Chorus.
Shall we never hear thy gentle voice at evening?
We’ve been pining for thee, Allie, all the day;
And our sad hearts o’er the lonely seas are gliding,
Seeking vainly where our darling’s footsteps stray.
We have missed thee, ever missed thee,
With thy sweet and tender smile,
And thy bright and glowing beauty—
Nature’s pure and winning guile;
And thy voice’s glorious music
We, alas, do hear no more
In the vale where Allie wandered
In the dear old times of yore.
When the golden sun his splendor
Pours along the summer sea,
And the southern winds are dying,
Allie dear, come back to me.
We are weary and so lonely;
Ah, this life seems but in vain
Since our Allie hath departed—
Dearest one, return again.
THE RESCUE.
A Thrilling Incident, and a Gallant Rescue off Leamington, Ontario, in the Winter of 1895.
Bitterly all day the north-east gale
Swept with a wild roaring moan,
Hurling particles of glist’ning ice
That cut to the very bone;
And a leaden and lowering sky
Threatened the frozen world;
The storm king was sternly approaching
With frosted banners unfurled.
Ever darker and denser it grew
As the day wore on apace,
And the swirl of the merciless winds
Tore on in a fierce, wild race.
It was a day to seek the shelter
Of home by the warm fireside;
God help the homeless at such a time
That wander far and wide!
Suddenly in hushed tones through the town
Ran the word from Pigeon Bay,
That the harvesters of ice were drifting
Helplessly out and away—
On an ice-floe helplessly drifting,
Detached from the wind-rifted shore,
Out over the bosom of Erie
’Mid the tempest’s ruthless roar.