Song of the Chartist Emigrant
John
Anderson
Anderson, John (Chartist)
Metadata research and editing
DVPP Project Team
Kylee-Anne Hingston
Samantha MacFarlane
Samantha MacFarlane
University of Victoria Digital Victorian Periodical Poetry
Victoria, BC, Canada
In the public domain
Poem dated Dalkeith, May, 1842.
(AC)
The Chartist Circular
2
144
596
O ! why from the land of my sires am I driven,
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Song of the
Chartist Emigrant.
O ! why from the land of my sires am I driven,
Where my young eyes first gazed on the blue vault of
heaven ;
Where my fathers once trode—where their ashes are
sleeping
’Neath the turf on whose surface their children are weeping ?
O ! why is my home, once so gladsome deserted,
And the joys of my youth like a vision departed ;
Has heaven withheld its rich bounties ? Ah ! no.
’Tis man, heartless man, is the cause of our woe.
The songster will mourn when its nestlings are stolen,
And the proud river sweep when its waters are swollen ;
It is grief makes me utter this sad mournful strain,
’Tis the flood-tide of guilt drives my feet from the plain.
I am yet young in years, but am aged in sorrow,
While dark lowers the day, but thrice darker the morrow ;
To the green fields I turn, but their fresh smiling gladness
Decreases my hope, and increases my sadness.
Are these hills the famed spots where the tocsin once
sounded ?
When at freedom’s first summons our ancestors bounded
To struggle for liberty ? And these veterans of story
Bequeathed us a home, now the mansion of sorrow.
But the lion ere long shall awake from its slumber,
And the long pent volcano breathe forth all its thunder ;
When the voice of the mass, like the bold Hebrew’s horn,
Shall sound as the herald announcing the storm.
Farewell, tombs of my sires ! once opponents to slavery !
Farewell lovely Scotland, thou cradle of bravery
!
My heart bleeds afresh as I gaze on thy grandeur,
And think from these scenes I an exile must wander.
My tears oft shall flow when I hear of thy sadness,
And my joy shall burst forth when I hear of thy gladness.
Adieu, my first love ! and the last prayer I utter
Shall be that contentment around thee may flutter.
John Anderson
.
Dalkeith, May, 1842
.