THE KING OF THE ICEBERGS.
Serene the Sabbath evening fell
Upon the Northern deep,
And lonely there a noble bark
Across the waves did sweep;
She rode them like a living thing,
That heeds not blast nor storm,
When, lo! the King of the Icebergs rose,
A strange and awful form.
Upon the horizon's verge he frown'd,
A mountain mid the main,
As erst Philistia's giant tower'd
O'er Israel's tented plain.
And hoarsely o'er the dark blue sea
Was a threat'ning challenge toss'd,
"Who is this, that dares, with feet of fire,
To tread in my realm of frost?"
Yet on the gallant steamship went,
Her heart of flame beat high,
And the stream of her fervent breath flow'd out
In volumes o'er the sky!
So the Ice-King seized his deadly lance
To pierce the stranger foe,
And down to his deed of vengeance rush'd,
Troubling the depths below.
