Do thou not, for all their seeming
Truth, forget the constant beaming
Eyes at home that watch for thee.

Stately palaces surround thee,
Royal parks and gardens bound thee--
Gardens of the 'Fleur de Lis':
Do thou not, for all their splendour,
Quite forget the humble, tender
Thoughts at home, that turn to thee.

When, at length of absence weary,
When the year grows sad and dreary,
And an east wind sweeps the sea;
Ere the days of dark November,
Homeward turn, and then remember
Hearts at home that pine for thee!



THE CLAN OF MAC CAURA.[21]

Oh! bright are the names of the chieftains and sages,
That shine like the stars through the darkness of ages,
Whose deeds are inscribed on the pages of story,
There for ever to live in the sunshine of glory,
Heroes of history, phantoms of fable,
Charlemagne's champions, and Arthur's Round Table;
Oh! but they all a new lustre could borrow
From the glory that hangs round the name of MacCaura!