THE EXILE.

New Zealand Tablet, 17 July 1919, Page 35

THE EXILE.

How honey-sweet the words upon his tongue. My Country! ' More sweet than music made or ditties sung./ //// Her soft winds and her leaping seas are his, And the love-songs of many coppices ; Her dusk-and dews and all her hurrying streams, Her greenness he has known in lonely dreams; His are her mountains and her valleys full "" ' Of ; rain and silver and the shadows.cool £% Of clouds upon her grasses. Oh, he is wild V But to come home, to be again her child ! ' " : How poignant and how sweet but to say o’er My ’-People! - . And he wanders-and may come no more. Oh, he and they at the same breast _ were nurst, On the same face their eyes were opened fix-st, , The same delicious world of rain and sun Ripened their years : he is not all alone. They keep like memories of her grief and .pride/, %■. Of her heroic sons who lived and died; 1 81 They will remember to their latest breath, And she who gave them life nurse them in death. In quiet woods on quiet eves'he'll hear •' P Her heart heat and her living pulses stir. ■ §.^l- - on the hills where wander, the wild deer. plf Katharine Tynan, in' Studies.