"THE LAND OF INNISFAIL," BY MAYNE REID.
And I must leave thee, Erin! 'tis my fate--
And I must wander over many a land!
And other climes and other homes await
The `Scholar,' wasted--worn--but may this hand
That writes thy praises now, cold on the sand
Unburied lie for ever--may no hearth
Shelter me, vagrant on a foreign strand
The cursed and homeless outcast of the earth,
When I forget thou art the country of my birth.
Erin, I love thee! though thy sunken cheek
Is pale with weeping, and thy hollow eye,
With many a stifled groan, and rending shriek,
Reveals dark tales of bitter agony;
That I have pitied thy sad misery
I've proved through every change of land and sea;
I've wafted o'er the ocean many a sigh,
And many an earnest prayer that thou shouldst be,
As are thy children's souls--unshackled, happy, free!
I love thee, though I could not live with thee!
The trampler of thy fields, red with thy gore,
Had made my home a hell--I would not be
The fawning minion at a great man's door--
I would not beg upon thy wintry moor
To starve neglected; and soon as I knew
That there were other lands, the broad seas o'er,
With hands to welcome, and with hearts as true--
I dropped one tear, and bid my native land adieu!