Page:Pocahontas and Other Poems (NY).pdf/272

And so his gallant ship he steer'd
    From the disastrous fray,
And full in the teeth of the southern blast
    Led on her venturous way.

"Not thus shall ye 'scape my stormy ire,"
    The King of the Icebergs spake,
And bade unloose his vassal train,
    By arctic stream and lake;
And swift a countless monster train
    Rode over the waters blue,
With their dazzling helms and stony eyes,
    A pitiless, ruffian crew.

An icy ambush around the keel
    With breathless speed they laid,
And the vengeful monarch laugh'd to see
    How strong that mesh was made;
And, clustering close, that squadron dire
    Spread over the startled flood,
While their arrows of frost flew thick, and chill'd
    The hardiest seaman's blood.

But there fell a gleam of the light above,
    That with Mercy's angel dwells,
And aided the labouring bark to foil
    The King of the Iceberg's spells:
For this, by many a hearth-stone bright,
    A strain of praise shall be,
To him who guides the wanderer home,
    And rules the boisterous sea.