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 laugh'd the stout Sir John,
And spoke unto his men :

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

O, 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 laugh'd the stout Sir John,
And the crew laugh'd 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
And with many a surly roar,

groan,

But it murmur'd and threaten'd on every side ;

And closed where he sail'd 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 laugh'd out in glee.

Sir John, Sir John, it is 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 e'er summer's sun goes down,
On yonder sea we'll steer.

The dripping icebergs dipp'd and rose,
And flounder'd down the gale;

The ships were staid, the yards were mann'd,
And furl'd 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,-
We cannot rule the year:

I ween, we cannot rule the ways,
Sir John! wherein we'd steer.

The cruel ice came floating on,
And closed beneath the lee,
Till the thickening waters dash'd 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.

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 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 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.

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 —
Ye pray for the silly seal.

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

Be still, be still, my brave sailors!

You shall see the fields again,

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,
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 or 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 founded, the secret won,—

We pass'd the Northern Sea!

AUGUSTINE JOSEPH HICKEY DUGANNE.

Born at Boston, Mass: 1823

THE POET AND THE PEOPLE.

SPOKE Well the Grecian, when he said that poems Were the high laws that sway'd a nation's mind-Voices that live on echoes

Brief and prophetic proems,

Opening the great heart-book of human kind!

Songs are a nation's pulses, which discover
If the great body be as nature will'd;
Songs are the spasms of soul,
Telling us when men suffer:

Dead is the nation's heart whose songs are still'd.

Lo! the firm poet is the Truth's dispenser-
Standing, like Heaven's high-priest, before its shrine;
And his high thoughts, like incense,

From his soul's golden censer,

Rise to God's throne-a sacrifice divine !

Stands he like SAMUEL, darkly prophesying,-
Threats he, like NATHAN, humbling Judah's king,—
Comes he as JOHN THE BAPTIST,

'Mid the wild desert crying,

Still from his soul the impatient voice must spring.

Speaks he to senseless tyrants, who with scourges
Would curb the ocean of the human heart!—
Over their whips and fetters,

Rush his bold songs, like surges :
Forth from the caverns of deep thought they start.

Still for the PEOPLE-still for Man and Freedom-
Boldly his Titan words the bard must speak;
Till his too long lost birthright

Shall be regain'd by EDOM

Till, to restore that right, JACOB shall ESAU seek!