ICEBERGS. 377
The astonished ship,
Watched by its sleepless master, held her breath, As they approached, and found her furrowing feet Sealed to the curdling brine.
It was a time
Of bitter dread, and many a prayer went up To Him, who moves the iceberg and the storm To go their way and spare the voyager.
Slow sped the night-watch, and when morn came up
Timid and pale, there stood that frowning host,
In horrible array, all multiplied,
Until the deep was hoary. Every bay,
And frost-bound inlet of the Arctic zone,
Had stirred itself, methought, and launched amain
Its quota of thick ribbed ice, to swell
The bristling squadron.
Through those awful ranks It was our lot to pass. Each one had power To crush our lone bark like a scallop-shell, And in their stony eyes we read the will To do such deed. When through the curtaining mist The sun with transient glimpse that host surveyed, They flashed and dazzled with a thousand hues, Like cliffs with diamond spear-points serried o er, Turrets and towers, in rainbow banners wrapped, Or minarets of pearl, with crest of stars, So terrible in beauty, that methought, He stood amazed at what his glance had done.
�� �
