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496 SARA J. CLARKE. And like the shriek of madness, comes Their wild beseeching cry— "Bread, bread! we faint, we waste, we starve, Bread, bread! oh, God, we die!" And shall they perish thus, whose sires, Stout warrior-men and stern, With Wallace battled side by side, And bled at Bannockburn! Where freedom's new world realms expand, Where western sunsets glow, A nation with one mighty voice Gives back the answer,—"No!" 'T is ours, 't is ours, the godlike power To bid doomed thousands live; Then let us on the water cast The bread of our reprieve; Give, give! when Scotia's proud sons beg, Oh, heaven, who would not give! And forms of womanhood are there, The matron and the maid, Strange, haggard, famine-wasted shapes, In tatter'd garbs array'd, And these are they whose beauties rare Are famed in song and story, And these are they whose mothers' names Are link'd with Scotland's glory! Ah, they too gaze with dim sad eyes Out o'er the western main, While there are beating woman hearts They shall not gaze in vain, We rest not till we minister To their despairing need, Give, give! oh, heaven, who would not give When Scotia's daughters plead? SARA J. CLARKE. 497 A voice from Erin's storied isle Comes sweeping o'er the main; Ha! calls she on her sons to strike For freedom once again? Or rises from her heart of fire The pealing voice of song, Or rolls the tide of eloquence The burden'd air along? Or ringeth our some lay of love By blue-eyed maidens sung, Or sweeter, dearer music yet, The laughter of the young? Far other is that fearful voice, A sound of woe and dread, 'T is Erin mourning for her sons, They perish in the open fields, They fall beside the way, Or lie within their hovel-homes, Their bed, the damp cold clay, And watch the sluggish tide of life Ebb slowly day by day! They sink as sinks the mariner When wreck'd upon the wave, "Unknell'd, uncoffin'd, and unknown," No winding-sheet, no grave! To us her cry; be our reply Bread-laden argosies; Let love's divine armada meet Her fearful enemies; Give, give, and feel the smile of God Upon thy spirit lie; Draw back, and let thy poor soul hear Its angel's parting sigh. 42* 2G
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Reopened for Editing 2023-06-29 23:58:53