Poetry
... Vodr?. THE SONG OF THEl EXILE. F~naswcLL-faieweill the last blue hill of English ground I view; Ere yet it fades, 0, let me still That sad delight renew ! Perchance no after-time to me Will that sweet scene restore,- Perchance I ne'er again shall see My loved-my native shore I To distant lands I now must fly, And seek a refuge there; Ah I better 't wovre at home to die Than live in wealth ...