Poems, on sacred and other subjects and songs, humorous and sentimental: By the late William Watt. Third edition of the songs only--with additional songs |
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THE LAST VIEW OF ERIN. |
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 | Poems, on sacred and other subjects |  |
THE LAST VIEW OF ERIN.
Young Barny look'd sad, as he stood on the deck
Of the vessel that bounded away for Quebec,
Far, far from the land of the shamrock so green:
The sigh heaved his breast, and the tear dimm'd his eye,
While his native land melted 'twixt ocean and sky;
Yet he sprang up the shrouds for the last parting view
Of sweet Erin's green hills, now by distance turn'd blue,
The land of the shamrock so yellow and green.
Of the vessel that bounded away for Quebec,
Far, far from the land of the shamrock so green:
The sigh heaved his breast, and the tear dimm'd his eye,
While his native land melted 'twixt ocean and sky;
Yet he sprang up the shrouds for the last parting view
Of sweet Erin's green hills, now by distance turn'd blue,
The land of the shamrock so yellow and green.
Tears sprinkled his cheeks, and grief palsied his tongue,
As aloft to the breeze-sighing cordage he clung,
Till his dear native land could no longer be seen.
“O my country,” he falter'd, “an endless farewell,
For whose freedom my forefathers both fought and fell:
Ah! my sad bosom thrills to its innermost core,
Thus to leave thee for dark Niagara's wild roar,
Afar from thy harp and thy shamrock so green.
As aloft to the breeze-sighing cordage he clung,
Till his dear native land could no longer be seen.
“O my country,” he falter'd, “an endless farewell,
For whose freedom my forefathers both fought and fell:
Ah! my sad bosom thrills to its innermost core,
Thus to leave thee for dark Niagara's wild roar,
Afar from thy harp and thy shamrock so green.
“But little I thought, while life's morn shone so fair,
By Killarney's pure lake, when, a stranger to care,
I gather'd the shamrock so yellow and green,
That the ties of affection, so form'd to enchant,
Should be ruthlessly torn by the chill hand of want,
Which exiles me from all I admire and adore,
The land of my birth, and my dear Ellenore,
Who wails where the shamrock blooms yellow and green.
By Killarney's pure lake, when, a stranger to care,
I gather'd the shamrock so yellow and green,
That the ties of affection, so form'd to enchant,
Should be ruthlessly torn by the chill hand of want,
Which exiles me from all I admire and adore,
The land of my birth, and my dear Ellenore,
Who wails where the shamrock blooms yellow and green.
“Dear mate of my childhood, companion in youth,
Whose eye beams with love, and whose heartglows with truth,
I have left thee to roam 'mong the shamrock so green;
But should fate e'er relent, who hath press'd me so hard,
And bless my endeavours with plenty's reward;
With rapture I'd waft, from our dear native shore,
The charm of my life, my young, sweet Ellenore,
No longer to mourn 'mong the shamrock so green.”
Whose eye beams with love, and whose heartglows with truth,
I have left thee to roam 'mong the shamrock so green;
But should fate e'er relent, who hath press'd me so hard,
And bless my endeavours with plenty's reward;
With rapture I'd waft, from our dear native shore,
The charm of my life, my young, sweet Ellenore,
No longer to mourn 'mong the shamrock so green.”
| Poems, on sacred and other subjects | |