| lyric | 1. The Morn was fair, the skies were clear,
no breath came o’er the sea,
when Mary left her highland home
and wandered forth with me.
Through flowers deck’d the mountainsiede
and fragrance filles the vale,
by far the sweetest flower
there was the Rose of Alendale.
2. Where’er I wandered, east or west,
Though fate began to lour,
A solace still she was to me,
In sorrow’s lonely hour,
When tempests lashed our lonely barque,
And rent her shiv’ring sail,
One maiden form withstood the storm,
’Twas the Rose of Allendale.
3. And when my fever'd lips were parched,
On Afric’s burning sands,
She whispered hopes of happiness,
And tales of distant lands,
My life has been a wilderness,
Unblest by fortune’s gale,
Had fate not linked my lot of hers,
The Rose of Allendale. |