not here the white north hath thy bones and thou heroic sailor soul art passing on thy happier voyage now toward no earthly pole and it grew wondrous cold ice came floating by the drifts and snowy cliffs did send a dismal sheen seamen are no enemies when they are swimming seamen are no enemies even if the ice is killing but they walked - they walked the frost performed his secret ministry on these days in 1848 while the last crew members died in starvation cove after a long, long march through the desert of ice the merciless cold wind knived them the souls did from their bodies fly and the great unreal tiredness catched them to end their agony when the lids been closed some paused in their grave wandering and turn with profound gesture vague and slow to scrape the flesh from bones of the other men it stamps over his head but it cannot break his sleep at least their tins where soldered with lead