Plying through tangled seaweed green

O'er the Baie des Chaleurs.

Who has not heard of the phantom light

That over the moaning waves, at night,

Dances and drifts in endless play,

Close to the shore, then far away,

Fierce as the flame in sunset skies,

Cold as the winter light that lies

On the Baie des Chaleurs?

They tell us that many a year ago,