130 THE OLD OAKEN BUCKET. That moss-covered vessel I hailed as a treasure, For often at noon, when returned from the field, I found it the source of an exquisite pleasure, The purest the sweetest that nature can yield. How ardent I seized it, with hands that were glowing, And quick to the white-pebbled bottom it fell; Then soon with the emblem of truth overflowing, And dripping with coolness, it rose from the well The old oaken bucket, the iron-bound bucket, The moss-covered bucket, arose from the well. How sweet from the green mossy brim to receive it, As poised on the curb it inclined to my lips! Not a full blushing goblet could tempt me to leave it, The brightest that beauty or revelry sips. And now, far removed from the loved habita tion, The tear of regret will intrusively swell, EXILE OF ERIN. 131 As fancy reverts to my father's plantation, And sighs for the bucket that hangs in the well The old oaken bucket, the iron bound bucket, The moss-covered bucket that hangs in the well. Samuel Woodworth. EXILE OF ERIN. HERE came to the beach a poor Exile of Erin, The dew on his thin robe was heavy and chill; For his country he sighed, when at twilight repairing To wander alone by the wind-beaten hill. But the day-star attracted his eye's sad devo tion, For it rose o'er his own native isle of the ocean, Where once in the fire of his youthful emotion, He sang the bold anthem of Erin go Bragh. 132 EXILE OF ERIN. 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. 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, In dreams I revisit thy sea-beaten shore; But alas! in a fair foreign land I awaken, And sigh for the friends who can meet me no more! O, 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 wildwood? Sisters and sire! did ye weep for its fall? Where is my mother that looked on my childhood? And where is the bosom-friend, dearer than all? EXILE OF ERIN. 133 O, my sad heart! long abandoned by pleasure, Why did it doat 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 recollection 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! Thomas Campbell. S through the land at eve we went, We fell out, my wife and I; We fell out I know not why, And kissed again with tears. And blessings on the falling out When we fall out with those we love, For when we came where lies the child O, there, above the little grave, Alfred Tennyson. |