GEORGE HENRY BOKER. [Born in 1823. A gentleman of fortune, author of Anne Boleyn, a tragedy, and of various other dramas and poems]. A BALLAD OF SIR JOHN FRANKLIN. The ice was all around."-COLERIDGE. "O WHITHER sail you, Sir John Franklin ?" "To know if between the land and the pole I "I charge you back, Sir John Franklin, As you would live and thrive; But lightly laughed the stout Sir John, "Haif England is wrong, if he is right; "O whither sail you, brave Englishman ?" "Between your land and the polar star "Come down, if you would journey there," "And change your cloth for fur clothing, But lightly laughed the stout Sir John, All through the long, long polar day, And, wherever the sail of Sir John was blown, Gave way with many a hollow groan, But it murmured and threatened on every side, And closed where he sailed before. "Ho! see ye not, my merry men, "Sir John, Sir John, 'tis bitter cold, "Bright summer goes, dark winter comes- But, long e'er summer's sun goes down, The dripping icebergs dipped and rose, The ships were stayed, the yards were manned, "The summer's gone, the winter's come, We sail not on yonder sea: 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 dashed no more; 'Twas ice around, behind, before My God! there is no sea! What think you of the whaler now? A sled were better than a ship, Down sank the baleful crimson sun, 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 hard, green ice is strong as death :— "The night is neither bright nor short, The singing breeze is cold; "What hope can scale this icy wall, "The summer went, the winter came- But summer will melt the ice again, The winter went, the summer went, But the hard green ice was strong as death, "Hark! heard ye not the noise of guns? As he turns in the frozen main." "Hurrah! hurrah! the Esquimaux Across the ice-fields steal: God give them grace for their charity!" "Sir John, where are the English fields, "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, "Be still, be still, my brave sailors! Ah! bitter, bitter grows the cold, "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: "Oh! whether we starve to death alone, We have done what man has never done- TO THE MEMORY OF M. A. R. WITH the mild light some unambitious star And all their praise was for the brighter few. TO J. M. B. I WONDER, darling, if there does not wear And, like the marvel of the widow's cruse, |