Sunday, April 5, 2026

The Exile's Return

by A.G.

Originally published in Fraser's Magazine (James Fraser) vol.2 #11 (Dec 1830).


                Then away! then away! I have listened too long
                To the music of laughter, the echo of song;
                To the notes which endear us to life, and to love,
                Which follow our footsteps wherever we rove.

                I have listened to these, I have lingered awhile,
                But the sigh at departure has banished the smile;
                And the whispered regret in the distance is hushed,
                And the hope I then cherished, is finally crushed.

                I watched, as the shore was diminishing fast,
                The flutter of sails, and the creak of the mast,
                The dash of the billow, the howl of the wind,
                And I yearned for the hearts I left beating behind!

                I thought of my father, and mother so old,
                And I thought of their babe, with his ringlets of gold;
                But mostly of Her who had twined round my heart,
                The spell of a dream that can never depart!

                No longer an exile, I flew to my home,
                I spied the tall cliff o'er the breaker's white foam;
                And I fancied I saw on the precipice' height,
                The small beckoning hand, and the smile of delight.

                The ship neared her port, and I spurned the last wave:
                I asked for my father—they showed me his grave;
                My mother lay by him—my sister was wed—
                Our cottage a stranger's—my brother was dead!

                I looked at my sister, and questioned in fear—
                But the only reply was a sorrowful tear:
                Her virtue was marred by the tongue of deceit,
                And the flower had withered, deprived of its sweet.

                I was born on the cliff, I was bred on the shore—
                Of the world I know little, I'll see it no more:
                I'll return to the tempest, the breaker, the wind,
                And I'll mourn not the home I am leaving behind.

Evey

by William Allingham . Originally published in Leigh Hunt's Journal (Edward Moxon) vol. 2 # 8 (25 Jan 1851).                 Bud a...