Abased, its standard bears no flag. From out the disgraced Sixty-Fourth So sad is shame, so wise is trust! Old is the tale, but read anew In every warring human heart, What rebel hours, what coward shame, —What tears can teach the holy art? Thou great Commander! leading on Through weakest darkness to strong light; Our life's young standard, pure and bright. For your sake storm we any height. Elizabeth Stuart Phelps Ward [1844-1911] A BALLAD OF SIR JOHN FRANKLIN O, WHITHER Sail you, Sir John Franklin? To know if between the land and the pole I charge you back, Sir John Franklin, As you would live and thrive; For between the land and the frozen pole No man may sail alive. But lightly laughed the stout Sir John, Half England is wrong, if he be right; O, whither sail you, brave Englishman? Between your land and the polar star Come down, if you would journey there, And change your cloth for fur clothing, But lightly laughed the stout Sir John, All through the long, long polar day, The vessels westward sped; And wherever the sail of Sir John was blown, The ice gave way and fled: Gave way with many a hollow groan, And with many a surly roar, But it murmured and threatened on every side, And closed where he sailed before. Ho! see ye not, my merry men, The crew laughed out in glee. Sir John, Sir John, 'tis bitter cold, The scud drives on the breeze, The ice comes looming from the north, The very sunbeams freeze. Bright summer goes, dark winter comes,— We cannot rule the year; But long ere summer's sun goes down, On yonder sea we'll steer. The dripping icebergs dipped and rose, And floundered down the gale; The ships were stayed, the yards were manned, And furled the useless sail. The summer's gone, the winter's come, We sail not on yonder sea: Why sail we not, Sir John Franklin?— A silent man was he. The summer goes, the winter comes,― I ween we cannot rule the ways, The cruel ice came floating on, Till the thickening waters dashed no more: What think you of the whaler now? A sled were better than a ship, To cruise through ice and snow. Down sank the baleful crimson sun, The snow came down, storm breeding storm, And on the decks was laid, Till the weary sailor, sick at heart, Sir John, the night is black and long, The hard, green ice as strong as death:- The night is neither bright nor short, What hope can scale this icy wall, The summer went, the winter came,— But summer will melt the ice again, The winter went, the summer went, But the hard, green ice was strong as death, Hark! heard you not the noise of guns?— 'Tis some uneasy iceberg's roar, Hurra! Hurra! the Esquimaux God give them grace for their charity!- Sir John, where are the English fields, Be still, be still, my brave sailors! And smell the scent of the opening flowers, Oh! when shall I see my orphan child? Oh! when shall I see my old mother, Be still, be still, my brave sailors! Ah! bitter, bitter grows the cold, Oh, think you, good Sir John Franklin, We'll ever see the land? 'Twas cruel to send us here to starve, Without a helping hand. 'Twas cruel, Sir John, to send us here, To starve and freeze on this lonely sea: Oh! whether we starve to death alone, Or sail to our own country, We have done what man has never done The truth is founded, the secret won We passed the Northern Sea! George Henry Boker [1823-1890] |