And but for this old blue mantle and the old hat on my

head

I should not have even doubted, to this moment, I was dead,

For my footsteps were as silent as the snow upon the dead!

"Death and silence! death and silence all around me as I sped!

And behold! a mighty Tower, as if builded to the Dead,
To the heaven of the heavens lifted up its mighty head,
Till the Stars and Stripes of Heaven all seem'd waving from
its head!

"Round and mighty-based, it tower'd, up into the Infinite,— And I knew no mortal mason could have built a shaft so

bright,

For it shone like solid sunshine; and a winding stair of light Wound around it and around it till it wound clear out of

sight.

"And behold! as I approach'd it, with a rapt and dazzled stare,

Thinking that I saw old comrades just ascending the great

Stair,

Suddenly the solemn challenge broke, of—' Halt! and who goes there?'

'I'm a friend,' I said,—' if you are.'-' Then advance, sir! to the Stair!'

"I advanced (that sentry, Doctor! was Elijah Ballantyne,— First of all to fall on Monday after we had form'd the line);

Welcome, my old Sergeant! welcome! Welcome by that countersign!'

And he pointed to the scar there, under this old cloak of mine.

"As he grasp'd my hand, I shudder'd, thinking only of the

grave,

But he smiled and pointed upward with a bright and blood

less glaive ;

That's the way, sir! to Head-quarters.' What Head-quar" ters? Of the Brave.'

"Then a sudden shame came o'er me at his uniform of light, At my own so old and tatter'd and at his so new and

bright;

'Ah!' said he,' you have forgotten the New Uniform to

night :

Hurry back! for you must be here at just twelve o'clock to

night!'

"And the next thing I remember, you were sitting there, and I

Doctor! did you hear a footstep? Hark!-God bless you all! Good-bye!

Doctor! please to give my musket and my knapsack, when I die,

To my Son-my Son that's coming, he won't get here till I die !

"Tell him his old father bless'd him as he never did be

fore,

And to carry that old musket "- -(Hark! a knock is at the

door!)

"Till the Union"- -(See it opens!) "Father! Father! speak once more!"—

"Bless you!" gasp'd the old grey Sergeant; and he lay, and said no more.

GEORGE HENRY BOKER.

1823

A BALLAD OF SIR JOHN FRANKLIN. "O whither sail you? Sir John Franklin ! Cried a whaler in Baffin's Bay.

"To know if between the land and the Pole I may find a broad sea-way."

"I charge you back, Sir John Franklin !
As you would live and thrive :

For between the land and the frozen Pole
No man may sail alive!"

But lightly laugh'd the stout Sir John,
And spoke unto his men :

"Half England is wrong if he is right,—
Bear off to Westward then!"

"O whither sail you? brave Englishman!" Cried the little Esquimaux.

"Between your land and the polar star My goodly vessels go."

"Come down, if you would journey there!" The little Indian said,—

"And change your cloth for fur clothing, Your vessel for a sled!"

But lightly laugh'd the stout Sir John,
And the crew laugh'd with him too;
"A sailor to change from ship to sled,
I ween were something new!"

All through the long, long polar day
The vessels Westward sped ;

And wherever the sail of Sir John was blown,
The ice gave way and fled.

Gave way with many a hollow groan,

And with many a surly roar,

But it murmur'd and threaten'd on every side; And closed where he sail'd before.

"Ho! see ye not, my merry men!
The broad and open sea?
Bethink ye what the whaler said!
Think of the little Indian's sled!"
The crew laugh'd out in glee.

“Sir John! Sir John! it is bitter cold,
The scud drives on the breeze,

66

The ice comes looming from the North,
The very sunbeams freeze."

Bright summer goes, dark winter comes,-
We cannot rule the year;

But long ere summer's sun goes down

On yonder sea we'll steer!"

The dripping icebergs dipp'd and rose,

And flounder'd down the gale;

The ships were stay'd, the yards were mann'd, And furl'd the useless sail.

"The summer's gone, the winter's come, We sail not on yonder sea :

Why sail we not? Sir John Franklin !"

A silent man was he.

The summer goes, the winter comes,-
We can not rule the year :

I ween we can not rule the ways,
Sir John! wherein we'd steer.

The cruel ice came floating on,
And closed beneath the lee,

Till the thickening waters dash'd no more ;

'Twas ice around, behind, before :
My God! there is no sea!

What think you of the whaler now?
What of the Esquimaux ?

A sled were better than a ship,
To cruise through ice and snow.

Down sank the baleful crimson sun;
The Northern Light came out,
And glared upon the ice-bound ships,
And shook its spears about.

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 hissing wind is bleak,

The hard green ice is strong as death :
I prithee, Captain! speak."

"The night is neither bright nor short,
The singing breeze is cold;
The ice is not so strong as hope,
The heart of man is bold."

"What hope can scale this icy wall,
High o'er the main flag-staff?
Above the ridges the wolf and bear
Look down with a patient, settled stare,
Look down on us and laugh."

"The summer went, the winter came,-
We could not rule the year ;

But summer will melt the ice again,
And open a path to the sunny main,
Whereon our ships shall steer! "