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Show (The Exile's Devoiion T By Thomas Darcy MeGee. i tfWffl 1 forswenr tho art divine T t fSdl k Tlmt filoll,l(!S tho ',eml- J "MW) What comfort then enn I cnll mine, S) f5ym What Holncu seek Instead? Jp T lyfy For f-0I ,n' birth our country's faino I t W1S "f0 mo' n'"' ,ovu: I i (WJawAnd for euch loyal Irish name 1 Si 3ffi Some garland still I wove. . , 5 I 1(1 rlUll0,, ,H 1,10 ljlr1 fllnl 8l"fi8 X 1 X$tr5 Above the martyr's grave, 3 Than fold In furtunu'u cage my wings' i 1 And feel my soul a slnve; j I'd rather turn ono Hlinplo verse & I True to the Gaelic ear I 5 Thau sapphlc odes I might rchcaruo J 1 With senuteH listening near. 1 3 Oh, native land! dost ever mark, ? When the world's din Is drowned J I llctwlxt tho duylight and tho dark, 1 X A wandering solemn Hound J Thut on tho western wind Is homo j Across thy dewy brenst? I It Is the voice of those who mourn j i I For thee, In the far west. For them und theirs I oft essay ( . X !Thy ancient art of Hong, i And often sadly turn nwny, Deomlug my rashness wrong; 1 For well I ween, a loving will Z Is nil thu art I own. i Ah me! could love sufllco for skill, Whut trlumpliB I hud known! n i My native laud! My native land! " i Live In my memory still! ' Ilreuk on my brain, ye surges grund! t. Stand up, mist-covered hill! Still on tho mirror of tho in I ml The scenes I love, I sec; Would I could fly on thu western wind, 1 My nntlve land, to thee! i |