. Literature, art and song: Moore's melodies and American poems; . ^ml 0% ml m. ^Wil on, sail on, thou fearless bark— Wherever blows the welcome cannot lead to scenes more dark, More sad than those we leave wave that passes seems to say, Though death beneath our smile may be, Less cold we are, less false than they, Whose smiling wreckd thy hopes and thee. Sail on, sail on, through endless space— Through calm—through tempest—stop no moreThe stormiest seas a resting place To him who leaves such hearts on —if some desert land we meet. Where never yet false-hearted menP
. Literature, art and song: Moore's melodies and American poems; . ^ml 0% ml m. ^Wil on, sail on, thou fearless bark— Wherever blows the welcome cannot lead to scenes more dark, More sad than those we leave wave that passes seems to say, Though death beneath our smile may be, Less cold we are, less false than they, Whose smiling wreckd thy hopes and thee. Sail on, sail on, through endless space— Through calm—through tempest—stop no moreThe stormiest seas a resting place To him who leaves such hearts on —if some desert land we meet. Where never yet false-hearted menProfaned a world, that else were sweet,— Then rest thee, bark, but not till ^fc- S) iQi ,/ <?. .% 4 // !# <^J^^, sad one of Sion, if closely resembling,In shame and in sorrow, thy witherd-up heart— If drinking deep, deep, of the same cup of tremblingCould make us thy children, our parent thou art. Like thee doth our nation lie conquerd and broken,And falln from her head is the once royal crown; In her streets, in her halls. Desolation hath spoken,And while it is day yet, her sun hath gone down. Like thine doth her exile, mid dreams of far from the home it were life to behold; |Like thine do her sons, in the day of their mourning,Remember the bright things that blessd them of ok O o Ah, well may we call her, like thee the Forsaken,*Her boldest are vanquishd, her proudest are slaves; And the harps of her minstrels, when gayest they waken,Have tones mid their mirth like the wind over graves! Yet hadst thou thy vengeance—yet came there the shines out, at last, on the longest dark night, /(| When the sceptre, that smote thee wit
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Keywords: ., bookauthormackenzi, bookcentury1800, bookdecade1870, bookyear1872
