Imperial Winter, hail!—All hail with thee6
Labour, the stern Perfecter of Mankind,
Shaping the ends of human destiny
Out of the iron of the human mind:
For in our toils our fates we may survey!
And where rests Labour there begins decay.
Winter, and Labour, and Necessity,7
Behold the Three that make us what we are!
Forced to invent—aspirers to the High,
Nerved to endure—the conquerors of the Far—
So the crude nebula in movement hurl'd,
Takes form in moving, and becomes a world.
Dumb Universe of Winter—there it lies8
Dim through the mist, a spectral skeleton!
Far in the wan verge of the solid skies
Hangs day and night the phantom of a moon;
And slowly moving on the horizon's brink
Floats the vast ice-field with its glassy blink.[5]
But huge adown the liquid Infinite9
Drift the sea Andes—by the patient wrath
Of the strong waves uprooted from their site
In bays forlorn—and on their winter path
(Themselves a winter) glide, or heavily, where
They freeze the wind, halt in the inert air.
Nor bird nor beast lessens with visible10
Life, the large awe of space without a sun;
Though in each atom life unseen doth dwell
And glad with gladness God the Living One.
He breathes—but breathless hang the airs that freeze!
He speaks—but noiseless list the silences!
A lonely ship—lone in the measureless sea,11
Lone in the channel through the frozen steeps,
Like some bold thought launch'd on infinity
By early sage—comes glimmering up the deeps!
The dull wave, dirge-like, moans beneath the oar;
The dull air heaves with wings that glide before.
From earth's warm precincts, through the sunless gate12
That guards the central vapour-home of Dark,
Into the heart of the vast Desolate,
Lone flies the Dove before the lonely bark.
While the crown'd seeker of the glory-spell
Looks to the angel and disdains the hell.
Huddled on deck, one-half that hardy crew13
Lie shrunk and wither'd in the biting sky,
With filmy stare and lips of livid hue,
And sapless limbs that stiffen as they lie:
While the dire pest-scourge of the frozen zone[6]
Rots through the vein, and gnaws the knotted bone.
Yet still the hero-remnant, sires perchance14
Of Rollo's Norman knighthood, dauntless steer
Along the deepening horror and advance
Upon the invisible foe, loud chanting clear
Some lusty song of Thor, the Hammer-God,
When o'er those iron seas the Thunderer trod,
And pierced the halls of Lok! Still while they sung,15
The sick men lifted dim their languid eyes,
And palely smiled, and with convulsive tongue
Chimed to the choral chant, in hollow sighs;
Living or dying, those proud hearts the same
Swell to the danger, and foretaste the fame.