Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

              Sir Humphrey Gilbert

                   Southward with fleet of ice
                     Sailed the corsair Death;
                   Wild and fast 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 close 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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