Ye waters, sparkling in the morn, Ye seas, which glass the starry night, Ye hermit oaks, and sentinel pines, O moon, among thy starry bowers, Ye holy spheres, that sang with earth And thou, O sun! whose light unfurls Bright banners through unnumbered skies, Seest thou among thy subject worlds The radiant portals rise? All, all are mute! and still am I O'erburthened with an earthly weight; A pilgrim through the world and sky, Toward the Celestial Gate. No answer wheresoe'er I roam- GEORGE HENRY BOKER. [Born in 1823. A gentleman of fortune, author of Anne Boleyn, a tragedy, and of various other dramas and poems]. A BALLAD OF SIR JOHN FRANKLIN. The ice was here, the ice was there, "O WHITHER Sail you, Sir John Franklin ?" "To know if between the land and the pole "I charge you back, Sir John Franklin, For between the land and the frozen pole But lightly laughed the stout Sir John, "Haif England is wrong, if he is right; "O whither sail you, brave Englishman ?” "Between your land and the polar star "Come down, if you would journey there," The little Indian said; "And change your cloth for fur clothing, But lightly laughed the stout Sir John, All through the long, long polar day, And, wherever the sail of Sir John was blown, Gave way with many a hollow groan, But it murmured and threatened on every side, And closed where he sailed before. "Ho! see ye not, my merry men, "Sir John, Sir John, 'tis bitter cold, "Bright summer goes, dark winter comes— But, long e'er summer's sun goes down, The dripping icebergs dipped and rose, The ships were stayed, the yards were manned, "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 comesWe cannot rule the year." "I ween, we cannot rule the ways, Sir John, wherein we'd steer." The cruel ice came floating on, Till the thickening waters dashed no more; My God! there is no sea! What think you of the whaler now? A sled were better than a ship, 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, 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 :- "The night is neither bright nor short, The singing breeze is cold; The ice is not so strong as hope- "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 ye not the noise of guns? And there, and there, again?” ""Tis some uneasy iceberg's roar, As he turns in the frozen main." “Hurrah! hurrah! the Esquimaux Across the ice-fields steal: 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, The grass and the waving grain." "Oh! when shall I see my orphan child? My Mary waits for me." "Oh! when shall I see my old mother, "Be still, be still, my brave sailors! Ah! bitter, bitter grows the cold, More settled stare the wolf and bear, "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, So far from help or home, |