Communications in Namibia 

From the birth place of the Gael. Fair Albion, too, in every spot Is heard that dirge for the mournful lot.html">lot Them shall no bugle at dawn of day Them shall no charger with shrill neigh On Crimea's blood stained earth.html">earth, The lights of many a hearth: Calls on each well loved one-- The fond mother on her son. And not only from the peasant's cot 'Tis heard--unto all a common lot-- And tears fall fast for the last lost child Who has perished in that struggle wild, Falls many a bitter.html">bitter tear, Our stricken hearts to cheer; That their youth and manhood nursed, In a sacred strife and just. Say, art thou angry? words unkind Thy spirit hath been wounded too But mind it not--relax at once What will be taunt or jest to thee Beneath some bitter grief, Or respite or relief; But submissive to it bow; In a few short years from now. Art toiling for some worldly aim, Devoting to that glitt'ring goal Ah! rest thee from the idle chase, Of fame or gold, what will be thine Possess thy wayward heart, Leaving alas! no part; That bind thy thoughtless brow, In a few short years from now? The good thou may'st on earth have done, Pardon to foe--alms unto need-- The treasures thus laid up in Heav'n These will alone remain to thee, TO THE SOLDIERS OF PIUS NINTH. For which now you peril life,-- Do ye plunge into the strife; Bright before your gaze hath shone, Now your footsteps urges on: But a cause both great and glorious, One which yet shall be victorious,-- .

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