Part 4 — THE BABES OF EXILE.

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BY EFFIE FITZGERALD.

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“To roam o’er heaving waters bright,

By heaven’s own moonbeam’s made

To find our own a path of light,

Where all beside is shade.”

Fond babes of exile we here claim thine eye,

To cheer thy sadness in this exile drear;

We raise the veil of memory with a sigh,

And seek our welcome in a silent tear.

We fain would come with sunlight on our wings,

For our sweet embassy is one of love;

We hurl no stone from out our baby-slings,

Save that commission come, too, from above.

Souls sunk in ice-holes, or in gilded shine,

May call us wild, fantastic, if they will;

We know our birth-place was another clime—

We come a different mission to fulfill.

We dare the smoke-wreath on the crater’s verge;

We look, undaunted, on the lava-flame;

From the tornado’s whirl we safe emerge;

To thee we come, in gentle childhood’s name!

Enough of tempest—earthquake—has been thine;

Enough of grief has dimmed thy sky-ward eye;

We come to pour the fragrant oil and wine;

We come to bless, and be blest, ere we die.

Die? No! We take from thee an angel-wing;

We fly—we mount—away from earth we soar;

Keep thy gaze upward from the mountain-spring,

Wrapt in white mist-robes we move on before.

Or if despair thy strong-heart will assail,

Beneath the oaks, in the old wind-flower grove,

We light to kiss thy shadow, lone and pale.

And bid thee turn thy drooping eye above.

This our pure mission—babes of memory!

Give us thy blessing ere these lives depart;

These shadowy forms, all consecrate to thee—

That faintly breathe the incense of the heart.

We heed no danger in a path like this:

A Faith that with the Good was ne’er at war;

We know Earth’s sorrows pilot Heaven’s bliss—

Keep, then, thy gaze upon the cloud and star.

Illman & Sons BEAUTY’S RETREAT. Engraved expressly for Graham’s Magazine.