Within the sound of the Pacific’s roar
Stands Gjoa amid palms and myrtle trees,
Her prow is lifted toward the rocky shore,
As if impatient for the stormy seas,
The sturdy little ship of Arctic fame,
Which bears from storms and ice full many a mark,
Now like a lion in a cage, grown tame,
Stands here--a relic only--in a park.
A precious relic to Norwegian hearts,
With pride and gratitude they look on thee;
Proud that thou sailed, where man had made no charts,
The first explorer of a strait and sea,
And grateful that the land of Vikings still
Has sons of courage and adventure bold;
For Roald Amundsen forever will
Remain a man of true heroic mold.
And thou art here incaged to sniff the brine,
Forsaken by the captain and his crew,
A monument the great throngs to remind,
What talent mixed with manliness can do,
And that a nation may be small, yet great,
Be poor and still excel in noblest ken,
A silent witness at the Golden Gate;
A nation’s glory is her greatest men.