Page:Twenty years before the mast - Charles Erskine, 1896.djvu/154

 Ease the sheet, and keep away: Glory guides us south to-day.

Yonder, see! the icy portal Opens for us to the Pole; And where never entered mortal, Thither speed we to the goal. Hopes before, and doubts behind, On we fly before the wind. Steady, — so — now let it blow! Glory guides, and south we go.

Vainly do these gloomy borders All their frightful forms oppose; Vainly frown these frozen warders, Mailed in sleet, and helmed in snows. Though, beneath the ghastly skies, Curdled, all the ocean lies, Lash we up its foam anew — Dash we all its terrors through!

Circled by these columns hoary, All the field of fame is ours: Here to carve a name in story, Or a tomb beneath these towers. Southward still our way we trace, Winding through an icy maze. Luff her to — there she goes through! Glory leads, and we pursue.

Undaunted, though, despite their mirth, Still by a certain awe subdued, They reach the last retreat on earth Where Nature hoped for solitude.

Between two icebergs gaunt and pale, Like giant sentinels on post, Without a welcome or a hail, Intrude they on the realm of Frost.