THE ICEBERG.
AN iceberg drifting in the polar seas
Braces its cold and bold and glistening front
Against the sharpness of the Arctic blasts;
But when it idly floats by southern shores,
Where milder sunshine wakes the praise of spring,
Warm airs embrace the rugged stranger round,
And melt away its angles with their breath:
The tepid waves caress it, and the light
Nestles among its many crevices,
Till it relents, and in a vail of mist
Withdrawing, sinks, and weeps itself away
Upon the bosom of the summer sea.
And so, when argument, reproach, and force
Are spent in vain, the hard heart yields to love.