Now that long day compact of many days
Breaks up and wanes; and equal night beholds
Their hapless driftage past uncharted bays,
And in her chilling, killing arms enfolds:
While the near stars a thousand arrowy darts
Bend from their diamond eyes, as the low sun departs.
Or the weird Northern Dawn in idle play
Mocks their sad souls, now trickling down the sky
In many-quivering lines of golden spray,
Then blazing out, an Iris-arch on high,
With fiery lances fill’d and feathery bars,
And sheeny veils that hide or half-reveal the stars.
A silent spectacle! Yet sounds, ’tis said,
On their forlornness broke; a hissing cry
Of mockery and wild laugh, as, overhead,
Those blight fantastic squadrons flaunted by:—
And that false dawn, long nickering, died away,
And the Sun came not forth, and Heaven withheld the day.
O King Hyperion, o’er the Delphic dale
Reigning meanwhile in glory, Ocean know
Thine absence, and outstretch’d an icy veil,
A marble pavement, o’er his waters blue;
Past the Varangian fiord and Zembla hoar,
And from Petsora north to dark Arzina’s shore:—
An iron ridge o’erhung with toppling snow
And giant beards of icicled cascade:—
Where, frost-imprison’d as the long mouths go,
The Good Hope and her mate-ship lay embay’d;
And those brave crews knew that all hope was gone;
England be seen no more; no more the living sun.
A store that daily lessens ’neath their eyes;
A little dole of light and fire and food:—
While Night upon them like a vampyre lies
Bleaching the frame and thinning out the blood;
And through the ships the frost-bit timbers groan,
And the Guloine prowls round, with dull heart-curdling moan.
Then sometimes on the soul, far off, how far!
Came back the shouting crowds, the cannon-roar,
The latticed palace glittering like a star,
The buoyant Thames, the green, sweet English shore,
The heartful prayers, the fireside blaze and bliss,
The little faces bright, and woman’s last, last kiss.
—O yet, for all their misery, happy souls!
Happy in faith and love and fortitude:—
For you, one thought of England dear controls
All shrinking of the flesh at death so rude!
Though long at rest in that far Arctic grave,
True sailor hero hearts, van of our bravest brave.