But lightly laughed the stout Sir John,
And spoke unto his men :

"Half England is wrong if he is right;
Bear off to westward, then!"

"Oh whither sail you, brave Englishman?" Cried the little Esquimaux.

"Between your land and the polar star My goodly vessels go.”

"Come down, if you would journey there," The little Indian said,

"And change your cloth for fur clothing,
Your vessel for a sled."

But lightly laughed the stout Sir John,
And the crew laughed with him too;
"A sailor to change from ship to sled
I ween were something new!"

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 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 broad and open sea?

Bethink ye what the whaler said—
Think of the little Indian's sled!"
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!"

The drifting 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 cruel ice came floating on,

And closed beneath the lee

Till the thickening waters dashed no more"Twas ice around, behind, before

"My God! there is no sea!"

"What think you of the whaler now? What of the Esquimaux ?

A sled were better than a ship

To cruise through ice and snow."

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;
I pr'ythee, captain, speak!"

"The night is neither bright nor short;
The stinging breeze is cold;

*

The ice is not so strong as hope!

The heart of man is bold!"

"Hark! heard ye not the noise of guns?

And there-there-there again!

"Tis some uneasy iceberg's roar

As he turns in the frozen main."

"Sir John, where are the English fields,
And where are the English trees?
And where are the little English flowers
That open to the breeze?"

"Be still, be still, my brave sailors!

You shall see the fields again,

*

And smell the scent of the opening flowers-” "But when, Sir John; but when ?"

"Oh when shall I see my orphan child—
My Mary that waits for me?

Oh when shall I see my old mother,
And pray at her trembling knee?"

"Be still, be still, my brave sailors!
Think not such thoughts again!"
But a tear froze slowly on his cheek-
He thought of Lady Jane.

Ah! bitter, bitter grows the cold;

The ice grows more and more;
More settled stare the wolf and bear-
More patient than before.

"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 and home,

To starve and freeze on this lonely sea!
I ween the Lords of the Admiralty
Would rather send than come."

"Oh, whether we starve to death alone,
Or sail to our own country,

We have done what man has never done:

The truth is found-the secret won

We passed the northern sea!"

Long years went by. Hope died in fear,

But never relented the frost.

Some letters that stood for the brave and dear,
And some oars and bones told the story drear-
Then we knew what the secret cost!

THE KING OF DENMARK'S RIDE.

MRS. CAROLINE Norton.

Word was brought to the Danish king

(Hurry!)

That the love of his heart lay suffering,

And pined for the comfort his voice would bring. (Oh ride as if you were flying!)

Better he loves each golden curl

On the brow of that Scandinavian girl

Than his rich crown-jewels of ruby and pearl;

And his Rose of the Isles is dying.

Thirty nobles saddled with speed;

(Hurry!)

Each one mounted a gallant steed

Which he kept for battle and days of need;

N

(Oh ride as though you were flying!)
Spurs were struck in the foaming flank,
Worn-out chargers staggered and sank;
Bridles were slackened, and girths were burst;
But, ride as they would, the king rode first,
For his Rose of the Isles lay dying.

His nobles are beaten one by one;

(Hurry!)

They have fainted, and faltered, and homeward gone;
The little fair page now follows alone.

For strength and for courage trying,

The king looked back at that faithful child,
Wan was the face that answering smiled.

They passed the drawbridge with clattering din,
Then he dropped, and only the king rode in
Where his Rose of the Isles lay dying.

The king blew a blast on his bugle-horn:
(Silence!)

No answer came, but faint and forlorn
An echo returned on the cold gray morn,
Like the breath of a spirit sighing.
The castle portal stood grimly wide;

None welcomed the king from that weary ride;
For, dead in the light of the dawning day,
The pale, sweet form of the welcomer lay,

Who had yearned for his voice while dying.

The panting steed with a drooping crest
Stood weary;

The king returned from the chamber of rest,
The thick sobs choking in his breast,

And that dumb companion eying,

The tears gushed forth which he strove to check;
He bowed his head on his charger's neck:
"Oh steed, that every nerve didst strain-

Dear steed! our ride hath been in vain

To the halls where my love lay dying!"

Over the river they beckon to me

Loved ones who've crossed to the farther side;

The gleam of their snowy robes I see,

But their voices are drowned in the rushing tide.

There's one with ringlets of sunny gold,

And eyes the reflection of heaven's own blue; He crossed in the twilight gray and cold,

And the pale mist hid him from mortal view.
We saw not the angels who met him there;
The gates of the city we could not see:
Over the river, over the river,

My brother stands ready to welcome me!

Over the river the boatman pale

Carried another-the household pet:
Her brown curls waved in the gentle gale-
Darling Minnie! I see her yet.

She crossed on her bosom her dimpled hands,
And fearlessly entered the phantom bark;
We watched it glide from the silver sands,

And all our sunshine grew strangely dark.
We know she is safe on the farther side,
Where all the ransomed and angels be:
Over the river, the mystic river,

My childhood's idol is waiting for me.

For none return from those quiet shores
Who cross with the boatman cold and pale;

We hear the dip of the golden oars,

And catch a gleam of the snowy sail,

And lo! they have passed from our yearning heart; They cross the stream, and are gone for aye;

We may not sunder the veil apart

That hides from our vision the gates of day.
We only know that their barks no more
May sail with us o'er life's stormy sea;
Yet somewhere, I know, on the unseen shore
They watch, and beckon, and wait for me.

And I sit and think, when the sunset's gold
Is flushing river, and hill, and shore,
I shall one day stand by the water cold,

And list for the sound of the boatman's oar.
I shall watch for a gleam of the flapping sail;
I shall hear the boat as it gains the strand;
I shall pass from sight with the boatman pale
To the better shore of the spirit land;
I shall know the loved who have gone before;
And joyfully sweet will the meeting be,
When over the river, the peaceful river,
The Angel of Death shall carry me.