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180

The Exile of Erin.

There came to the beach a poor exile of Erin,
The dew on his thin robe hung heavy and chill
For his courtry 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 glow of his youthful emotion,
He sang the bold anthem of ERIN GO BRAGH!

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O, 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
Ah! never again in the green shady bowers,
Where my forefathers lived, shall I spend the sweet hours,
Or cover my heart with the wild woven flowers,
And strike to the numbers of ERIN GO BRAGH!

O, where is the cottage that stood by the wild wood,
Sisters and sire, did ye weep for its fall!
O, where is my mother, that watch'd o'er my childhood,
And where is the bosom friend, dearer than all.
Ah! my sad soul, long abandon'd by pleasure,
O, why did it doat on a fast fading treasure;
Tears, like the rain drops, may fall without measure,
But rapture and beauty they cannot recall!

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Erin, my country, though sad and forsaken,
In dreams I revisit thy sea-beaten shore;
But alas! in a far distant land I awaken,
And sigh for the friends who can meet me no more!
O, hard cruel late, wilt thou never replace me,
In a mansion of peace, where no peril can chase me!
Ah, never again shall my brothers embrace me,
They died to defend me, or live to deplore.

But yet, all its fond recollection 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 its motion,
Green be thy fields, sweetest isle of the ocean,
And thy harp-striking bards, sing aloud with devotion,
O, ERIN MA VOURN'N ERIN GO BRAGH

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