394 
LETTERS FROM HIGH LATITUDES. 
XIII. 
—Told the vain and painful striving, 
By shot-weighted shrouds to hide 
(Last fond care), from those surviving, 
What good comrade last had died; 
Yet the ghastly things kept showing, 
Waist deep in the unquiet grave— 
To each other gravely bowing 
On the slow swing of the wave! 
XIV. 
18 Eric’s boat is near the landing— 
From that dark ship bring they aught ? 
In the stern sheets one is standing. 
Though their eyes perceive him not; 
But a curdling horror creepeth 
Thro’ their veins, with icy darts, 
And each hurried oar-stroke keepeth 
Time with their o’er-labouring hearts ! 
XV. - 
Heavy seems their boat returning. 
Weighted with a world of care! 
Oh, ye blind ones—none discerning 
What the spectral freight ye bear. 
Glad they hear the sea-beach grating 
Harsh beneath the small boat’s stem— 
Forth they leap, for no man waiting— 
But the Black Death lands with them . 
