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The writings of John Greenleaf Whittier, Volume 1. (ed. John Greenleaf Whittier), Narrative and legendary poems (search)
land!’ he cried, “Land of all lands the worst, God forsaken and curst! Thy gates of rock should show The words the Tuscan seer Read in the Realm of Woe: Hope entereth not here!” Lo! at his feet there stood A block of smooth larch wood, Waif of some wandering wave, Beside a rock-closed cave By Nature fashioned for a grave; Safe from the ravening bear And fierce fowl of the air, Wherein to rest was laid A twenty summers' maid, Whose blood had equal share Of the lands of vine and snow, Half French, half Eskimo. In letters uneffaced, Upon the block were traced The grief and hope of man, And thus the legend ran: “We loved her! Words cannot tell how well! We loved her! God loved her! And called her home to peace and rest. We love her!” The stranger paused and read. ‘O winter land!’ he said, “Thy right to be I own; God leaves thee not alone. And if thy fierce winds blow Over drear wastes of rock and snow, And at thy iron gates The ghostly iceberg waits, Thy homes and hearts