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Scots In Exile

Scots In Exile

The Scot abroad has expressed his nostalgia in many a moving verse. Nothing of the kind is more perfect than this poem, written by Stevenson from the South Seas to S. R. Crockett, who had dedicated to him his book, " The Stickit Minister."

Blows the wind to-day, and the sun and the rain are flying,
Blows the wind on the moors today and now,
Where about the graves of the martyts the whaups are crying,
My heart remembers how !

Grey recumbent tombs of the dead in desert places, Standing stones on the vacant wine-red moor,
Hills of sheep, and the homes of the silent vanquished races,
And winds, austere and pure;

Be it granted me to behold you again in dying,
Hills of home ! and to hear again the call;
Hear about the graves of the martyrs the pee- wees crying,
And hear no more at all.

R. L. Stevenson.

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