  Flit o'er the weltering Deluge as it shrinks, Or the transparent rain-drops, falling few, Distinct and larger glisten. So the Ark Rests upon Ararat; but nought around Its inmates can behold, save o'er th' expanse Of boundless waters, the sun's orient orb 60 Stretching the hull's long shadow, or the moon In silence, through the silver-cinctured clouds, Sailing as she herself were lost, and left In Nature's loneliness! But oh, sweet Hope, Thou bid'st a tear of holy ecstasy Start to their eye-lids, when at night the Dove, Weary, returns, and lo! an olive leaf Wet in her bill: again she is put forth, When the seventh morn shines on the hoar abyss:— 70 Due evening comes: her wings are heard no more! The dawn awakes, not cold and dripping sad, But cheered with lovelier sunshine; far away The dark-red mountains slow their naked peaks Upheave above the waste; Imaus Fume the huge torrents on his desert sides; Till at the awful voice of Him who rules The storm, the ancient Father and his train On the dry land descend. Here let us pause. 80 No noise in the vast circuit of the globe Is heard; no sound of human stirring: none Of birds that solace the forsaken woods From morn till eve; save in that spot that holds The sacred Ark: there the glad sounds ascend, And Nature listens to the breath of Life. The fleet horse bounds, high-neighing to the wind That lifts his streaming mane; the heifer lows; Loud sings the lark amid the rainbow's hues; 90 The lion lifts him muttering; Man comes forth— He kneels upon the earth—he kisses it; And to the God who stretched that radiant bow, He lifts his trembling transports. From one spot Alone of earth such sounds ascend. How changed The human prospect! when from realm to realm, From shore to shore, from isle to furthest isle, Flung to the stormy main, man's murmuring race, Various and countless as the shells that strew 100 The ocean's winding marge, are spread; from shores Sinensian, where the passing proas gleam Innumerous 'mid the floating villages: To Acapulco west, where laden deep With gold and gems rolls the superb galleon, Shadowing the hoar Pacific: from the North, Where on some snowy promontory's height The Lapland wizard beats his drum, and calls The spirits of the winds, to th' utmost South, Where savage Fuego shoots its cold white peaks, 110 Dreariest of lands, and the poor Pecherais Shiver and moan along its waste of snows. So stirs the earth; and for the Ark that passed Ten thousand and ten thousand barks are seen Fervent and glancing on the friths and sounds; From the Bermudian that, with masts inclined, Shoots like a dart along; to the tall ship That, like a stately swan, in conscious pride Breasts beautiful the rising surge, and throws 120 The gathered waters back, and seems to move A living thing, along her lucid way Streaming in white-winged glory to the sun! Some waft the treasures of the east; some bear Their country's dark artillery o'er the surge Frowning; some in the southern solitudes, Bound on discovery of new regions, spread, 'Mid rocks of driving ice, that crash around, Their weather-beaten mainsail; or explore Their perilous way from isle to isle, and wind 130 The tender social tie; connecting man, Wherever scattered, with his fellow-man. How many ages rolled away ere thus, From Nature's general wreck, the world's great scene Was tenanted! See from their sad abode, At Heaven's dread voice, heard from the solitude, As in the dayspring of created things, The sad survivors of a buried world Come forth; on them, though desolate their seat, The sky looks down with smiles; for the broad sun, 140 That to the west slopes his untired career, Hangs o'er the water's brim. The aged sire, Now rising from his evening sacrifice, Amid his offspring stands, and lifts his eyes, Moist with a tear, to the bright bow: the fire Yet on the altar burns, whose trailing fume Goes slowly up, and marks the lucid cope And beautiful. So placid Evening steals After the lurid storm, like a sweet form 150 Of fairy following a perturbed shape Of giant terror, that in darkness strode. Slow sinks the lord of day; the clustering clouds More ardent burn; confusion of rich hues, Crimson, and gold, and purple, bright, inlay Their varied edges; till before the eye, As their last lustre fades, small silver stars Succeed; and twinkling each in its own sphere, Thick as the frost's unnumbered spangles, strew The slowly-paling heavens. Tired Nature seems 160 Like one who, struggling long for life, had beat The billows, and scarce gained a desert crag, O'er-spent, to sink to rest: the tranquil airs Whisper repose. Now sunk in sleep reclines The Father of the world; then BOOK THE SECOND.Oh for a view, as from that cloudless height Where the great Patriarch gazed upon the world, His offspring's future seat, back on the vale Of years departed! We might then behold Thebes, from her sleep of ages, awful rise, Like an imperial shadow, from the Nile, To airy harpings; Scatter the darkness through the labyrinths Of death, where rest her kings, without a name, And light the winding caves and pyramids 10 In the long night of years! We might behold Edom, in towery strength, majestic rise, And awe the ErithrÆan, to the plains Where Migdol frowned, and Baal-zephon stood, Before whose naval shrine the Memphian host And Pharaoh's pomp were shattered! As her fleets From Ezion went seaward, to the sound How glorious, Edom, in thy ships art thou, And mighty as the rushing winds! 20 But night Is on the mournful scene: a voice is heard, As of the dead, from hollow sepulchres, And echoing caverns of the Nile—So pass The shades of mortal glory! One pure ray From Sinai bursts (where God of old revealed His glory, through the darkness terrible That sat on the dread Mount), and we descry Thy sons, O Noah! peopling wide the scene, From Shinar's plain to Egypt. 30 Let the song Reveal, who first "went down to the great sea In ships," and braved the stormy element. The Sons of Cush. They on the marble range and cloudy heights Of that vast mountain barrier,—which uprises High o'er the Red Sea coast, and stretches on With the sea-line of Afric's southern bounds To Sofala,—delved in the granite mass Their dark abode, spreading from rock to rock 40 Their subterranean cities, whilst they heard, Secure, the rains of vexed Orion rush. Emboldened they descend, and now their fanes On Egypt's champaign darken, whilst the noise Of caravans is heard, and pyramids In the pale distance gleam. Imperial Thebes Starts, like a giant, from the dust; as when Some dread enchanter waves his wand, and towers And palaces far in the sandy wilds Spring up: and still, her sphinxes, huge and high, The work of some great arm invisible, Surpassing human strength; while toiling Time, That sways his desolating scythe so vast, And weary havoc murmuring at his side, Smite them in vain. Heard ye the mystic song Resounding from her caverns as of yore? Sing to Osiris, No more in night profound Of ocean, fathomless and dark, 60 Typhon Osiris!—to our god Osiris sing!— And let the midnight shore to rites of joy resound! Thee, great restorer of the world, the song Darkly described, and that mysterious shrine That bore thee o'er the desolate abyss, When the earth sank with all its noise! So taught, The borderers of the ErithrÆan launch'd Their barks, and to the shores of Araby 70 First their brief voyage stretched, and thence returned With aromatic gums, or spicy wealth Of India. Prouder triumphs yet await, For lo! where Ophir's gold unburied shines New to the sun; but perilous the way, O'er Ariana's Where ev'n the patient camel scarce endures The long, long solitude of rocks and sands, Parched, faint, and sinking, in his mid-day course. But see! upon the shore great Ammon Is opened; and the shading ships that ride With statelier masts and ampler hulls the seas, Have passed the Straits, and left the rocks and GATES Of death. Throws blackening back, beneath a hollow cove, Awhile the mariners their fearful course Ponder, ere yet they tempt the further deep; Then plunged into the sullen main, they cast The youthful victim, to the dismal gods 90 Devoted, whilst the smoke of sacrifice Slowly ascends: Hear, King of Ocean! hear, Dark phantom! whether in thy secret cave Thou sittest, where the deeps are fathomless, Nor hear'st the waters hum, though all above Is uproar loud; or on the widest waste, Far from all land, mov'st in the noontide sun, With dread and lonely shadow; or on high Dost ride upon the whirling spires, and fume 100 Of that enormous volume, that ascends Black to the skies, and with the thunder's roar Bursts, while the waves far on are still: Oh, hear, Dread power, and save! lest hidden eddies whirl The helpless vessels down,—down to the deeps Of night, where thou, O Father of the Storm, Dost sleep; or thy vast stature might appear High o'er the flashing waves, and (as thy beard Streamed to the cloudy winds) pass o'er their track, And they are seen no more; or monster-birds 110 Darkening, with pennons lank, the morn, might bear The victims to some desert rock, and leave Their scattered bones to whiten in the winds! Propitious smile; the thunder's roar has ceased, Smooth and in silence o'er the azure realm The tall ships glide along; for the South-West Cheerly and steady blows, and the blue seas Beneath the shadow sparkle; on they speed, The long coast varies as they pass from cove 120 To sheltering cove, the long coast winds away; Till now emboldened by the unvarying gale, Still urging to the East, the sailors deem Some god inviting swells their willing sails, Or Destiny's fleet dragons through the surge Cut their mid-way, yoked to the beaked prows Unseen! Night after night the heavens' still cope, That glows with stars, they watch, till morning bears Airs of sweet fragrance o'er the yellow tide: 130 Then Malabar her green declivities Hangs beauteous, beaming to the eye afar Like scenes of pictured bliss, the shadowy land Of soft enchantment. Now Salmala's peak Shines high in air, and Ceylon's dark green woods Beneath are spread; while, as the strangers wind Along the curving shores, sounds of delight Are heard; and birds of richest plumage, red And yellow, glance along the shades; or fly With morning twitter, circling o'er the mast, 140 As singing welcome to the weary crew. Here rest, till westering gales again invite. Then o'er the line of level seas glide on, As the green deities of ocean guide, Till Ophir's distant hills spring from the main, And their long labours cease. Her length unwinds; and Siam and Ceylon Through wider channels pour their gems and gold To swell the pomp of Egypt's kings, or deck 150 With new magnificence the rising dome Of Palestine's imperial lord. His wants To satisfy; "with comelier draperies" To clothe his shivering form; to bid his arm Burst, like the Patagonian's, That bound his untried strength; to nurse the flame Of wider heart-ennobling sympathies;— For this young Commerce roused the energies Of man; else rolling back, stagnant and foul, 160 Like the great element on which his ships Go forth, without the currents, winds, and tides That swell it, as with awful life, and keep From rank putrescence the long-moving mass: And He, the sovereign Maker of the world, So to excite man's high activities, Bad various climes their various produce pour. On Asia's plain mark where the cotton-tree Hangs elegant its golden gems; the date Sits purpling the soft lucid haze, that lights 170 The still, pale, sultry landscape; breathing sweet Along old Ocean's billowy marge, the eve Bears spicy fragrance far; the bread-fruit shades The southern isles; and gems, and richest ore, Lurk in the caverned mountains of the west. With ampler shade the northern oak uplifts His strength, itself a forest, and descends Proud to the world of waves, to bear afar To every land:—Where nature seems to mourn 180 Her rugged outcast rocks, there Enterprise Leaps up; he gazes, like a god, around; He sees on other plains rich harvests wave; He marks far off the diamond blaze; he burns To reach the glittering prize; he looks; he speaks; The pines of Lebanon fall at his voice; He rears the towering mast: o'er the long main He wanders, and becomes, himself though poor, The sovereign of the globe! So Sidon rose; 190 And Tyre, yet prouder o'er the subject waves,— When in his manlier might the Ammonian spread Beyond Philistia to the Syrian sands,— Crowned on her rocky citadel, beheld The treasures of all lands poured at her feet. Her daring prows the inland main disclosed; Freedom and Glory, Eloquence, and Arts, Follow their track, upspringing where they passed; Till, lo! another Thebes, an Athens springs, From the Ægean shores, and airs are heard, 200 As of no mortal melody, from isles That strew the deep around! On to the Straits Where tower the brazen pillars Her vessels ride. But what a shivering dread Quelled their bold hopes, when on their watch by night The mariners first saw the distant flames Of Ætna, and its red portentous glare Streaking the midnight waste! 'Tis not thy lamp, Astarte, hung in the dun vault of night, To guide the wanderers of the main! Aghast 210 They eye the fiery cope, and wait the dawn. Flash through the horrid volume as it mounts; Voices are heard, and thunders muttering deep. Haste, snatch the oars, fly o'er the glimmering surge— Fly far—already louder thunders roll, And more terrific flames arise! Oh, spare, Dread Power! for sure some deity abides Deep in the central earth, amidst the reek Of sacrifice and blue sulphureous fume 220 Involved. Perhaps the living Moloch Rules in his horrid empire, amid flames, Thunders, and blackening volumes, that ascend And wrap his burning throne! So was their path, To those who first the cheerless ocean roamed, Darkened with dread and peril. Scylla here, And fell Charybdis, on their whirling gulph Sit, like the sisters of Despair, and howl, As the devoted ship, dashed on the crags, 230 Goes down: and oft the neighbour shores are strewn With bones of strangers sacrificed, whose bark Has foundered nigh, where the red watch-tower glares Through darkness. Hence mysterious dread, and tales Of Polyphemus and his monstrous rout; And warbling syrens on the fatal shores Of soft Parthenope. Yet oft the sound Of sea-conch through the night from some rude rock Is heard, to warn the wandering passenger Of fiends that lurk for blood! 240 These dangers past, The sea puts on new beauties: Italy, Beneath the blue soft sky beaming afar, Is past; the BÆtic rocks, and ramparts high, That close the world, appear. The dashing bark Bursts through the fearful frith: Ah! all is now One boundless billowy waste; the huge-heaved wave Beneath the keel turns more intensely blue; And vaster rolls the surge, that sweeps the shores 250 Of Cerne, and the green Hesperides, And long-renowned Atlantis, Now to the bottom of the "monstrous world;" Or was it but a shadow of the mind, Vapoury and baseless, like the distant clouds That seem the promise of an unknown land To the pale-eyed and wasted mariner, Cold on the rocking mast. The pilot plies, Now tossed upon Bayonna's mountain-surge, High to the north his way; when, lo! the cliffs 260 Of Albion, o'er the sea-line rising calm And white, and Marazion's woody mount Lifting its dark romantic point between. So did thy ships to Earth's wide bounds proceed, O Tyre! and thou wert rich and beautiful In that thy day of glory. Carthage rose, Thy daughter, and the rival of thy fame, Upon the sands of Lybia; princes were Thy merchants; on thy golden throne thy state Shone, like the orient sun. Dark Lebanon 270 Waved all his pines for thee; for thee the oaks Of Bashan towered in strength: thy galleys cut, Glittering, the sunny surge; thy mariners, On ivory benches, furled th' embroidered sails, That looms of Egypt wove, or to the oars, That measuring dipped, their choral sea-songs sung; And cast their emeralds at thy feet, and said— Queen of the Waters, who is like to thee! So wert thou glorious on the seas, and said'st, 280 I am a God, and there is none like me. But the dread voice prophetic is gone forth:— Howl, for the whirlwind of the desert comes! Howl ye again, for Tyre, her multitude Of sins and dark abominations cry Against her, saith the Lord; in the mid seas Her beauty shall be broken; I will bring Her pride to ashes; she shall be no more, The distant isles shall tremble at the sound When thou dost fall; the princes of the sea 290 Shall from their thrones come down, and cast away Their gorgeous robes; for thee they shall take up A bitter lamentation, and shall say— How art thou fallen, renowned city! thou, Who wert enthroned glorious on the seas, To rise no more! So visible, O God, Is thy dread hand in all the earth! Where Tyre In gold and purple glittered o'er the scene, Now the poor fisher dries his net, nor thinks 300 How great, how rich, how glorious, once she rose! Meantime the furthest isle, cold and obscure, Whose painted natives roamed their woody wilds, From all the world cut off, that wondering marked Her stately sails approach, now in her turn Rises a star of glory in the West— Albion, the wonder of the illumined world! See there a Newton wing the highest heavens; See there a Herschell's daring hand withdraw The luminous pavilion, and the throne Of holy truth amid her cloistered fane, As the clear anthem swells; see Taste adorn Her palaces; and Painting's fervid touch, That bids the canvas breathe; hear angel-strains, When Handel, or melodious Purcell, pours His sweetest harmonies; see Poesy Open her vales romantic, and the scenes Where Fancy, an enraptured votary, roves At eve; and hark! 'twas Shakspeare's voice! he sits 320 Upon a high and charmed rock alone, And, like the genius of the mountain, gives The rapt song to the winds; whilst Pity weeps, Or Terror shudders at the changeful tones, As when his Ariel soothes the storm! Then pause, For the wild billows answer—Lycidas Is dead, young Lycidas, dead ere his prime, Whelmed in the deep, beyond the Orcades, Or where the "vision of the guarded Mount, Belerus holds." 330 Nor skies, nor earth, confine The march of England's glory; on she speeds— The unknown barriers of the utmost deep Her prow has burst, where the dread genius slept For ages undisturbed, save when he walked Amid the darkness of the storm! Her fleet Even now along the East rides terrible, Where early-rising commerce cheered the scene! Heard ye the thunders of her vengeance roll, As Nelson, through the battle's dark-red haze 340 Aloft upon the burning prow directs, Where the dread hurricane, with sulphureous flash, Shall burst unquenchable, while from the grave Osiris ampler seems to rise? Where thou, Acre even now, and ancient Carmel, hears The cry of conquest. 'Mid the fire and smoke Of the war-shaken citadel, with eye Of temper'd flame, yet resolute command, His brave sword beaming, and his cheering voice 350 Heard 'mid the onset's cries, his dark-brown hair Spread on his fearless forehead, and his hand Pointing to Gallia's baffled chief, behold The British Hero stand! Why beats my heart With kindred animation? The warm tear Of patriot triumph fills mine eye. I strike A louder strain unconscious, while the harp Swells to the bold involuntary song. I. Fly, Son of Terror, fly! Back o'er the burning desert he is fled! 360 In heaps the gory dead And livid in the trenches lie! His dazzling files no more Flash on the Syrian sands, As when from Egypt's ravaged shore, Aloft their gleamy falchions swinging, Aloud their victor pÆans singing, Their onward way the Gallic legions took. Despair, dismay, are on his altered look, Yet hate indignant lowers; 370 Whilst high on Acre's granite towers The shade of English Richard seems to stand; And frowning far, in dusky rows, A thousand archers draw their bows! They join the triumph of the British band, Heard o'er the rolling surge—They fly, they fly! II. Now the hostile fires decline, Now through the smoke's deep volumes shine; Now above the bastions gray 380 The clouds of battle roll away; Where, with calm, yet glowing mien, Britain's victorious youth is seen! He lifts his eye, His country's ensigns wave through smoke on high, Whilst the long-mingled shout is heard—They fly, they fly! III. Hoary Carmel, witness thou, And lift in conscious pride thy brow; As when upon thy cloudy plain Baal's prophets cried in vain! 390 They gashed their flesh, and leaped, and cried, From morn till lingering even-tide. Then stern Elijah on his foes Strong in the might of Heaven arose!— On Carmel's top he stood, And while the blackening clouds and rain Came sounding from the Western main, Raised his right hand that dropped with impious blood. Ancient Kishon prouder swell, On whose banks they bowed, they fell, 400 The mighty ones of yore, when, pale with dread, Inglorious Sisera fled! So let them perish, Holy Lord, Who for oppression lift the sword; "Be as the sun who goes forth in his might." BOOK THE THIRD.My heart has sighed in secret, when I thought That the dark tide of time might one day close, England, o'er thee, as long since it has closed On Egypt and on Tyre: that ages hence, From the Pacific's billowy loneliness, Whose tract thy daring search revealed, some isle Might rise in green-haired beauty eminent, And like a goddess, glittering from the deep, Hereafter sway the sceptre of domain From pole to pole; and such as now thou art, 10 Perhaps New-Holland be. For who shall say What the Omnipotent Eternal One, That made the world, hath purposed! Thoughts like these, Though visionary, rise; and sometimes move A moment's sadness, when I think of thee, My country, of thy greatness, and thy name, Among the nations; and thy character,— Though some few spots be on thy flowing robe,— Of loveliest beauty: I have never passed Through thy green hamlets on a summer's morn, 20 Nor heard thy sweet bells ring, nor seen the youths And smiling maidens of thy villages, Gay in their Sunday tire, but I have said, With passing tenderness—Live, happy land, Where the poor peasant feels his shed, though small, His honest heart with joy—joy such as they Who crowd the mart of men may never feel! Such, England, is thy boast. When I have heard The roar of ocean bursting 'round thy rocks, 30 Or seen a thousand thronging masts aspire, Far as the eye could reach, from every port Of every nation, streaming with their flags O'er the still mirror of the conscious Thames,— Yes, I have felt a proud emotion swell That I was British-born; that I had lived A witness of thy glory, my most loved And honoured country; and a silent prayer Would rise to Heaven, that Fame and Peace, and Love And Liberty, might walk thy vales, and sing 40 Their holy hymns, while thy brave arm repelled Hostility, even as thy guardian cliffs Repel the dash of that dread element Which calls me, lingering on the banks of Thames, On to my destined voyage, by the shores Of Asia, and the wreck of cities old, Ere yet we burst into the wilder deep With Gama; or the huge Atlantic waste With bold Columbus stem; or view the bounds Of field-ice, stretching to the southern pole, 50 With thee, benevolent, lamented Cook! Tyre be no more! said the Almighty voice: But thou too, Monarch of the world, Rent the proud bulwarks of the golden queen Of cities, throned upon her subject seas, Art thou too fall'n? The whole earth is at rest: "They break forth into singing:" Lebanon No feller now comes here; Hell from beneath 60 Is moved to meet thy coming; it stirs up The dead for thee; the chief ones of the earth, Tyre and the nations, they all speak and say— Art thou become like us! Thy pomp brought down E'en to the dust! The noise of viols ceased, The worm spread under thee, the crawling worm To cover thee! How art thou fall'n from heaven, Son of the morning! In thy heart thou saidst, I will ascend to Heaven; I will exalt My throne above the stars of God! Die—die, 70 Blasphemer! As a carcase under foot, Defiled and trodden, so be thou cast out! And she, the great, the guilty Babel—she Who smote the wasted cities, and the world Made as a wilderness—she, in her turn, Sinks to the gulf oblivious at the voice Of Him who sits in judgment on her crimes! Who, o'er her palaces and buried towers, Shall bid the owl hoot, and the bittern scream; And on her pensile groves and pleasant shades 80 Pour the deep waters of forgetfulness. On that same night, when with a cry she fell, (Like her own mighty idol dashed to earth,) There was a strange eclipse, and long laments Were heard, and muttering thunders o'er the towers Of the high palace where his wassail loud Belshazzar kept, mocking the God of heaven, And flushed with impious mirth; for Bel had left With sullen shriek his golden shrine, and sat, With many a gloomy apparition girt, 90 Nisroch and Nebo chief, in the dim sphere Of mooned Astoreth, whose orb now rolled Meantime the host of Cyrus through the night Silent advanced more nigh; and at that hour, In the torch-blazing hall of revelry, The fingers of a shadowy hand distinct Came forth, and unknown figures marked the wall, Searing the eye-balls of the starting king: Tyre is avenged; Babel is fall'n, is fall'n! 100 Bel and her gods are shattered! Prince, to thee Called by the voice of God to execute His will on earth, and raised to Persia's throne, Cyrus, all hearts pay homage. Touched with tints Most clear by the historian's magic art, Thy features wear a gentleness and grace Unlike the stern cold aspect and the frown Of the dark chiefs of yore, the gloomy clan Of heroes, from humanity and love 110 Removed: To thee a brighter character Belongs—high dignity, unbending truth— Yet Nature; not that lordly apathy Which confidence and human sympathy Represses, but a soul that bids all hearts Smiling approach. We almost burn in thought To kiss the hand that loosed Panthea's chains, And bless him with a parent's, husband's tear, Who stood a guardian angel in distress To the unfriended, and the beautiful, 120 Consigned a helpless slave. Thy portrait, touched With tints of softest light, thus wins all hearts To love thee; but severer policy, Cyrus, pronounces otherwise: she hears No stir of commerce on the sullen marge Of waters that along thy empire's verge Freighted with Indian wealth, glide o'er the main From cape to cape. But on the desert sands Hurtles thy numerous host, seizing, in thought 130 Rapacious, the rich fields of Hindostan, As the poor savage fells the blooming tree To gain its tempting fruit; but woe the while! For in the wilderness the noise is lost Of all thy archers;—they have ceased;—the wind Blows o'er them, and the voice of judgment cries: So perish they who grasp with avarice Another's blessed portion, and disdain That interchange of mutual good, that crowns The slow, sure toil of commerce. 140 It was thine, Immortal son of Macedon! to hang In the high fane of maritime renown The fairest trophies of thy fame, and shine, Then only like a god, when thy great mind Swayed in its master council the deep tide Of things, predestining th' eventful roll Of commerce, and uniting either world, Europe and Asia, in thy vast design. Twas when the victor, in his proud career, 150 O'er ravaged Hindostan, had now advanced Beyond Hydaspes; on the flowery banks Of Hyphasis, with banners thronged, his camp Was spread. On high he bade the altars rise, The awful records to succeeding years Of his long march of glory, and to point The spot where, like the thunder rolled away, His army paused. Now shady eve came down; The trumpet sounded to the setting sun, That looked from his illumed pavilion, calm And lovely as his parting light, the world Beneath him spread; nor clangours, nor deep groans, Were heard, nor victory's shouts, nor sighs, nor shrieks, Were ever wafted from a bleeding land, After the havoc of a conqueror's sword. So calm the sun declined; when from the woods, That shone to his last beam, a Brahmin old Came forth. His streaming beard shone in the ray, That slanted o'er his feeble frame; his front 170 Was furrowed. To the sun's last light he cast A look of sorrow, then in silence bowed Before the conqueror of the world. At once All, as in death, was still. The victor chief Trembled, he knew not why; the trumpet ceased Its clangor, and the crimson streamer waved No more in folds insulting to the Lord Of the reposing world. The pallid front Of the meek man seemed for a moment calm, Yet dark and thronging thoughts appeared to swell 180 His beating heart. He paused—and then abrupt: Victor, avaunt! he cried, Hence! and the banners of thy pride Bear to the deep! Behold on high Yon range of mountains mingled with the sky! It is the place Where the great Father of the human race Rested, when all the world and all its sounds Ceased; and the ocean that surrounds The earth, leaped from its dark abode 190 Beneath the mountains, and enormous flowed, The green earth deluging! List, soldier, list! And dread His might no mortal may resist. Great Bramah rested, hushed in sleep, With mooned horns and eyes of flame, And bore the holy Vedas Far from the sun's rejoicing ray, Beneath the huge abyss, the buried treasures lay. Then foamed the billowy desert wide, 200 And all that breathed—they died, Sunk in the rolling waters: such the crime And violence of earth. But he above, Great Vishnu, moved with pitying love, Preserved the pious king, whose ark sublime Floated, in safety borne: For his stupendous horn, Blazing like gold, and many a rood Extended o'er the dismal flood, The precious freight sustained, till on the crest 210 Of Himakeel, That darkly mingles with the sky, Where many a griffin roams, the hallowed ark found rest. And Heaven decrees that here Shall cease thy slaughtering spear: Enough we bleed, enough we weep, Hence, victor, to the deep! Ev'n now along the tide I see thy ships triumphant ride: I see the world of trade emerge 220 From ocean's solitude! What fury fires My breast! The flood, the flood retires, And owns its future sovereign! Urge Thy destined way; what countless pennants stream! (Or is it but the shadow of a dream?) Thy daring prows in long array, That o'er the lone seas gliding, Around the sea-gods riding, Speed to Euphrates' shores their destined way. 230 Fill high the bowl of mirth! From west to east the earth Proclaims thee Lord; shall the blue main Confine thy reign? But tremble, tyrant; hark in many a ring, With language dread Above thy head, The dark Assoors What mortal blow Hath laid the king of nations low? 240 No hand: his own despair.— But shout, for the canvas shall swell to the air, Thy ships explore Unknown Persia's winding shore, While the great dragon rolls his arms in vain. And see, uprising from the level main, A new and glorious city springs;— Hither speed thy woven wings, That glance along the azure tide; Asia and Europe own thy might;— 250 The willing seas of either world unite: Thy name shall consecrate the sands, And glittering to the sky the mart of nations stands. He spoke, and rushed into the thickest wood. With flashing eyes the impatient monarch cried— Yes, by the Lybian Ammon and the gods Of Greece, thou bid'st me on, the self-same track My name shall live in glory! At his word 260 The pines descend; the thronging masts aspire; The novel sails swell beauteous o'er the curves Of Indus; to the Moderators' song The oars keep time, while bold Nearchus guides Aloft the gallies. On the foremost prow The monarch from his golden goblet pours A full libation to the gods, and calls By name the mighty rivers, through whose course He seeks the sea. To Lybian Ammon loud The songs ascend; the trumpets bray; aloft 270 The streamers fly, whilst on the evening wave Majestic to the main the fleet descends. BOOK THE FOURTH.Stand on the gleaming Pharos, Shout, Commerce, to the kingdoms of the earth; Shout, for thy golden portals are set wide, And all thy streamers o'er the surge, aloft, In pomp triumphant wave. The weary way That pale Nearchus passed, from creek to creek Advancing slow, no longer bounds the track Of the adventurous mariner, who steers Steady, with eye intent upon the stars, Aspiring, o'er the Western main her towers Th' imperial city lifts, the central mart Of nations, and beneath the calm clear sky, At distance from the palmy marge, displays Her clustering columns, whitening to the morn. Damascus' fleece, Golconda's gems, are there. Murmurs the haven with one ceaseless hum; The hurrying camel's bell, the driver's song, Along the sands resound. Tyre, art thou fall'n? A prouder city crowns the inland sea, 20 Raised by his hand who smote thee; as if thus His mighty mind were swayed to recompense The evil of his march through cities stormed, And regions wet with blood! and still had flowed The tide of commerce through the destined track, Traced by his mind sagacious, who surveyed The world he conquered with a sage's eye, As with a soldier's spirit; but a scene More awful opens: ancient world, adieu! Adieu, cloud-piercing pillars, erst its bounds; 30 And thou, whose aged head once seemed to prop The heavens, huge Atlas, sinking fast, adieu! What though the seas with wilder fury rave, Through their deserted realm; though the dread Cape, Sole-frowning o'er the war of waves below, That bar the seaman's search, horrid in air Appear with giant amplitude; his head Shrouded in clouds, the tempest at his feet, And standing thus terrific, seem to say, Incensed—Approach who dare! What though the fears 40 Of superstition people the vexed space With spirits unblessed, that lamentations make Not now a darkling Cyclop on the sands Striding, but led by Science, and advanced To a more awful height, on the wide scene Looks down commanding. Does a shuddering thought Of danger start, as the tumultuous sea Tosses below! Calm Science, with a smile, 50 Displays the wondrous index, that still points, With nice vibration tremulous, to the Pole. And such, she whispers, is the just man's hope In this tempestuous scene of human things; Even as the constant needle to the North Still points; so Piety and meek-eyed Faith Direct, though trembling oft, their constant gaze Heavenward, as to their lasting home, nor fear The night, fast closing on their earthly way. And guided by this index, thou shall pass 60 The world of seas secure. Far from all land, Where not a sea-bird wanders; where nor star, Nor moon appears, nor the bright noonday sun, Safe in the wildering storm, as when the breeze Of summer gently blows; through day, through night, Where sink the well-known stars, and others rise Slow from the South, the victor bark shall ride. Henry! thy ardent mind first pierced the gloom Of dark disastrous ignorance, that sat Upon the Southern wave, like the deep cloud 70 That lowered upon the woody skirts, and veiled From mortal search, with umbrage ominous, Madeira's unknown isle. But look! the morn Is kindled on the shadowy offing; streaks Of clear cold light on Sagres' battlements Are cast, where Henry watches, listening still His anxious eyes to the horizon's bounds. A sail appears; it swells, it shines: more high Seen through the dusk it looms; and now the hull 80 Is black upon the surge, whilst she rolls on Aloft—the weather-beaten ship—and now Streams by the watch-tower! Zarco, What tidings? The loud storm of night prevailed, And swept our vessel from Bojador's rocks Far out to sea; a sylvan isle Our sails; so willed the Almighty—He who speaks, And all the waves are still! 90 Hail, Henry cried, The omen: we have burst the sole barrier, (Prosper our wishes, Father of the world!) We speed to Asia. Soon upon the deep The brave ship speeds again. Bojador's rocks Arise at distance, frowning o'er the surf, That boils for many a league without. Its course The ship holds on; till lo! the beauteous isle, That shielded late the sufferers from the storm, 100 Springs o'er the wave again. Here they refresh Their wasted strength, and lift their vows to Heaven, But Heaven denies their further search; for ah! What fearful apparition, palled in clouds, For ever sits upon the Western wave, Like night, and in its strange portentous gloom Wrapping the lonely waters, seems the bounds Of Nature? Still it sits, day after day, Is it the dread abyss where all things cease? 110 Or haply hid from mortal search, thine isle, Cipango, and that unapproached seat Of peace, where rest the Christians whom the hate Of Moorish pride pursued? Whate'er it be, Zarco, thy holy courage bids thee on To burst the gloom, though dragons guard the shore, Or beings more than mortal pace the sands. The favouring gales invite; the bowsprit bears Right onward to the fearful shade; more black The cloudy spectre towers; already fear 120 Shrinks at the view aghast and breathless. Hark! 'Twas more than the deep murmur of the surge That struck the ear; whilst through the lurid gloom Gigantic phantoms seem to lift in air Their misty arms; yet, yet—bear boldly on— The mist dissolves;—seen through the parting haze, Romantic rocks, like the depictured clouds, Shine out; beneath a blooming wilderness Of varied wood is spread, that scents the air; Where fruits of "golden rind," thick interspersed 130 And pendent, through the mantling umbrage gleam Inviting. Cypress here, and stateliest pine, Spire o'er the nether shades, as emulous Of sole distinction where all nature smiles. Some trees, in sunny glades alone their head And graceful stem uplifting, mark below The turf with shadow; whilst in rich festoons The flowery lianes braid their boughs; meantime And brightest plumage, flitting through the shades, 140 With nimble glance are seen; they, unalarmed, Now near in airy circles sing, then speed Their random flight back to their sheltering bowers, Whose silence, broken only by their song, From the foundation of this busy world, Perhaps had never echoed to the voice, Or heard the steps, of Man. What rapture fired The strangers' bosoms, as from glade to glade They passed, admiring all, and gazing still With new delight! 'Tis solitude around; 150 Deep solitude, that on the gloom of woods PrimÆval fearful hangs: a green recess Now opens in the wilderness; gay flowers Of unknown name purple the yielding sward; The ring-dove murmurs o'er their head, like one Attesting tenderest joy; but mark the trees, Where, slanting through the gloom, the sunshine rests! Beneath, a moss-grown monument appears, O'er which the green banana gently waves Its long leaf; and an aged cypress near 160 Leans, as if listening to the streamlet's sound, That gushes from the adverse bank; but pause— Approach with reverence! Maker of the world, There is a Christian's cross! and on the stone A name, yet legible amid its moss,— Anna! In that remote, sequestered spot, Shut as it seemed from all the world, and lost In boundless seas, to trace a name, to mark The emblems of their holy faith, from all 170 Drew tears; while every voice faintly pronounced, Anna! But thou, loved harp! whose strings have rung The wires more softly touch, whilst I rehearse Her name and fate, who in this desert deep, Far from the world, from friends, and kindred, found Her long and last abode; there where no eye Might shed a tear on her remains; no heart Sigh in remembrance of her fate:— She left 180 The Severn's side, and fled with him she loved O'er the wide main; for he had told her tales Of happiness in distant lands, where care Comes not; and pointing to the golden clouds That shone above the waves, when evening came, Whispered—Oh, are there not sweet scenes of peace, Far from the murmurs of this cloudy mart,— Where gold alone bears sway,—scenes of delight, Where love may lay his head upon the lap Of innocence, and smile at all the toil 190 Of the low-thoughted throng, that place in wealth Their only bliss! Yes, there are scenes like these. Leave the vain chidings of the world behind, Country, and hollow friends, and fly with me Where love and peace in distant vales invite. What wouldst thou here! Oh, shall thy beauteous look Of maiden innocence, thy smile of youth, thine eyes Of tenderness and soft subdued desire, Thy form, thy limbs—oh, madness!—be the prey Of a decrepit spoiler, and for gold?— 200 Perish his treasure with him. Haste with me; We shall find out some sylvan nook, and then, If thou shouldst sometimes think upon these hills, When they are distant far, and drop a tear, Yes—I will kiss it from thy cheek, and clasp Thy angel beauties closer to my breast; Sinks beautifully down, and thy soft cheek Reclines on mine, I will infold thee thus, And proudly cry, My friend—my love—my wife! 210 So tempted he, and soon her heart approved, Nay wooed, the blissful dream; and oft at eve, When the moon shone upon the wandering stream, She paced the castle's battlements, that threw Beneath their solemn shadow, and, resigned To fancy and to tears, thought it most sweet To wander o'er the world with him she loved. Nor was his birth ignoble, for he shone 'Mid England's gallant youth in Edward's reign: With countenance erect, and honest eye 220 Commanding (yet suffused in tenderness At times), and smiles that like the lightning played On his brown cheek,—so gently stern he stood, Accomplished, generous, gentle, brave, sincere,— Robert a Machin. But the sullen pride Of haughty D'Arfet scorned all other claim To his high heritage, save what the pomp Of amplest wealth and loftier lineage gave. Reckless of human tenderness, that seeks One loved, one honoured object, wealth alone 230 He worshipped; and for this he could consign His only child, his aged hope, to loathed Embraces, and a life of tears! Nor here His hard ambition ended; for he sought, By secret whispers of conspiracies, His sovereign to abuse, bidding him lift His arm avenging, and upon a youth Of promise close the dark forgotten gates Of living sepulture, and in the gloom Inhume the slowly-wasting victim. He purposed, but in vain; the ardent youth Rescued her—her whom more than life he loved, Ev'n when the horrid day of sacrifice Drew nigh. He pointed to the distant bark, And while he kissed a stealing tear that fell On her pale cheek, as trusting she reclined Her head upon his breast, with ardour cried— Be mine, be only mine! the hour invites; Be mine, be only mine! So won, she cast 250 A look of last affection on the towers Where she had passed her infant days, that now Shone to the setting sun. I follow thee, Her faint voice said; and lo! where in the air A sail hangs tremulous, and soon her feet Ascend the vessel's side: The vessel glides Down the smooth current, as the twilight fades, Till soon the woods of Severn, and the spot Where D'Arfet's solitary turrets rose, Is lost; a tear starts to her eye, she thinks 260 Of him whose gray head to the earth shall bend, When he speaks nothing—but be all, like death, Forgotten. Gently blows the placid breeze, And oh! that now some fairy pinnace light Might flit across the wave (by no seen power Directed, save when Love upon the prow Gathered or spread with tender hand the sail), That now some fairy pinnace, o'er the surge Silent, as in a summer's dream, might waft The passengers upon the conscious flood 270 To regions bright of undisturbed joy! But hark! The wind is in the shrouds;—the cordage sings With fitful violence;—the blast now swells, Whose foaming toss alone is seen, beneath The veering bowsprit. Oh, retire to rest, Maiden, whose tender heart would beat, whose cheek Turn pale to see another thus exposed! 280 Hark! the deep thunder louder peals—Oh, save!— The high mast crashes; but the faithful arm Of love is o'er thee, and thy anxious eye, Soon as the gray of morning peeps, shall view Green Erin's hills aspiring! The sad morn Comes forth; but terror on the sunless wave Still, like a sea-fiend, sits, and darkly smiles Beneath the flash that through the struggling clouds Bursts frequent, half revealing his scathed front, 290 Above the rocking of the waste that rolls Boundless around. No word through the long day She spoke;—another slowly came;—no word The beauteous drooping mourner spoke. The sun Twelve times had sunk beneath the sullen surge, And cheerless rose again:—Ah, where are now Thy havens, France! But yet—resign not yet— Ye lost seafarers—oh, resign not yet All hope—the storm is passed; the drenched sail 300 Shines in the passing beam! Look up, and say— Heaven, thou hast heard our prayers! And lo! scarce seen, A distant dusky spot appears;—they reach An unknown shore, and green and flowery vales, And azure hills, and silver-gushing streams, Shine forth; a Paradise, which Heaven alone, Who saw the silent anguish of despair, They gain the haven; through untrodden scenes, 310 Perhaps untrodden by the foot of man Since first the earth arose, they wind. The voice Of Nature hails them here with music, sweet, As waving woods retired, or falling streams, Can make; most soothing to the weary heart, Doubly to those who, struggling with their fate, And wearied long with watchings and with grief, Seek but a place of safety. All things here Whisper repose and peace; the very birds That 'mid the golden fruitage glance their plumes, 320 The songsters of the lonely valley, sing— Welcome from scenes of sorrow, live with us. The wild wood opens, and a shady glen Appears, embowered with mantling laurels high, That sloping shade the flowery valley's side; A lucid stream, with gentle murmur, strays Beneath the umbrageous multitude of leaves, Till gaining, with soft lapse, the nether plain, It glances light along its yellow bed;— The shaggy inmates of the forest lick 330 The feet of their new guests, and gazing stand. A beauteous tree upshoots amid the glade Its trembling top; and there upon the bank They rest them, while each heart o'erflows with joy. Now evening, breathing richer odours sweet, Came down: a softer sound the circling seas, The ancient woods resounded, while the dove, Her murmurs interposing, tenderness Awaked, yet more endearing, in the hearts Of those who, severed wide from human kind, 340 Woman and man, by vows sincere betrothed, Heard but the voice of Nature. The still moon Inclined, and unawares a stealing tear Witnessed how blissful was that hour, that seemed Not of the hours that time could count. A kiss Stole on the listening silence; ne'er till now Here heard; they trembled, ev'n as if the Power That made the world, that planted the first pair In Paradise, amid the garden walked:— 350 This since the fairest garden that the world Has witnessed, by the fabling sons of Greece Hesperian named, who feigned the watchful guard Of the scaled Dragon, and the Golden Fruit. Such was this sylvan Paradise; and here The loveliest pair, from a hard world remote, Upon each other's neck reclined; their breath Alone was heard, when the dove ceased on high Her plaint; and tenderly their faithful arms Infolded each the other. 360 Thou, dim cloud, That from the search of men these beauteous vales Hast closed, oh, doubly veil them! But alas, How short the dream of human transport! Here, In vain they built the leafy bower of love, Or culled the sweetest flowers and fairest fruit. The hours unheeded stole! but ah, not long— Again the hollow tempest of the night Sounds through the leaves; the inmost woods resound; Slow comes the dawn, but neither ship nor sail 370 Along the rocking of the windy waste Is seen: the dash of the dark-heaving wave Alone is heard. Start from your bed of bliss, Poor victims! never more shall ye behold Your native vales again; and thou, sweet child! Who, listening to the voice of love, hast left Of pining memory, the sunk cheek, the eye Where tenderness yet dwells, atone (if love Atonement need, by cruelty and wrong 380 Beset), atone ev'n now thy rash resolves! Ah, fruitless hope! Day after day, thy bloom Fades, and the tender lustre of thy eye Is dimmed: thy form, amid creation, seems The only drooping thing. Thy look was soft, And yet most animated, and thy step Light as the roe's upon the mountains. Now, Thou sittest hopeless, pale, beneath the tree That fanned its joyous leaves above thy head, 390 Where love had decked the blooming bower, and strewn The sweets of summer: Death is on thy cheek, And thy chill hand the pressure scarce returns Of him, who, agonised and hopeless, hangs With tears and trembling o'er thee. Spare the sight,— She faints—she dies!— He laid her in the earth, Himself scarce living, and upon her tomb Beneath the beauteous tree where they reclined, Placed the last tribute of his earthly love. 400 INSCRIPTION FOR THE GRAVE OF ANNA D'ARFET. O'er my poor Anna's lowly grave No dirge shall sound, no knell shall ring; But angels, as the high pines wave, Their half-heard "Miserere" sing. No flowers of transient bloom at eve The maidens on the turf shall strew; Sweets to the sweet! a long adieu! But in this wilderness profound, O'er her the dove shall build her nest; 410 And ocean swell with softer sound A requiem to her dreams of rest! Ah! when shall I as quiet be, When not a friend, or human eye, Shall mark beneath the mossy tree The spot where we forgotten lie! To kiss her name on the cold stone, Is all that now on earth I crave; For in this world I am alone— Oh, lay me with her in the grave! 420 Robert a Machin, 1344. Miserere nobis, Domine. He placed the rude inscription on her stone, Which he with faltering hands had graved, and soon Himself beside it sunk—yet ere he died, Faintly he spoke: If ever ye shall hear, Companions of my few and evil days, Again the convent's vesper bells, oh! think Of me; and if in after-times the search Of men should reach this far removed spot, Let sad remembrance raise an humble shrine, And virgin choirs chaunt duly o'er our grave: 430 Peace, peace! His arm upon the mournful stone He dropped; his eyes, ere yet in death they closed, Turned to the name, till he could see no more Anna. His pale survivors, earth to earth, Beneath the sod where all he loved was laid. Then shaping a rude vessel from the woods, They sought their country o'er the waves, and left Those scenes once more to deepest solitude. The beauteous ponciana hung its head 440 O'er the gray stone; but never human eye Had mark'd the spot, or gazed upon the grave Of the unfortunate, but for the voice Of Enterprise, that spoke, from Sagre's towers, Through ocean's perils, storms, and unknown wastes— Speed we to Asia! Here, Discovery, pause!— Then from the tomb of him who first was cast Upon this Heaven-appointed isle, thy gaze Uplift, and far beyond the Cape of Storms 450 Pursue De Gama's tract. Mark the rich shores Of Madagascar, till the purple East Shines in luxuriant beauty wide disclosed. But cease thy song, presumptuous Muse!—a bard, In tones whose patriot sound shall never die, Has struck his deep shell, and the glorious theme Recorded. Say, what lofty meed awaits The triumph of his victor conch, that swells Its music on the yellow Tagus' side, 460 As when Arion, with his glittering harp And golden hair, scarce sullied from the main, Bids all the high rocks listen to his voice Again! Alas, I see an aged form, An old man worn by penury, his hair Blown white upon his haggard cheek, his hand Emaciated, yet the strings with thrilling touch Soliciting; but the vain crowds pass by: Has raised to heaven, in stately apathy 470 Wrapped up, and nursed in pride's fastidious lap, Regard not. As he plays, a sable man Looks up, but fears to speak, and when the song Has ceased, kisses his master's feeble hand. Is that cold wasted hand, that haggard look, Thine, Camoens? Oh, shame upon the world! And is there none, none to sustain thee found, But he, himself unfriended, who so far Has followed, severed from his native isles, To scenes of gorgeous cities, o'er the sea, 480 Thee and thy broken fortunes! God of worlds! Oh, whilst I hail the triumph and high boast Of social life, let me not wrong the sense Of kindness, planted in the human heart By man's great Maker, therefore I record Antonio's faithful, gentle, generous love To his heartbroken master, that might teach, High as it bears itself, a polished world More charity. 490 Discovery, turn thine eyes! Columbus' toiling ship is on the deep, Stemming the mid Atlantic. Waste and wild The view! On the same sunshine o'er the waves The murmuring mariners, with languid eye, Ev'n till the heart is sick, gaze day by day! At midnight in the wind sad voices sound! When the slow morning o'er the offing dawns, Heartless they view the same drear weltering waste 500 Of seas: and when the sun again goes down Of parting friendship's last despairing look! See too, dread prodigy, the needle veers Her trembling point—will Heaven forsake them too! But lift thy sunk eye, and thy bloodless look, Despondence! Milder airs at morning breathe:— Below the slowly-parting prow the sea Is dark with weeds; and birds of land are seen To wing the desert tract, as hasting on 510 To the green valleys of their distant home. Yet morn succeeds to morn—and nought around Is seen, but dark weeds floating many a league, The sun's sole orb, and the pale hollowness Of heaven's high arch streaked with the early clouds. Watchman, what from the giddy mast? A shade Appears on the horizon's hazy line. Land! land! aloud is echoed; but the spot Fades as the shouting crew delighted gaze— 520 It fades, and there is nothing—nothing now But the blue sky, the clouds, and surging seas! As one who, in the desert, faint with thirst, Upon the trackless and forsaken sands Sinks dying; him the burning haze deceives, As mocking his last torments, while it seems, To his distempered vision, like th' expanse Of lucid waters cool: so falsely smiles Th' illusive land upon the water's edge, To the long-straining eye showing what seems 530 Its headlands and its distant trending shores;— But all is false, and like the pensive dream Of poor imagination, 'mid the waves Of troubled life, decked with unreal hues, And ending soon in emptiness and tears. From the vexed crowd, in his still cabin hears The surge that rolls below; he lifts his eyes, And casts a silent anxious look without. It is a light—great God—it is a light! 540 It moves upon the shore!—Land—there is land! He spoke in secret, and a tear of joy Stole down his cheek, when on his knees he fell. Thou, who hast been his guardian in wastes Of the hoar deep, accept his tears, his prayers; While thus he fondly hopes the purer light Of thy great truths on the benighted world Shall beam! The lingering night is past;—the sun Shines out, while now the red-cross streamers wave 550 High up the gently-surging bay. From all Shouts, songs, and rapturous thanksgiving loud, Burst forth: Another world, entranced they cry, Another living world!—Awe-struck and mute The gazing natives stand, and drop their spears, In homage to the gods! So from the deep They hail emerging; sight more awful far Than ever yet the wondering voyager Greeted;—the prospect of a new-found world, 560 Now from the night of dark uncertainty At once revealed in living light! How beats The heart! What thronging thoughts awake! Whence sprung The roaming nations? From that ancient race That peopled Asia—Noah's sons? How, then, Passed they the long and lone expanse between Of stormy ocean, from the elder earth In the vast deep? But whilst the awful view 570 Stands in thy sight revealed, Spirit, awake To prouder energies! Even now, in thought, I see thee opening bold Magellan's tract! The straits are passed! Thou, as the seas expand, Pausest a moment, when beneath thine eye Blue, vast, and rocking, through its boundless rule, The long Pacific stretches. Nor here cease Thy search, but with De Quiros Still urge thy way, if yet some continent Stretch to its dusky pole, with nations spread, 580 Forests, and hills, and streams. So be thy search With ampler views rewarded, till, at length, Lo, the round world is compassed! Then return Back to the bosom of the tranquil Thames, And hail Britannia's victor ship, From many a storm restored, winds its slow way Silently up the current, and so finds, Like to a time-worn pilgrim of the world, Rest, in that haven where all tempests cease. 590 BOOK THE FIFTH. |
|
