Original Poetry.

Evening Star, Issue 4318, 29 December 1876, Page 4

Original Poetry.

AN EXILE

Another post delivered, And not a line from home. Oh ! can they have considered That I am all alone ? Al me in the early morning, And at nooH-tide, warm and bright, When evening shades are falling, And alone in the dead of night. Some lov'd one might have written— Have they forgotten me ? My pulses throb and quicken, To be at home and sec. When the sun is calmly sinking, In hi* course to the glowing west, I find myself oft thinking I'm at home and with the rest. I hear their voices calling— * But faintly comes the sound, Like muffled whispers falling, On the sqft still air around. I see my mother knitting In the same old easy chair ; The firelight softly flitting Across her silvery hair. Oh, Mother, can it be, You have thrust me from your heart ? No ! I never heard from thee The bitter word " depart." Oh! how I would return And be at home again ; The wish incites my brain to burn And wrings my heart with pain. What if my mother's gone ? What if her spirit's lied ? I'd wish my earthly days were tlown, ' : And 1 were numbered with the dead. Hhoda.

[The preceding verses reached us needing many corrections, and we recommend the writer to study the alterations made; for although she evidently has many of the qualifications of a poet, the harmony requisite for poetic diction was ignored in many lines. We have taken as little liberty as possible with the text; but as it originally stood it must have been rejected, as we cannot, as a rule, undertake to correct poetry. Our vocation is very prosaic—Ed •E.S.']' *