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 Why should we yet our sail unfurl?

There is not a breathe the blue wave to curl;

But when the wind blows of the shore,

Oh! sweetly we'll rest our weary oar,

Blow, breezes, blow, the stream runs fast,

The rapids are near, and the daylight's pas

Utawa's tide; this trembling moon

Shall see us float o'er thy surges soon!

Saint of this green isle! hear our prayers,

Oh! grant us cool heavens and favouring airs

Blow, breezes, blow, the stream runs fast,

The rapids are near, and the daylight's past!



