In spiral motion first, as seamen deem, Swells, when the raging whirlwind sweeps the stream. William Falconer. SIR HUMPHREY GILBERT. SOUTHWARD with fleet of ice Sailed the corsair Death; Wild and fast blew the blast, And the east-wind was his breath. His lordly ships of ice On each side, like pennons wide, His sails of white sea-mist Dripped with silver rain; But where he passed there were cast Leaden shadows o'er the main. Eastward from Campobello Sir Humphrey Gilbert sailed; Three days or more seaward he bore, Then, alas! the land-wind failed. Alas! the land-wind failed, And ice-cold grew the night; And nevermore, on sea or shore, Should Sir Humphrey see the light. He sat upon the deck, The Book was in his hand; "Do not fear! Heaven is as near," He said, "by water as by land!" In the first watch of the night, Out of the sea, mysteriously, The fleet of Death rose all around. The moon and the evening star Were hanging in the shrouds; Every mast, as it passed, Seemed to rake the passing clouds. They grappled with their prize, At midnight black and cold! Southward through day and dark, With mist and rain, o'er the open main; Southward, forever southward, They drift through dark and day; Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. KANE. DIED FEBRUARY 16, 1857. LOFT upon an old basaltic crag, A Which, scalped by keen winds that defend the Pole, Gazes with dead face on the seas that roll And underneath, upon the lifeless front Of that drear cliff a simple name is traced; Fit type of him who, famishing and gaunt, But with a rocky purpose in his soul, Clung to the drifting floes, By want beleaguered, and by winter chased, Seeking the brother lost amid that frozen waste. Not many months ago we greeted him, Crowned with the icy honors of the North, Across the land his hard-won fame went forth, And Maine's deep woods were shaken limb by limb. His own mild Keystone State, sedate and prim, Burst from decorous quiet as he came. Hot Southern lips, with eloquence aflame, Sounded his triumph. Texas, wild and grim, Proffered its horny hand. The large-lunged West, From out his giant breast, Yelled its frank welcome. And from main to main, Jubilant to the sky, Thundered the mighty cry, Honor to Kane! In vain, — in vain beneath his feet we flung Faded and faded! And the brave young heart That the relentless Arctic winds had robbed Of all its vital heat, in that long quest His was the victory; but as his grasp And ere the thunders of applause were done Wastes peak by peak away, Till on some rosy even It dies with sunlight blessing it; so he He needs no tears who lived a noble life! Such homage suits him well, What tale of peril and self-sacrifice! With hunger howling o'er the wastes of snow! Night lengthening into months; the ravenous floe Crunching the massive ships, as the white bear |