_1st Man._ Nay, nay— Our boats, loose spars, our masts, and half our decks Must serve us ere that pass. But, if indeed Nothing avail, and no help penetrate To this remote place, inaccessible Perchance for years, except to some wild bird— We came here knowing all this might befal, And set our lives at stake. God’s will be done. I, too, have felt the horrors of our fate: Jammed in a moving field of solid ice, Borne onward day and night we knew not where, Till the loud cracking sounds reverberating Far distant, were soon followed by the rending Of the vast pack, whose heaving blocks and wedges, Like crags broke loose, all rose to our destruction As by some ghastly instinct. Then the hand Of winter smote the all-congealing air, And with its freezing tempest piled on high These massy fragments which environ us:— Cathedrals many-spired, by lightning riven— Sharp-angled chaos-heaps of palaced cities, With splintered pyramids, and broken towers That yawn for ever at the bursting moon And her four pallid flame-spouts. Now, appalled By the long roar o’ the cloud-like avalanche— Now, by the stealthy creeping of the glaciers In silence tow’rds our frozen ships. So Death Hath often whispered to me in the night; And I have seen him in the Aurora-gleam Smile as I rose and came upon the deck; Or when the icicle’s prismatic glance— Bright, flashing,—and then, colourless, unmoved ice— Emblem’d our passing life, and its cold end. Oh, friend in many perils, fail not now! Am I not, e’en as thou art, utterly sick Of my own heavy heart, and loading clothes?— A mind—that in its firmest hour hath fits Of madness for some change, that shoot across Its steadfastness, and scarce are trampled down. Yet, friend, I will not let my spirit sink, Nor shall mine eyes, e’en with snow-blindness veiled, Man’s great prerogative of inward sight Forego, nor cease therein to speculate On England’s feeling for her countrymen; Whereof relief will some day surely come. _2nd Man._ I well believe it; but perhaps too late. _1st Man._ Then, if too late, one noble task remains, And one consoling thought. We, to the last, With firmness, order, and considerate care, Will act as though our death-beds were at home, Grey heads with honour sinking to the tomb; So future times shall record bear that we, Imprisoned in these frozen horrors, held Our sense of duty, both to man and God. _The muffled beat of the ship’s bell sounds for evening prayers._ _The two men return: they ascend the steps in the snow—then the ladder—and disappear beneath the snow-covered housing of the deck._ A CORONER’S INQUEST.