Classic Poem

Why rings not back the welcome shout
From yonder ice-bound ship?
Why floats not her glad standard out,
With bright'ning sunbeams lit?

Why hear we not the hum of life,
Amid that silent throng;
The laugh, the joke, with joyance rife,
The merry seaman's song?

Ah, mailed in ice their bodies stand!
Each fixed, and glassy eye
Seems gazing on the wondering band,
That now are gathered nigh.

Each icy hand still grasps the rope,
It held when life was there;
When round their hearts yet lingered hope,
And wrestled with despair.

Speak, ye cold lips! say what ye lock
Within that marble breast;
Though deep our souls the tale should shock,
It cannot break your rest.

Say! what sharp pangs your bosom rent,
When the low, flickering fire,
Its last warm rays of life had lent,
And left you vain desire.

Where were your thoughts, when round your frame
Claspt the cold, icy night;
Gathered they round the hearth's warm flame,
Lighting fond faces bright?

When, to your last loud cries of woe,
No human accents spoke;
And, roaring deep, the waves below
In fetters o'er you broke;

Did you upraise the trembling prayer
To Him, who rules the sea;
And triumph o'er your soul's despair
And mortal agony?

Ye answer not: no voice can wake
That tale within your breast;
Nor human thoughts of suffering break
Your calm, eternal rest.

Beyond this changing, troubled sphere,
Your spirit rests above;
Where neither death, nor mortal fear,
Again its peace can move.