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Down sank the baleful crimson sun,
The northern light came out,
And glared upon the ice-bound ships,
And shook its spears about.
The snow came down, storm breeding storm,
And on the decks were laid:
Till the weary sailor, sick at heart,
Sank down beside his spade.
"Sir John, the night is black and long,
The hissing wind is bleak,
The hard green ice is strong as death--
I prithee, Captain, speak!"
"The night is neither bright nor short,
The singing breeze is cold;
The ice is not so strong as hope--
The heart of man is bold!"
"What hope can scale this icy wall,
High o'er the main flag-staff?
Above the ridges the wolf and bear
Look down with a patient settled stare,
Look down on us and laugh."
"The summer, went, the winter came--
We could not rule the year;
But summer will melt the ice again,
And open a path to the sunny main,
Whereon our ships shall steer."
The winter went, the summer went,
The winter came around:
But the hard green ice was strong as death,
And the voice of hope sank to a breath,
Yet caught at every sound.


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