On, ever on, labours the lonely bark,16
Time in that world seems dead. Nor jocund sun
Nor rosy Hesperus dawns; but visible Dark
Stands round the ghastly moon. For ever on
Labours the lonely bark, through lock'd defiles
That crisping coil around the drifting isles.
Honour, thrice honour unto ye, O Brave!17
And ye, our England's sons, in the later day,
Whose valour to the shores of Hela gave
Names,—as the guides where suns deny the ray!
And, borne by hope and vivid strength of soul,
Made Man's last landmark Nature's farthest goal!
Whom, nor the unmoulded chaos, with its birth18
Of uncouth monsters, nor the fierce disease,
Nor horrible famine, nor the Stygian dearth
Of Orcus dead'ning adamantine seas,
Scared from the Spirit's grand desire,—TO KNOW!
The Galileos of new worlds below!
Man the Discoverer—whosoe'er thou art,19
Honour to thee from all the lyres of song!
Honour to him who leads to Nature's heart
One footstep nearer! To the Muse belong
All who enact what in the song we read;
Man's noblest poem is Man's bravest deed.
On, ever on,—when veering to the West20
Into a broader desert leads the Dove;
A larger ripple stirs the ocean's breast,
A hazier vapour undulates above;
Along the ice-fields move the things that live,
Large in the life the misty glamours give.
In flocks the lazy walrus lay around21
Gazing and stolid; while the dismal crane
Stalk'd curious near;—and on the hinder ground
Paused indistinct the Fenris of the main,
The insatiate bear,—to sniff the stranger blood,—
For Man till then had vanish'd since the flood,
And all of Man were fearless!—On the sea22
The vast leviathans came up to breathe,
With their young giants leaping forth in glee,
Or leaving whirlpools where they sank beneath.
And round and round the bark the narwal[7] sweeps,
With white horn glistening through the sluggish deeps.
Uprose a bold Norwegian, hunger-stung,23
As near the icy marge a walrus lay,
Hurl'd his strong spear, and smote the beast, and sprung
Upon the frost-field on the wounded prey;—
Sprung and recoil'd—as writhing with the pangs,
The bulk crawl'd towards him with its flashing fangs.
Roused to fell life—around their comrade throng,24
Snorting wild wrath, the shapeless, grisly swarms—
Like moving mounts slow masses trail along;
Aghast the man beholds the larva-forms—
Flies—climbs the bark—the deck is scaled—is won;
And all the monstrous march heaves lengthening on.
"Quick to your spears!" the kingly leader cries.25
Spears flash on flashing tusks; groan the strong planks
With the assault: front after front they rise
With their bright[8] stare; steel thins in vain their ranks,
And dyes with blood their birth-place and their grave;
Mass rolls on mass, as rolls on wave a wave.