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Show THE CRY 6f"tHE EXILES. The following poem by the Rev. J.' B. Dollard, one of the Boston Pilot's poets, appears in the opening numoer of the new Irish journal, the Irish People, which is edited by Mr.' William O'Brien, who pays the following compliment to Father Dollard: Dol-lard: "The Rev. Father Dollard (Sliav-na-mon) who contributes the lines: The Cry of the Exiles,' to our opening number, iii tha best living representative of the lyric gift which gave its touch of sacred lire to the young Ireland ballads." Hear ye the cry of the exile from over the ocean waves. Hear ye the cry front prairie and plain. t'he cry from a million graves From lands- Where shines the Southern Cross, where mad Niagara raves. Hark , ye the cry from a thousand fields where'er was fought a fight From Ramilles to Dendermond, Boston to Marye's Height; Hear ye the cry of the exiles dead, their mandate is "Unite." Hear ye the cry of the living, the exiles' . cry that rings From Where Missouri wanders, and far La Pla ta springs. From drear Australian Bushland, where never a warbler sings. This is the cry of the exiles, "We've made our beds afar, Our brmes shall lie 'neavh alien sky across the broad earth's bar; But our hearts are true to Ireland, as pols to the Boreal Star." Here is the cry of the exiles, ""Our souls are i-ad to see Her ranks, all ren t and broken, her chiefs that eunderei b. Until, let the oanietli people proclaim they b'hall be free." Heed ye the .voice of the exiles from clear unto Maim Head; Heed ye the voice of the living, heed ye the voice of the dead. He that not heeds is a. traitor, look ye his hands are red. See while yemnt and squabble the land's best lite blood Hows. With anguished heart and broken, the peasant to exile goes. Bleeding and bound lies Erin, the scorn and jet of her foes. . . .) 9 He is a traitor to Ireland who now shrinks back from the nght Deal him the doom he merits true men, up in your might. Cease in God's name to quarrel, brothers be one. UNITE! . Heed ye the voice of the exiles, the cry ot the quick and the dead. He that not heeds., is a. traitor, look, and his handd are red, The tlood of a murclered nation, tha wrath of God on his head. |