Poem no: 08
I
I
I sigh for Albion's distant shore,
Its valleys green, its mountains high;
Tho' friends, relations, I have none
In that far clime, yet, oh! I sigh
To cross the vast Atlantic wave
For glory, or a nameless grave!
II
My father, mother, sister, all
Do love me and I love them too,
Yet oft the tear-drops rush and fall
From sad eyes like winter's dew.
And, oh! I sigh for Albion's stand
As if she were my native-land!
--Kidderpore, 1841
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