The Emigrant’s Farewell.
I’m leaving you at last, Mary, and all I love behind,
But sure ’tis for your sake I go, a better land to find;
I go to that young isle, Mary, where anger is unknown,
And the children of our widow’d land are cherish’d as her own.
Perhaps in after years I’ll come, unchanged to you again,
And if I win a golden store, I’ll not forget you then.
The peasant’s lowly lot, Mary, I would not have you share,
Altho’ I’m sure you’d bear with me life’s sorrows anywhere.
How happy I had been, Mary, in all that nature will’d,
My cabin by the mountain side, and the ground my father till’d.
But the landlord with the bailiff came, the poor man’s bitter foe,
And he cast me out to live or die, as God should will it so.
I would not live in Ireland now, for she’s a fallen land,
And the tyrant’s heel on her neck, with her reeking blood-stain’d hand.
There’s not a foot of Irish ground, but’s trodden down by slaves,
Who die unwept, and then are flung, like dogs, into their graves.
My troubles make me grieve, Mary, and I often wish to die,
And I long to find the green churchyard where all my kindred lie.
’Tis pleasant when the heart is broke, to sleep beneath the dust,
But I still hope on for better days, and place in God my trust.
I’m leaving you, my Mary dear, they’re painful words to speak,
My last embrace I’m taking now, and my lips are on your cheek.
The parting hour is drawing near, and the sails wave in the wind,
Oh, fold me closer to your breast, I’ll leave you soon behind.