Page:Poems for the Sea.djvu/17

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OUR SHIPS.
13

The white bear, on his field of ice
   Hath seen their signals tossed,
And the great whale,—old Ocean's king,
   Doth know them to his cost.

The spices from the Indian isles,
   The plant of China's care,
The cane's sweet blood from tropic climes
   Their merchant-vessels bear,
Wherever Commerce points his wand,
   They mount the crested waves,
And link together every sea
   The rolling globe that laves.

Still nearest to the Antarctic gale
   Our daring seamen press,
Where storm-wrapped Nature thought to dwell
   In hermit-loneliness;
"Whose masts are these, so white with frost,
   Where fearful icebergs shine?"
My country from her watch-tower looked
   And answered,—"They are mine!"

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