Sheelah to
part, She said, while the sorrow was big at her heart, " Oh, remember your Sheelah, when far, far
away, And be kind, my dear Pat, to your poor dog
Poor dog, he was faithful and kind to be sure, And he constantly loved me although I was poor; When the sour-looking folks sent me heartless
away, I had always a friend in my poor dog Tray.
When the road was so dark, and the night was
so cold, And Pat and his dog were grown weary and olu, How snugly we slept in my old coat of gray, And he licked me for kindness, my poor dog Tray.
Though my wallet was scant, I remember'd his case,
Where now shall I go? poor, forsaken, and blind,
The Waxinets of England.
YE mariners of England!
Who guard our native seas,
The battle and the breeze,
To match another foe,
While the stormy tempests blow;
And the stormy tempests blow.
The spirit of your fathers
Shall start from every wave!
And ocean was their grave :
Where Blake* and mighty Nelson fell
Your manly hearts shall glow, As ye sweep through the deep
While the stormy tempests blow; While the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy tempests blow. Britannia needs no bulwarks,
No towers along the steep;
Her home is on the deep :
She quells the floods below,
When the stormy tempests blow; When the battle rages loud and long,
And the stormy tempests blow.
Shall yet terrific burn,
And the star of peace return.
Our song and feast shall flow To the fame of your name,
When the storm has ceased to blow ; When the fiery fight is heard no more,
And the storm has ceased to blow. * BLAKE.- A brave admiral, who greatly signalised himself in
battles with the Dutch and Spaniards. He died as he was entering Plymouth Sound in August, 1657.
Napoleon and the young English Sailor.
Napoleon, in 1803, determined to invade England, and this caused 300,000 volunteers to enrol themselves for the defence of our shores. Napoleon was closely watched by the English, and considering his project too hazardous ha abandoned it, and marched his army against the Austriaus.
From all his homicidal glory-
Poor British seaman.
They suffer'd him, I know not how,
On England's home. .
Dear cliffs of Dover.
To England nearer.