Select Poetry.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 37, 7 October 1871, Page 17

Select Poetry.

OUT IN AUSTRALIA. THE HOME-SICK WIRE’S LAMENT. Oh, bright’s the sun in this fair land, the flowers are fair to see ; The hills, and dales, and winding streams, it’s dear they are to me. It’s dear they are, and fair they are, and never from my heart, Their grandeur, and their bsauty, and their brightness shall depart. Yet, husband, though I love them well, my thoughts are far away In the leafy dells of the old home by the bonnie banks o’ Tay. It’s there my father lies in death, it’s there 1 long to be, Where mother spins beside the hearth, and sister waits for me ; Where grows the daisy at her feet, the red haws overhead, And the heather, like a living thing, leaps up beneath her tread ; Where call the cushat to its mate, in the gloaming still and grey. Oh! the happy hearts in the old home by the bonnie banks o’ Tay. ’Twas there, all in the summer time, with mother at my side, I sat and watched the golden sun sink in the silver tide, And saw the glorious moon above, smile sweetly in the skies ; But sun and moon, oh! what were they to the light in those dear eyes ? And there, beside my parents’ door, I gave my heart away. Ood keep my love for the old home by the bonnie banks o’ Tay. My neighbors, though I leave them all, I leave them with a tear, For many are the blithesome days I’ve spent among them here; And they shall have my thoughts, my prayers, when far across the sea, True friends, I know, when I am gone, you’ll sometimes think of me ; Think that the heart that loved you here shall love you far away, And pray for you in the old home by the bonnie banks o’ Tay. Then farewell to your hills and dales, the streams that bless your soil, And farewell nights of bitter care, and days of honest toil. Farewell, farewell! O land of gold! O new home in the South! The worm shall feed upon my heart, the dust be in my mouth, When I shall cease to think of thee —think of thee night and day, And bless thee, land, in the old homo by the bonnie banks o’ Tay. THE husband’s EEPLT. ’Twas care and want in England, My own dear wife : Our means were scant in England, My own dear wife : But here around us everywhere, Enough we have, wife, and to spare! Ah, Kate ! we bade adieu to care The day we left old England. What doubts and fears in England, My own dear wife ; What bitter tears in England, My own dear wife : But here I rise up with the sun, And go to rest when day is done, Or join the children in their fun — I used to sigh in England. Your cheeks were pale in England, My own dear wife ; Your heart would fail in England, My own dear wife : But here with smiles you bless my sight, And laugh and sing from morn till night And, wife, I know your heart is light— It was not so in England. What longing eyes in England, My own dear wife ; What wailing cries in England, My own dear wife : What pleadings met me at the door, When I came liomq with heart full sore, To hungry looks and scanty store, In winter nights in England.

How baby pined in England, My own dear wife, You well must mind, in England My own dear wife ; But here her eyes light up with glee Whene’er she gets a glimpse at me, And dimpled chin and cheeks I see, That once were wan in England. Alack, alack for England, My own dear wife ; My thoughts go back to England. My own dear wife ; And often, Kate, with you I stray — Oh happy time ! in gloaming grey — By hedged-rows white and pink with may, Adown the lanes in England. Though we lacked gold in England, My own dear wife ; And friends were cold in England, My own dear wife ; Though seas heave white for many a mile Between us and our own fair Isle. Who knows how soon, should Fortune smile, Again we’ll see old England ? —“Town and Country Journal.”