Songs of an Exile.--No. 8.(1840)Air--"PEGGY BARN." I bless thy shores, my native land,
'Mid parting nature's strife ;
I hail thee of the powerful wand,
Which moves the pulse of life. Alas ! the shadows of thy hills
Are thrown across nay heart,
And the gurgle of their gushing rills
Doth never thence depart. I know my household hearths are cold.
That my kindred's graves are green ;
I know--I know the Church-yard mould
Tells where my race have been. But organ peals are sounding there,
And Choral anthems swell
Where the holy voice of Christian prayer
Ascends with Sabbath-bell. Oh ! birthrights of my Island home.
What dreary lot is mine !
Unblest 'mid Austral wilds to roam,
A slave at Mammon's shrine ! What weary doom to count each link,
Whose rust is in my soul.
Thus woe life's phantoms ; but to sink
Untimely at the goal. Government House, Emu Plains,
New South Wales. Notes From the Sydney newspaper The Australian 7 May 1840 p. 2. Top