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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

Transcription Notes:
---------- Reopened for Editing 2023-06-29 23:58:53