Poems (Ford)/A Voice from Exile
A VOICE FROM EXILE.
The god of day, whose blazing eye
The earth with glory fills,
Has rolled his golden chariot down
Behind the western hills;
Like hope's bright ray has passed away
The holy vesper light;
Alone and in a stranger land,
My heart is sad to-night.
The earth with glory fills,
Has rolled his golden chariot down
Behind the western hills;
Like hope's bright ray has passed away
The holy vesper light;
Alone and in a stranger land,
My heart is sad to-night.
The broken links of mem'ry now
Are bound into a chain
Whose golden windings draw my heart
Across the Western main,
Back to my own blue native hills,
By ocean's breezes fanned—
Back to my childhood's home and thee,
My worshipped native land.
Are bound into a chain
Whose golden windings draw my heart
Across the Western main,
Back to my own blue native hills,
By ocean's breezes fanned—
Back to my childhood's home and thee,
My worshipped native land.
The spectres of the dead years rise,
And, in their misty track,
From ocean waves and scattered graves
My loved ones, too, come back;
Our homestead's ancient walls once more
Resound with song and mirth—
But strangers gather now at eve
Round our once happy hearth.
And, in their misty track,
From ocean waves and scattered graves
My loved ones, too, come back;
Our homestead's ancient walls once more
Resound with song and mirth—
But strangers gather now at eve
Round our once happy hearth.
Though dwelling in a distant land—
The fair land of the free—
Each breeze that sweeps thy mountains bears
A dirge-like wail to me;
How can thy children's hearts be glad
On Freedom's smiling plains,
While thou art groaning, Motherland,
Beneath thy load of chains?
The fair land of the free—
Each breeze that sweeps thy mountains bears
A dirge-like wail to me;
How can thy children's hearts be glad
On Freedom's smiling plains,
While thou art groaning, Motherland,
Beneath thy load of chains?
The bitter wrongs that bow thy head
And tinge thy cheek with shame,
Are graven on thy children's hearts
In lines of quenchless flame.
On other nations' battle-fields
Thy life-blood gushes free:
Is there no resurrection, then,
From living death for thee?
And tinge thy cheek with shame,
Are graven on thy children's hearts
In lines of quenchless flame.
On other nations' battle-fields
Thy life-blood gushes free:
Is there no resurrection, then,
From living death for thee?
Oh, hapless mother of a race
Of helots, born in chains
That rankle in the heart, and freeze
Life's current in the veins,
Up!—cast the shackles from thy limbs—
In power majestic rise,
Unfettered as proud Freedom's bird,
Whose dark wing cleaves the skies!
Of helots, born in chains
That rankle in the heart, and freeze
Life's current in the veins,
Up!—cast the shackles from thy limbs—
In power majestic rise,
Unfettered as proud Freedom's bird,
Whose dark wing cleaves the skies!
Thy voice is heard, but heeded not;
Why stoop thy rights to crave?
Does Liberty her smiles bestow
On weak or coward slave?
The voices of thy martyred dead
Rise from the blood-stained sod;
They bid thee bow the knee no more
Save to the throne of God.
Why stoop thy rights to crave?
Does Liberty her smiles bestow
On weak or coward slave?
The voices of thy martyred dead
Rise from the blood-stained sod;
They bid thee bow the knee no more
Save to the throne of God.
Now Tyranny, on crumbling throne,
In abject terror quakes,
And Revolution's mighty hand
The earth's foundation shakes;
No nation tamely bows the neck
Or bends the conquered knee—
Why shouldst thou crawl? Thy fitting place
Is 'mongst the brave and free!
In abject terror quakes,
And Revolution's mighty hand
The earth's foundation shakes;
No nation tamely bows the neck
Or bends the conquered knee—
Why shouldst thou crawl? Thy fitting place
Is 'mongst the brave and free!
The clarion voice of Liberty
Rings over land and main—
'Wake, Erin, 'wake! and never sleep
In slavery again!
Oh, while thou'rt trampled in the dust,
Deprived of Freedom's light,
A fettered slave, the exile's heart
May well be sad to-night.
Rings over land and main—
'Wake, Erin, 'wake! and never sleep
In slavery again!
Oh, while thou'rt trampled in the dust,
Deprived of Freedom's light,
A fettered slave, the exile's heart
May well be sad to-night.