And Other Poems.
39
WAITING FOR THE MAIL.
WE’RE bound unto the dear old land with ties of strong affection;
We love our Island Mother still, and would not break the chain
Which bridges all the present with the past in fond connection,
Upon whose span the old and new embrace across the main:
A highway o’er the mountain waves, that plunge in mad commotion
Is opened up for commerce, and we welcome every sail
Which brings us news of loving friends we left beyond the ocean;
Our hearts beat quick with hope and fear whilst waiting for the mail.
The daring soul who fled afar from poverty’s oppression,
To publish ’neath a free sky proud manhoods rightful claim ;
The wild, unbridled stripling, banished from his sire’s possession,
For staining the escutcheon of an ancient honoured name,
Are waiting at the post: the youth expecting a “remittance”—
His landlord frowns upon him now, and stops his wine and ale.
The other sent a trifle Home to swell a mother’s pittance,
And anxiously awaits affection’s answer by the mail.
Yon sentimental dreamer, who seems lost in meditation,
Is thinking of the bright-eyed lass he left far o’er the sea—
“For thee, my girl, I left my home to help to build a nation;
She’ll surely send a letter kind, if still she’s true to me.”
We love our Island Mother still, and would not break the chain
Which bridges all the present with the past in fond connection,
Upon whose span the old and new embrace across the main:
A highway o’er the mountain waves, that plunge in mad commotion
Is opened up for commerce, and we welcome every sail
Which brings us news of loving friends we left beyond the ocean;
Our hearts beat quick with hope and fear whilst waiting for the mail.
The daring soul who fled afar from poverty’s oppression,
To publish ’neath a free sky proud manhoods rightful claim ;
The wild, unbridled stripling, banished from his sire’s possession,
For staining the escutcheon of an ancient honoured name,
Are waiting at the post: the youth expecting a “remittance”—
His landlord frowns upon him now, and stops his wine and ale.
The other sent a trifle Home to swell a mother’s pittance,
And anxiously awaits affection’s answer by the mail.
Yon sentimental dreamer, who seems lost in meditation,
Is thinking of the bright-eyed lass he left far o’er the sea—
“For thee, my girl, I left my home to help to build a nation;
She’ll surely send a letter kind, if still she’s true to me.”
