The Press., 1893-12-28
[For The Press.l THE LOST EMIGRANT.
BY VIM. RAWSON.

Oh! Annie, Annie, Willie's here to-day; His letter said, you know, that he should
 come. Oh! won't he bring us tidings, far away, Of friends, old friends, we've long since
 left at home? Poor fellow, how 1 long again to see His happy face, my heart it does so
 yearn For that old land, far, far beyond the sea, That land to which we'll never more
 return. Past noon, now, Annie; see, the time
 draws near;
 Come, girl, put on your best, your bon
 / ny blue. Oh! won't he be so glad. Come. come,
 no fear,
 And then, you know, it was his present,
 too. Look at that dog, he's mad, crazed, what's
 he brought?
 Old fool, you know your master'll soon
 be here. Oh look now, just see there, could you
 have thought
 A brute like him, that's not for five
 long year Our Willie seen, nor heard his well-known
 , foot,
 Should so go on, as if he'd been at
 school And learnt to read and write? Come here, old Smut:
 What ails you, eh? Get down you silly
 fool. But must cry, my heart is like to burst, I feel I don't know how, there now,
 there, there, He was so kind and good, my eldest, first, The things he gave, savings of many a
 year. He said he'd follow us across the wave, And that we'd be so happy, so content, see him now, my boDny lad, and brave, Waving his hand, just as the vessel
 went; I see his breast heave, hear his deep
 drawn sigh, k And then; but oh! it seems but as a dream, As if 'twere yesterday, how moments fly, Since we around the old homestead were seen, Telling before we left of many day, |, When in youths happy time we passed the hours, And, Annie, though Pm getting old and grey, My heart still warns to those sweet birds and flowers, The hawthorn bush, the honeysuckle wild, The fairy primrose and the bonny dells, The good old church I went to from child,
 I oft times think I hear it's merry bells. Many long day has passed away since then,
 Many long day, but hark! the clock, come. come, He'll soon be here. Oh! yes, be quick, tell Ben
 Toyoke old Maggy, drive across the run, And through the gully, he's just time you To meet the. stage, the sun has long since set; Isee across the plains the camp fires glow, Oh! Annie, Annie, do not, do not fret. See! just look here, come girl, look at the moon,
 How bonnily she rides, oh see how fine, Oh! list the shepherds flute, do hear the What is't do you think it is, 'tis "Auld
 Lang Syne." Late, late, my girl, it's getting very late, The moon is sinking now behind the trees, Come, let us take a turn down to the gate. Here, Smut! get up you whelp, you'll never freeze, Look how he sprawls and huffs, come
 sir, away
 Perhaps we'll hear old Maggy's foot, you know, Come girl, you've surely got something to say;
 How strange, the roughening winds be- gin to blow. The sky gets overcast, the farm fowls f. scream,
 Old Smut looks sulky and the fire burns
 dull, ... All round to me seems as passing dream. Oh. Annie, shall die, my heart is full. Hark 'tis the distant oceans roar hear, The winds like mad are tearing through the waves. Look! look! it is the dizzy lightning's glare, hear wild shrieks! I see the watery graves - Oh! Annie, am mad? what is't? dear girl, It cannot be the roaring of the ocean, . How all things seem to dance and madly whirl,