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[This poem was composed after reading a vivid description of the passage of a ship through the magnificent fields of ice in Hudson’s Bay, by Ballantyne.]
Beautiful are the Icebergs! gorgeous piles,
White, green, gold, crimson in the flashing rays
Of the round sun. Along the waves for miles
They rise like temples of remotest days.
Or like cathedrals, churches, columns grand,
Grander than all that modern Art can claim—
The gilded fabrics of some Eastern land,
The mighty monuments of Roman fame.