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326 THE GOLDEN TREASURY OF |
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JEAN DE JEAN FRAZER (1809-1852)
BROSNA'S BANKS
Y
ES, yes, I idled many an hour — (Oh ! would that I could idle now, In wooing back the wither'd flower Of health into my wasted brow !) But from my life's o'ershadowing close,
My unimpassioned spirit ranks
Among its happiest moments those
I idled on the Brosna's Banks.
For there upon my boyhood broke
The dreamy voice of nature first; And every word the vision spoke,
How deeply has my spirit nursed ! A woman's love, a lyre, or pen,
A rescued land, a nation's thanks, A friendship with the world, and then
A grave upon the Brosna's Banks.
For these I sued, and sought, and strove, But now my youthful days are gone,
In vain, in vain—for woman's love Is still a blessing to be won ;
And still my country's cheek is wet, The still-unbroken fetter clanks, |
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