Excerpt from The Last of the Peshwas: A Tale of the Third Maratha War The Exile's Dream Our ship, as swift as the lightning flash, Clove with her prow the waves that dash Tumultuously with thunderous roar At midnight on an Indian shore, And those whereunder buried lie Busiris' Memphian chivalry. Then o'er the midland wavelets blue To Calpe's cannoned steep we flew, And in a moment southward far St. Vincent left and Trafalgar. Ah! joy to feel the northern blast That on our brows the snowflake cast, Till loomed a land of hodden gray Half-hidden by the Atlantic spray, Behind whose misty canopy Was heard the peewit's eerie cry. What magic ship thus bore my soul Like flash of lightning to her goal Across the seas that lay between? A dream of days that once had been. And what that land of hodden gray? The bonnie hills of Galloway, On which my steps no more may stray, For ever and aye. About the Publisher Forgotten Books publishes hundreds of thousands of rare and classic books. Find more at www.forgottenbooks.com This book is a reproduction of an important historical work. Forgotten Books uses state-of-the-art technology to digitally reconstruct the work, preserving the original format whilst repairing imperfections present in the aged copy. In rare cases, an imperfection in the original, such as a blemish or missing page, may be replicated in our edition. We do, however, repair the vast majority of imperfections successfully; any imperfections that remain are intentionally left to preserve the state of such historical works.