Poems (Truesdell)/The Irish Exile's Address to America

by Helen Truesdell

THE IRISH EXILE'S ADDRESS TO AMERICA.

Cold and dreary blew the night winds,
 Sad, oh! sad this heart of mine,
When, like some lone pilgrim weary,
 First I sought these shores of thine:
Stars and stripes were proudly floating,
 Freely fluttering in the breeze,
Which, with low and solemn cadence,
 Sighed amid the leafless trees.

Many a broad and shining river,
 Like fair sheets of silver lay;
Snow-capped hills and towering mountains
 Glittered 'neath the moon's soft ray;
Birds had sought a kindlier climate
 'Neath the myrtle's gentle shade,
Or amid the orange flowers,
 Their little nests had made.

Home, with all its fond endearments,
 "Home, sweet home," was far away;
Not a single thought had cheered me
 Through that live-long winter's day:
Then came worn and weary slumbers,
 Sadly broken through the night;
But I woke and saw thy banners
 Proudly floating in the light.

Then I murmured, Erin! Erin!
 Thou bright Emerald of the sea,
Fain I'd linger always near thee,
 But, alas! thou art not free;
Tyrant hands have strongly bound thee,
 Fettered power and might and will,
Yet thou still art precious to me:
 "With thy faults, I love thee still."

But beneath these stars so glorious,
 Far from kindred, far from thee;
Though all other ties are broken,
 Let me dwell amid the free!