And curtains, wrought of silver-threaded frost,
Were looped with priceless pearls from room to room;--
A home for all the spirits of the Good
Lost in the pitiless sea,--where they would bathe
Their thoughts in heaven's splendor, looking out
The golden windows towards the constant sun,
Shining, unceasing, slant against their brows.

"But, as I nearer drew, I lost that dream
In one more gloomy. They did seem to shape
Themselves to living giants; lifting high
Their frowning foreheads, crowned with fiery crowns.
As lower sank the sun towards the sea,
Gloomier did they grow, with their white hair
And lifted spears, walking with mighty steps
The creaking floor of the unsteady deep.--
Nodding defiantly at one another--
Meeting, with crashing spears and splintered shields,
With hoarse cries, breast to breast, in angry strife;
Their armor shivered at their feet, the sea
Broken beneath their tread and shuddering
At the great shock.

"More thick these terrors grew;
Broad fields stretched out in many a frozen ridge;
While far beyond were paths of printless snow.
The ocean lay behind; and yet my boat
Moved ever onward, up a watery isle,
Opening, like a deep river, through the ice.
A shadowy land spread out on either side,