Page:Fugitive Poetry 1600-1878.djvu/293

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THE PATRIOT WARRIOR.

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And I feel the desire of my soul in vain,
That the land of my sires I shall ne'er see again,
That my tomb shall be hollowed out where now I stand,
And my eyelids be closed by some unknown hand.

Mark not the spot where my bones are laid,
Whether it be in the dark forest shade,
Or fast by the beach where the wild wave lashes,
Or deep in the pass where the hill torrent dashes,
Or high on the cliff where the eagle sweeps—
What matters it where the stranger sleeps?
But over the sea, over the sea,
How then shall my chainless spirit flee
Back to the land I love so well,
To the craggy steep, and the heathy dell.

The Patriot Warrior.

The ship is by the shore, my love,
And tarries but for me,
Farewell for evermore, my love,
To glory and to thee.

"Oh, stay! not yet too late to stay;
On yonder pennoned mast
Sits hazard, like a bird of prey,
To stoop and strike at last."

Let dangers ride the troubled wave,
More dark than thou canst name,
An age of peril I could brave,
But not an hour of shame.

"Oh! yet some few may live who bear
Exalted hope and will;
The brave and worthy still to dare
With thee to conquer still."

Not to the worthy is the wreath,
The battle to the brave;
A baffled sword I now must sheathe,
But will not live a slave.

"Thy land from mead to mountain brow,
Stamped with the deathless lore
Of glorious memories, wilt thou
Forsake for evermore?"

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