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SHE IS FAR FROM THE LAND.
She is far from the land where her young hero sleeps,
But coldly she turns from their gaze, and weeps,
She sings the wild song of her dear native plains,
Ah! little they think who delight in her strains,
He had lived for his love, for his country he died;
Oh! make her a grave where the sun-beams rest,
They'll shine o'er her sleep, like a smile from the west,
From her own loved island of sorrow!
TO THE MEMORY OF A YOUNG LADY.
She is gone far away to where Seraphs shall sing
And the harps of the blest shall sweetly ring
She has gone to the home of the gentle heart,
Where the glow of that innocence ne'er shall depart
Then weep not for her who brightly came
And ere earth sullied the soul's pure flame,
Thou blossoming virtue ! thou could'st not die !
And it is not thy fate that demands a sigh,
THE DIRGE OF WALLACE.
They lighted a taper at dead of night,
But her brow and her bosom were damp with affright—
And the Lady of Elderslie wept for her lord,
When a death-watch beat in her lonely room, When her curtain had shook of its own accord, And the raven had flapped at her window-board, To tell of her warrior's doom!
Now sing ye the death-song, and loudly pray
And call me a widow this wretched day,
The lord of my bosom is doomed to die ;
Yet knew not his country that ominous hour,
On the high-born blood of a martyr slain,
Oh, it was not thus when his oaken spear
And hosts of a thousand were scattered, like deer
At the blast of the hunter's horn;
When he strode on the wreck of each well-fought field
Yet bleeding and bound, tho' the Wallace wight
The bugle ne'er sung to a braver knight
Than William of Elderslie !
But the day of his glory shall never depart;
His head unentombed shall with glory be palmed;
THE DYING FATHER TO HIS DAUGHTER.
To me, my sweet Kathleen, the Benshee has cried,
This rose thou hast gathered, and laid by my side,
My days they are gone, like a tale that is told,
Let me bless thee, and bid thee adieu;
For never to father, when feeble and old,
Was daughter so kind and so true.
Thou hast walked by my side, and my board thou hast spread,
For my chair the warm corner hast found;
And told my dull ear what the visitor said,