Henry W. Longfellow

Sir Humphrey Gilbert

Southward with fleet of ice
Sailed the corsair Death;
Wild and gast blew the blast,
And the east—wind was his breath.
 
His lordly ships of ice
Glisten in the sun;
On each side, like pennons wide,
Flashing crystal streamlets run.
 
His sails of white sea—mist
Dripped with silver rain;
But where he passed there were cast
Leaden shadows o’er the main.
 
Eastward from Campobello
Sir Humphrey Gilbert sailed;
Three days or more seaward he bore,
Then, alas! the land—wind failed.
 
Alas! the land—wind failed,
And ice—cold grew the night;
And nevermore, on sea or shore,
Should Sir Humphrey see the light.
 
He sat upon the deck,
The Book was in his hand;
“Do not fear! Heaven is as near,”
He said, “by water as by land!”
 
In the first watch of the night,
Without a signal’s sound,
Out of the sea, mysteriously,
The fleet of Death rose all around.
 
The moon and the evening star
Were hanging in the shrouds;
Every mast, as it passed,
Seemed to rake the passing clouds.
 
They grappled with their prize,
At midnight black and cold!
As of a rock was the shock;
Heavily the ground—swell rolled.
 
Southward through day and dark,
They drift in cold embrace,
With mist and rain, o’er the open main;
Yet there seems no change of place.
 
Southward, forever southward,
They drift through dark and day;
And like a dream, in the Gulf—Stream
Sinking, vanish all away.
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