With shouts they hail the barque that braves for them so
wild a sea,
Bold Wolfe, the pilot, pledged himself to set the vessel free
At evening tide — so well he knew what change of wind was
near —
And bade the troubled mariners dismiss each anxious fear.
At sunset rose the swelling tide, the breeze set from the
land.
Another hour, and the good ship was floated from the sand,
And, wisely steered by him who knew the perils of that
shore.
Threaded the crooked channel safe, and stood to sea once
more.
Weeks passed — broad broken bands of ice behind the island
stretch.
So that however great the need, none might the mainland
reach.
Though want, disease and death draw nigh, succor they may
have none,
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