An Exile’s Soliloquy

An Exile’s Soliloquy

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I LONG for a sight of my own dear isle,

That glitters in the sea,

Beyond the ocean’s mighty swell,

Three thousand miles from me.

I yearn for the land where I beheld

The first glimpse of the day,

Pressed to my mother’s bosom, dear,

With love that lasts for aye.

I long to tread the shamrocked hills

And dells of Innisfail,

Or wander through her smiling groves,

Where fragrance scents the gale;

Or breathe her wholesome air, along

Her laughing streamlets bright,

Where sunbeams dance with joyful mien,

Affording much delight.

I long again to cross the main,

To see my native home,

And meet again the friends and comrades, kind,

And joined in pastimes, sweet and gay,

While on the old did gaze,

With boastful chat of deeds they done,

In their blithe, early days.

I log to hear the fiddler play

A good old Irish air,

Upon my native village green,

Amid the lasses fair,

And have a dance with Norah, Peg,

With Kitty, Poll or Jane,

As I was wont to have in days

That knew not grief or pain.

But, oh! I fear my longings may

Not happily avail,

To see myself with comfort, tread

The soil of Innisfail.

What, if the home I left behind,

Is now a ruined pile

And friends and fond companions, dear,

Have wandered in exile?

With them I oft did roam.

                

                                    J. J. McNulty

 Boleypatrick, Ballina. 15/7/1886.