O'er the fruitful vales of Erin
Glanc'd the broad--fac'd god of day;
Cottars to their early labour,
Whistl'd trifling cares away:
Plenty wav'd her golden treasure,
Blest reward for human toil;
Nought was heard but joyous pleasure,
Nought was seen but nature's smile.

Redbreasts, sweet domestic songsters,
Hymn'd with joy the grey--ey'd morn;
Dew drops spangl'd hedge and meadow,
Glisten'd on the bending corn:
Near the mill, his females round him,
Stately strode brisk chanticleer;
From lone cot and busy village,
Rural sounds burst on the ear.

Happy Isle! all isles excelling,
Little known, tho' much despis'd,
Where contentment rules each dwelling,
And domestic bliss is priz'd;
Hospitality, delighted,
Smiles benignant o'er thy plains;
While by Shamrock wreathes united,
Honour marks thy hardy swains.

Ne'er may foreign foes deceive thee,
Isle that boasts the wise and brave;
Ne'er that dauntless spirit leave thee
Ling'ring to a coward's grave!
While thy sons in ev'ry danger,
Pour destruction on each foe,
May thy daughters from a stranger
Ne'er receive a cup of woe!)

Such the time, when William, rising,
Pour'd to Heav'n his daily pray'r;
While the partner of his bosom,
Trimm'd the hearth with thrifty care:
Oft they mark'd the grief--worn furrows
On poor Dermot's aged cheek;
Fearful to disturb his slumbers,
Oft they would, but durst not speak.

Blest with two sweet buds of promise,
Pictures fair of roseate health,
Pledges of each fond affection,
Dearer far to both than wealth;
Many a glance towards the stranger,
Did they give, with asking eyes;
Eager for a grandsire's blessing,
Anxious to behold him rise.

''Sleep, thou soother of dejection,
Nature's balm for ev'ry woe,
Health's restorer, care's beguiler,
All our joys to thee we owe;
Dear to him who rules a palace;
Dear to him who bows a slave;
Dearer to the son of sorrow,
Than all wealth or pow'r e'er gave!''

Thus reflected William, sighing,
O'er the author of his birth;
Rapt in mute attention near him,
Wonder check'd the children's mirth:
From his cheek, unmark'd by wrinkles,
Oft he wip'd the tear of joy;
Doubtful that new scenes of anguish
Wou'd each bud of hope destroy.

Dermot rose, with hands uplifted,
Thankful for the light of day;
''Where, where am I!'' sigh'd he feebly,
''Do these eyes my mind betray?
Ah! no! no! my William's near me,
With the thought reviv'd I seem;
This repays long years of suffering,
And the past seems all a dream!

''Thou, my daughter, may misfortune
Ne'er thro' life once bow thy head!
Sweet thy welcome to the stranger,
--''Thou shallt share our board and bed!''
Oft she press'd him to her bosom,
While a smile of joy was giv'n,
Such as marks a pitying angel,
When the wretched enter Heav'n.

Soon prepar'd, the wholesome breakfast
Susan places; with a smile,
Each intreats the feeble father,
Each his cares wou'd fain beguile:
Kissing oft the mother's image,
Blessing oft the blooming boy,
Sighs now stifle words half utter'd,
Now he sheds the tear of joy.

Much he long'd to quit the cottage;
Anxious ere the evening hour,
To mark the grave that hides his partner,
And his Mary, luckless flow'r!
There the aged man oft wander'd,
And a vent to sorrow gave,
There on happy days oft ponder'd,
Weeping o'er each well--known grave.

Susan saw the father, husband,
Climb the steep hills rugged brow;
Oft they turn, and gaze enraptur'd,
On the whiten'd cot below:
William's arm his sire supported,
Winding many a hill and dale--
'Neath a spreading beech tree resting,
Thus the son relates his tale.

''Father, since with thee I parted,
I have felt of woes my share;
From the treach'rous foe oft skulking,
Wand'ring, scarcely knowing where:
For my yet--lov'd bleeding country,
Never once afraid to die;
Guiltless prov'd, and still undaunted,
Pow'r, not justice, bade me fly.

''Oh! 'twas hard to quit the valley,
And each scene dear to the heart;
Harder still to lose my fair one,
When she utter'd--'Must we part?
Exil'd far from green--hill'd Erin,
Fairer dames thou may'st pursue;
Robb'd of thee, poor orphan Susan
Will to pleasure bid adieu!'

''All the pangs of grief at parting,
When two hearts in union join,
Bound by love, and urg'd by virtue,
All these pangs of grief were mine.
Forc'd on board, with many a brother,
Nought of joy, alas! remain'd,
Tho' my mind ne'er vice had cherish'd,
Nor my hand with blood was stain'd.

''When the star of morning beaming,
Signal gave of day's bright dawn,
Oft I trac'd the deck dejected,
Mus'd on joys forever flown;
Or when murky tempests lower'd,
Drenching my weak shiv'ring frame,
I wou'd pray for thee, my father,
Sigh, and think myself to blame.

''Borne across the wide Atlantic,
Friendless, wretched, doom'd to pine;
Days of ceaseless toil and anguish,
Nights of mis'ry long were mine:
Still a ray of hope smil'd on me,
When my weary toil was o'er,
Oft I climb'd the highest mountain,
Oft I gaz'd tow'rds Erin's shore.

''Fancy, various pictures painting,
Sometimes fill'd my heart with grief;
Sometimes in a sportive humour,
Gave my wounded mind relief:
When the shades of night clos'd round me,
Forc'd to seek my wretched home,
I'd no friend to bid me welcome,
Tho' by toil, by thought o'ercome.

''Spirits ebbing, health decaying,
Life seem'd drawing near its close;
One dear comrade driv'n from Erin,
Brought my aching heart repose;
Yes, he smiling told how Susan
Liv'd for William, fond and true;
But the transient gleam quick vanish'd,
When no tidings came from you.

''Long I shar'd his liberal bounty,
He my guardian angel prov'd,
Till the time rejoicing exiles
Sought the homes and friends they lov'd:
He it was to Erin brought me,
Plac'd me on our little farm;
Gave to me the maid endearing,
Thus had life yet pow'r to charm.

''Need I mention Cormac to thee?
Him I found this man of worth --''
Dermot hung his head deep sighing,
This call'd many a sorrow forth.
Cormac sought the hand of Mary;
Love smil'd on the happy pair:
Man to--day each pleasure tasting,
Mourns to--morrow joys that were.

''Father, I'll no more distress thee,
With the hardships I endur'd;
Meek religion ne'er forsook me,
When to ev'ry ill inur'd:
Changes wish'd in war--spoil'd Erin,
Brought safe o'er thy long--lost son;
Time restor'd my welcome father--
God is just!--His will be done!''