They sped them away, beyond cape and bay, Where even the tear-drops freeze, But no way was found, by a strait or sound, To sail through the Northern seas; They sped them away, beyond cape and bay, And they sought, but they sought in vain, For no way was found, through the ice around, To return to their homes again. Then the wild waves rose, and the waters froze, Till they closed like a prison wall; And the icebergs stood in the sullen flood, Like their jailers, grim and tall. O God! O God!--it was hard to die In that prison house of ice! For what was fame, or a mighty name, When life was the fearful price? The gallant Crozier, and brave Fitz James, And even the stout Sir John, Had a secret dread, and their hopes all fled, As the weeks and the months passed on. Then the Ice King came, with his eyes of flame, And looked on that fated crew; His chilling breath was as cold as death, And it pierced their warm hearts through! A heavy sleep, that was dark and deep, Came over their weary eyes, And they dreamed strange dreams of the hills and streams, And the blue of their native skies. The Christmas chimes, of the good old times, Were heard in each dying ear, And the dancing feet, and the voices sweet Of their wives and their children dear! But it faded away--away--away! Like a sound on a distant shore, And deeper and deeper grew the sleep, Till they slept to wake no more. O, the sailor’s wife, and the sailor’s child, They will weep, and watch, and pray; And the Lady Jane, she will hope in vain, As the long years pass away! The gallant Crozier, and brave Fitz James, And the good Sir John have found An open way, to a quiet bay, And a port where we all are bound! Let the waters roar on the ice-bound shore, That circles the frozen pole; But there is no sleep, and no grave so deep, That can hold a human soul. THE BURIAL OF WEBSTER.