ICEBERGS. 



BY ARTHUR R. THOMPSON, 



FROM the far Northland ceaselessly 



they come, 

 Like errant knights, a-sailing 



down the sea, 

 That alien men may guess the 



majesty 



And splendor of the mighty Frost 

 King's home. 



Firm and immutable they seem, 



and fling 

 The baffled surges back in high 



disdain, 



As if such puny onsets must be vain 

 'Gainst the proud structures of the Arctic King. 



Well might old minstrels sing the monarch's fame 

 Within those steel-blue caverns of the ice, 

 Where crystal arches, carved in fretwork nice, 



His lavish wealth and royal power proclaim. 



But as I listen, 'tis no song I hear ; 



No hoary minstrel from his cavern sings, 

 Nor with enfeebled fingers tunes the strings : 



A sound more stern, more awful, meets my ear. 



