[129] The Mirage: see Denon.

[130] Green spots in the desert.

[131] Wandsdike, on the Marlborough Downs, opposite.

THE HARP OF HOEL.[132]

It was a high and holy sight, 1 When Baldwin[133] and his train, With cross and crosier gleaming bright, Came chanting slow the solemn rite, To Gwentland's[134] pleasant plain.

High waved before, in crimson pride, 2 The banner of the Cross; The silver rood was then descried, While deacon youths, from side to side, The fuming censer toss.

The monks went two and two along, 3 And winding through the glade, Sang, as they passed, a holy song, And harps and citterns, 'mid the throng, A mingled music made.

They ceased; when lifting high his hand, 4 The white-robed prelate cried: Arise, arise, at Christ's command, To fight for his name in the Holy Land, Where a Saviour lived and died!

With gloves of steel, and good broadsword, 5 And plumed helm of brass, Hoel, Landoga's youthful lord, To hear the father's holy word, Came riding to the pass.

More earnestly the prelate spake: 6 Oh, heed no earthly loss! He who will friends and home forsake, Now let him kneel, and fearless take The sign of the Holy Cross.

Then many a maid her tresses rent, 7 And did her love implore: Oh, go not thou to banishment! For me, and the pleasant vales of Gwent, Thou never wilt see more.

And many a mother, pale with fears, 8 Did kiss her infant son; Said, Who will shield thy helpless years, Who dry thy widowed mother's tears, When thy brave father's gone?

GOD, with firm voice the prelate cried, 9 God will the orphan bless; Sustain the widow's heart, and guide Through the hard world, obscure and wild, The poor and fatherless.

Then might you see a shade o'ercast 10 Brave Hoel's ruddy hue, But soon the moment's thought is past:— Hark, hark, 'tis the trumpet's stirring blast! And he grasped his bow of yew.

Then might you see a moment's gloom 11 Sit in brave Hoel's eye: Make in the stranger's land my tomb, I follow thee, be it my doom, O CHRIST, to live or die!

No more he thought, though rich in fee, 12 Of any earthly loss, But lighting, on his bended knee, Said, Father, here I take from thee The sign of the Holy Cross.

I have a wife, to me more dear 13 Then is my own heart's blood; I have a child, (a starting tear, Which soon he dried, of love sincere, On his stern eyelid stood);

To them farewell! O God above, 14 Thine is the fate of war; But oh! reward Gwenlhian's[135] love, And may my son a comfort prove, When I am distant far!

Farewell, my harp!—away, away! 15 To the field of death I go; Welcome the trumpet's blast, the neigh Of my bold and barbed steed of gray, And the clang of the steel crossbow!

Gwenlhian sat in the hall at night, 16 Counting the heavy hours; She saw the moon, with tranquil light, Shine on the circling mountain's height, And the dim castle towers.

Deep stillness was on hill and glen, 17 When she heard a bugle blow; A trump from the watch-tower answered then, And the tramp of steeds, and the voice of men, Were heard in the court below.

The watch-dog started at the noise, 18 Then crouched at his master's feet; He knew his step, he heard his voice; But who can now like her rejoice, Who flies her own lord to greet?

And soon her arms his neck enfold: 19 But whence that altered mien! O say, then, is thy love grown cold, Or hast thou been hurt by the robbers bold, That won in the forest of Dean?

Oh no, he cried, the God above, 20 Who all my soul can see, Knows my sincere, my fervent love; If aught my stern resolve could move, It were one tear from thee.

But I have sworn, in the Holy Land,— 21 Need I the sequel speak; Too well, she cried, I understand! Then grasped in agony his hand, And hid her face on his cheek.

My loved Gwenlhian, weep not so, 22 From the lid that tear I kiss; Though to the wars far off I go, Betide me weal, betide me woe, We yet may meet in bliss.

Fourteen suns their course had rolled, 23 When firmly thus he spake; Hear now my last request: behold This ring, it is of purest gold, Love, keep it for my sake!

When summers seven have robed each tree, 24 And clothed the vales with green, If I come not back, then thou art free, To wed or not, and to think of me, As I had never been!

Nay, answer not,—what wouldst thou say! Come, let my harp be brought; For the last time, I fain would play, Ere yet we part, our favourite lay, And cheat severer thought:

THE AIR.

Oh, cast every care to the wind, And dry, best beloved, the tear! Secure, that thou ever shalt find, The friend of thy bosom sincere. Still friendship shall live in the breast of the brave, And we'll love, the long day, where the forest-trees wave.

I have felt each emotion of bliss, That affection the fondest can prove, Have received on my lip the first kiss Of thy holy and innocent love; But perish each hope of delight, Like the flashes of night on the sea, If ever, though far from thy sight, My soul is forgetful of thee! Still the memory shall live in the breast of the brave, How we loved, the long day, where the forest-trees wave.

Now bring my boy; may God above 26 Shower blessings on his head! May he requite his mother's love, And to her age a comfort prove, When I perhaps am dead!

The beams of morn on his helm did play, 27 And aloud the bugle blew, Then he leaped on his harnessed steed of gray, And sighed to the winds as he galloped{f} away, Adieu, my heart's love, adieu!

And now he has joined the warrior train 28 Of knights and barons bold, That, bound to Salem's holy plain, Across the gently-swelling main, Their course exulting hold.

With a cross of gold, as on they passed, 29 The crimson streamers flew; The shields hung glittering round the mast, And on the waves a radiance cast, Whilst all the trumpets blew.

O'er the Severn-surge, in long array, 30 So, the proud galleys went, Till soon, as dissolved in ether gray, The woods, and the shores, and the Holms[136] steal away, And the long blue hills of Gwent.

[132] This lyrical ballad is founded on a story connected with an old Welsh melody. I have placed the circumstance in the time of the Crusades.

[133] Archbishop of Canterbury, who preached the Crusade in Wales.

[134] Monmouthshire.

[135] The Welsh tune is called the "Remembrance of Gwenlhian," the name of the woman.

[136] Islands in the Bristol Channel.

PART II.

High on the hill, with moss o'ergrown, 1 A hermit chapel stood; It spoke the tale of seasons gone, And half-revealed its ivied stone. Amid the beechen wood.

Here often, when the mountain trees 2 A leafy murmur made, Now still, now swaying to the breeze, (Sounds that the musing fancy please), The widowed mourner strayed.

And many a morn she climbed the steep, 3 From whence she might behold, Where, 'neath the clouds, in shining sweep, And mingling with the mighty deep, The sea-broad Severn rolled.

Her little boy beside her played, 4 With sea-shells in his hand; And sometimes, 'mid the bents delayed, And sometimes running onward, said, Oh, where is Holy Land!

My child, she cried, my prattler dear! 5 And kissed his light-brown hair; Her eyelid glistened with a tear, And none but God above could hear, That hour, her secret prayer.

As thus she nursed her secret woes, 6 Oft to the wind and rain She listened, at sad autumn's close, Whilst many a thronging shadow rose, Dark-glancing o'er her brain.

Now lonely to the cloudy height 7 Of the steep hill she strays; Below, the raven wings his flight, And often on the screaming kite She sees the wild deer gaze.

The clouds were gathered on its brow, 8 The warring winds were high; She heard a hollow voice, and now She lifts to heaven a secret vow, Whilst the king of the storm rides by.

Seated on a craggy rock, 9 What aged man appears! There is no hind, no straggling flock; Comes the strange shade my thoughts to mock, And shake my soul with fears?

Fast drive the hurrying clouds of morn; 10 A pale man stands confessed; With look majestic, though forlorn, A mirror in his hand, and horn Of ivory on his breast.

Daughter of grief, he gently said, 11 And beckoned her: come near; Now say, what would you give to me, If you brave Hoel's form might see, Or the sound of his bugle hear!

Hoel, my love, where'er thou art, 12 All England I would give,[137] If, never, never more to part, I now could hold thee to my heart, For whom alone I live!

He placed the white horn to her ear, 13 And sudden a sweet voice Stole gently, as of fairies near, While accents soft she seemed to hear, Daughter of grief, rejoice!

For soon to love and thee I fly, 14 From Salem's hallowed plain! The mirror caught her turning eye, As pale in death she saw him lie, And sinking 'mid the slain.

She turned to the strange phantom-man, 15 But she only saw the sky, And the clouds on the lonely mountains' van, And the Clydden-Shoots,[138] that rushing ran, To meet the waves of Wye.

Thus seven long years had passed away,— 16 She heard no voice of mirth; No minstrel raised his festive lay, At the sad close of the drisly day, Beside the blazing hearth.

She seemed in sorrow, yet serene, 17 No tear was on her face; And lighting oft her pensive mien, Upon her languid look was seen A meek attractive grace.

In beauty's train she yet might vie, 18 For though in mourning weeds, No friar, I deem, that passed her by, Ere saw her dark, yet gentle eye, But straight forgot his beads.

Eineon, generous and good, 19 Alone with friendship's aid, Eineon, of princely Rhys's blood, Who 'mid the bravest archers stood, To sooth her griefs essayed.

He had himself been early tried 20 By stern misfortune's doom; For she who loved him drooped and died, And on the green hill's flowery side He raised her grassy tomb.

What marvel, in his lonely heart, 21 To faith a friendship true, If, when her griefs she did impart, And tears of memory oft would start, If more than pity grew.

With converse mild he oft would seek 22 To sooth her sense of care; As the west wind, with breathings weak, Wakes, on the hectic's faded cheek A smile of faint despair.

The summer's eve was calm and still, 23 When once his harp he strung; Soft as the twilight on the hill, Affection seemed his heart to fill, Whilst eloquent he sung:

When Fortune to all thy warm hopes was unkind, And the morn of thy youth was o'erclouded with woe, In me, not a stranger to grief, thou should'st find, All that friendship and kindness and truth could bestow.

Yes, the time it has been, when my soul was oppressed, But no longer this heart would for heaviness pine, Could I lighten the load of an innocent breast, And steal but a moment of sadness from thine.

He paused, then with a starting tear, 24 And trembling accent, cried, O lady, hide that look severe,— The voice of love, of friendship hear, And be again a bride.

Mourn not thy much-loved Hoel lost,— 25 Lady, he is dead, is dead,— Far distant wanders his pale ghost,— His bones by the white surge are tossed, And the wave rolls o'er his head.

She said, Sev'n years their course have rolled, 26 Since thus brave Hoel spake, When last I heard his voice, Behold, This ring,—it is of purest gold,— Then, keep it for my sake.

When summers seven have robed each tree, 27 And decked the coombs with green, If I come not back, then thou art free, To wed or not, and to think of me As I had never been.

Those seven sad summers now are o'er, 28 And three I yet demand; If in that space I see no more The friend I ever must deplore, Then take a mourner's hand.

The time is passed:—the laugh, the lay, 29 The nuptial feast proclaim; From many a rushing torrent gray, From many a wild brook's wandering way, The hoary minstrels came.

From Kymin's crag, with fragments strewed; 30 From Skirid, bleak and high; From Penalt's shaggy solitude; From Wyndcliff, desolate and rude, That frowns o'er mazy Wye.

With harps the gallery glittered bright,— 31 The pealing rafters rung; Far off upon the woods of night, From the tall window's arch, the light Of tapers clear was flung.

The harpers ceased the acclaiming lay, 32 When, with descending beard, Scallop, and staff his steps to stay, As, foot-sore, on his weary way, A pilgrim wan appeared.

Now lend me a harp for St Mary's sake, 33 For my skill I fain would try, A poor man's offering to make, If haply still my hand may wake Some pleasant melody.

With scoffs the minstrel crowd replied, 34 Dost thou a harp request! And loud in mirth, and swelled with pride, Some his rain-dripping hair deride, And some his sordid vest.

Pilgrim, a harp shall soon be found, 35 Young Hoel instant cried; There lies a harp upon the ground, And none hath ever heard its sound, Since my brave father died.

The harp is brought: upon the frame 36 A filmy cobweb hung; The strings were few, yet 'twas the same; The old man drawing near the flame, The chords imperfect rung:

Oh! cast every care to the wind, And dry, best beloved, the tear; Secure that thou ever shalt find The friend of thy bosom sincere.

She speechless gazed:—he stands confessed,— 37 The dark eyes of her Hoel shine; Her heart has forgotten it e'er was oppressed, And she murmurs aloud, as she sinks on his breast, Oh! press my heart to thine.

He turned his look a little space, 38 To hide the tears of joy; Then rushing, with a warm embrace, Cried, as he kissed young Hoel's face, My boy, my heart-loved boy!

Proud harpers, strike a louder lay,— 39 No more forlorn I bend! Prince Eineon, with the rest, be gay, Though fate hath torn a bride away, Accept a long-lost friend.

* * * * *

This tale I heard, when at the close of day The village harper tuned an ancient lay; He struck his harp, beneath a ruin hoar, And sung of love and truth, in days of yore, And I retained the song, with counsel sage, To teach one lesson to a wiser age!

[137]

"Wales, England, and Llewellyn, All would I give for a sight of William."

Giraldus, vol. i. p. 46.

[138] "Nearly through the centre of the hill that backs the village (Landoga) is a deep ravine, called Clydden-Shoots, which, when the springs are full, forms a beautiful cascade."—Heath.

AVENUE IN SAVERNAKE FOREST.

How soothing sound the gentle airs that move The innumerable leaves, high overhead, When autumn first, from the long avenue, That lifts its arching height of ancient shade, Steals here and there a leaf! Within the gloom, In partial sunshine white, some trunks appear, Studding the glens of fern; in solemn shade Some mingle their dark branches, but yet all, All make a sad sweet music, as they move, Not undelightful to a stranger's heart. They seem to say, in accents audible, Farewell to summer, and farewell the strains Of many a lithe and feathered chorister, That through the depth of these incumbent woods Made the long summer gladsome. I have heard To the deep-mingling sounds of organs clear, (When slow the choral anthem rose beneath), The glimmering minster, through its pillared aisles, Echo;—but not more sweet the vaulted roof Rang to those linked harmonies, than here The high wood answers to the lightest breath Of nature. Oh, may such sweet music steal, Soothing the cares of venerable age,[139] From public toil retired: may it awake, As, still and slow, the sun of life declines, Remembrances, not mournful, but most sweet; May it, as oft beneath the sylvan shade Their honoured owner strays, come like the sound Of distant seraph harps, yet speaking clear! How poor is every sound of earthly things, When heaven's own music waits the just and pure!

[139] The Earl of Aylesbury.

DIRGE OF NELSON.

Toll Nelson's knell! a soul more brave Ne'er triumphed on the green-sea wave! Sad o'er the hero's honoured grave, Toll Nelson's knell!

The ball of Death unerring flew; His cheek has lost its ardent hue; He sinks, amid his gallant crew! Toll Nelson's knell!

Yet lift, brave chief, thy dying eyes; Hark! loud huzzas around thee rise; Aloft the flag of conquest flies! The day is won!

The day is won—peace to the brave! But whilst the joyous streamers wave, We'll think upon the victor's grave! Peace to the brave!

DEATH OF CAPTAIN COOKE,

OF "THE BELLEROPHON," KILLED IN THE SAME BATTLE.

When anxious Spain, along her rocky shore, From cliff to cliff returned the sea-fight's roar; When flash succeeding flash, tremendous broke The haze incumbent, and the clouds of smoke, As oft the volume rolled away, thy mien, Thine eye, serenely terrible, was seen, My gallant friend.—Hark! the shrill bugle[140] calls, Is the day won! alas, he falls—he falls! His soul from pain, from agony release! Hear his last murmur, Let me die in peace![141] Yet still, brave Cooke, thy country's grateful tear, Shall wet the bleeding laurel on thy bier. But who shall wake to joy, through a long life Of sadness, thy beloved and widowed wife, Who now, perhaps, thinks how the green seas foam, That bear thy victor ship impatient home! Alas! the well-known views,—the swelling plain, Thy laurel-circled home, endeared in vain, The brook, the church, those chestnuts darkly-green,[142] Yon fir-crowned summit,[143] and the village scene, Wardour's long sweep of woods, the nearer mill, And high o'er all, the turrets of Font Hill: These views, when summer comes, shall charm no more Him o'er whose welt'ring corse the wild waves roar, Enough: 'twas Honour's voice that awful cried, Glory to him who for his country died! Yet dreary is her solitude who bends And mourns the best of husbands, fathers, friends! Oh! when she wakes at midnight, but to shed Fresh tears of anguish on her lonely bed, Thinking on him who is not; then restrain The tear, O God, and her sad heart sustain! Giver of life, may she remember still Thy chastening hand, and to thy sovereign will Bow silently; not hopeless, while her eye She raises to a bright futurity, And meekly trusts, in heaven, Thou wilt restore That happiness the world can give no more!

[140] He bore down into the thickest fight with a bugle-horn sounding.

[141] His own words, the last he spoke. If I have here been more particular in this description than in that of the great commander, it will be attributed to private friendship, Captain Cooke having lived in the same village.

[142] Portrait of Captain Cooke's place, at Donhead.

[143] Barker's Hill, near Donhead.

BATTLE OF CORRUNA.

The tide of fate rolls on!—heart-pierced and pale, The gallant soldier lies,[144] nor aught avail, The shield, the sword, the spirit of the brave, From rapine's armed hand thy vales to save, Land of illustrious heroes, who, of yore, Drenched the same plains with the invader's gore, Stood frowning, in the front of death, and hurled Defiance to the conquerors[145] of the world! Oh, when we hear the agonising tale Of those who, faint, and fugitive, and pale, Saw hourly, harassed through their long retreat, Some worn companion sinking at their feet, Yet even in danger and from toil more bold, Back on their gathering foes the tide of battle rolled;— While tears of pity mingle with applause, On the dread scene in silence let us pause; Yes, pause, and ask, Is not thy awful hand Stretched out, O God, o'er a devoted land, Whose vales of beauty Nature spread in vain, Where misery moaned on the uncultured plain, Where Bigotry went by with jealous scowl, Where Superstition muttered in his cowl; Whilst o'er the Inquisition's dismal holds, Its horrid banner waved in bleeding folds! And dost thou thus, Lord of all might, fulfil With wreck and tempests thy eternal will, Shatter the arms in which weak kingdoms trust, And strew their scattered ensigns in the dust? Oh, if no human wisdom may withstand The terrors, Lord, of thy uplifted hand; If the dark tide no prowess can control, Yet nearer, charged with dread commission, roll; Still may my country's ark majestic ride, Though sole, yet safe, on the conflicting tide; Till hushed be the wild rocking of the blast, And the red storm of death be overpast!

[144] Sir John Moore.

[145] "Near Mount Medulio, the remains of a great native force destroyed themselves in sight of a Roman army, rather than submit to bondage."—Southey's Travels in Spain and Portugal.

SKETCH FROM BOWDEN HILL AFTER SICKNESS.

How cheering are thy prospects, airy hill, To him who, pale and languid, on thy brow Pauses, respiring, and bids hail again The upland breeze, the comfortable sun, And all the landscape's hues! Upon the point Of the descending steep I stand. How rich, How mantling in the gay and gorgeous tints Of summer! far beneath me, sweeping on, From field to field, from vale to cultured vale, The prospect spreads its crowded beauties wide! Long lines of sunshine, and of shadow, streak The farthest distance; where the passing light Alternate falls, 'mid undistinguished trees, White dots of gleamy domes, and peeping towers, As from the painter's instant touch, appear. As thus the eye ranges from hill to hill, Here white with passing sunshine, there with trees Innumerable shaded, clustering more, As the long vale retires, the ample scene, Warm with new grace and beauty, seems to live. Lives! all is animation! beauty! hope! Snatched from the dark and dreamless grave, so late, Shall I pass silent, now first issuing forth, To feel again thy fragrance, to respire Thy breath, to hail thy look, thy living look, O Nature! Let me the deep joy contrast, Which now the inmost heart like music fills, With the sick chamber's sorrows, oft from morn, Silent, till lingering eve, save when the sound Of whispers steal, and bodings breathed more low, As friends approach the pillow: so awaked From deadly trance, the sick man lifts his eyes, Then in despondence closes them on all, All earth's fond wishes! Oh, how changed are now His thoughts! he sees rich nature glowing round, He feels her influence! languid with delight, And whilst his eye is filled with transient fire, He almost thinks he hears her gently say, Live, live! O Nature, thee, in the soft winds, Thee, in the soothing sound of summer leaves, When the still earth lies sultry; thee, methinks, Ev'n now I hear bid welcome to thy vales And woods again! And I will welcome them, And pour, as erst, the song of heartfelt praise. From yonder line, where fade the farthest hills Which bound the blue lap of the swelling vale, On whose last line, seen like a beacon, hangs Thy tower,[146] benevolent, accomplished Hoare, To where I stand, how wide the interval! Yet instantaneous, to the hurrying eye Displayed; though peeping towers and villages Thick scattered, 'mid the intermingling elms, And towns remotely marked by hovering smoke, And grass-green pastures with their herds, and seats Of rural beauty, cottages and farms, Unnumbered as the hedgerows, lie between! Roaming at large to where the gray sky bends, The eye scarce knows to rest, till back recalled By yonder ivied cloisters[147] in the plain, Whose turret, peeping pale above the shade, Smiles in the venerable grace of years. As the few threads of age's silver hairs, Just sprinkled o'er the forehead, lend a grace Of saintly reverence, seemly, though compared With blooming Mary's tresses like the morn; So the gray weather-stained towers yet wear A secret charm impressive, though opposed To views in verdure flourishing, the woods, And scenes of Attic taste, that glitter near.[148] O venerable pile,[149] though now no more The pensive passenger, at evening, hears The slowly-chanted vesper; or the sounds Of "Miserere," die along the vale; Yet piety and honoured age[150] retired, There hold their blameless sojourn, ere the bowl Be broken, or the silver chord be loosed. Nor can I pass, snatched from untimely fate, Without a secret prayer, that so my age, When many a circling season has declined, In charity and peace may wait its close. Yet still be with me, O delightful friend, Soothing companion of my vacant hours, Oh, still be with me, Spirit of the Muse! Not to subdue, or hold in moody spell, The erring senses, but to animate And warm my heart, where'er the prospect smiles, With Nature's fairest views; not to display Vain ostentations of a poet's art, But silent, and associate of my joys Or sorrows, to infuse a tenderness, A thought, that seems to mingle, as I gaze, With all the works of GOD. So cheer my path, From youth to sober manhood, till the light Of evening smile upon the fading scene. And though no pealing clarion swell my fame, When all my days are gone; let me not pass, Like the forgotten clouds of yesterday, Nor unremembered by the fatherless Of the loved village where my bones are laid.

[146] Sir Richard Hoare's tower at Stourhead.

[147] Lacock Abbey.

[148] Bowood, Mr Dickenson's and Mr Methuen's magnificent mansion.

[149] Lacock Abbey.

[150] The venerable Catholic Countess, who resides in the abbey.

SUN-DIAL, IN THE CHURCHYARD OF BREMHILL.

So passes silent o'er the dead thy shade, Brief Time; and hour by hour, and day by day, The pleasing pictures of the present fade, And like a summer vapour steal away!

And have not they, who here forgotten lie (Say, hoary chronicler of ages past!) Once marked thy shadow with delighted eye, Nor thought it fled, how certain, and how fast!

Since thou hast stood, and thus thy vigil kept, Noting each hour, o'er mouldering stones beneath; The pastor and his flock alike have slept, And dust to dust proclaimed the stride of death.

Another race succeeds, and counts the hour, Careless alike; the hour still seems to smile, As hope, and youth, and life, were in our power; So smiling and so perishing the while.

I heard the village bells, with gladsome sound, When to these scenes a stranger I drew near, Proclaim the tidings to the village round, While memory wept upon the good man's bier.[151]

Even so, when I am dead, shall the same bells Ring merrily, when my brief days are gone; While still the lapse of time thy shadow tells, And strangers gaze upon my humble stone!

Enough, if we may wait in calm content, The hour that bears us to the silent sod; Blameless improve the time that heaven has lent, And leave the issue to thy will, O God!

[151] My predecessor, Rev. Nathaniel Hume, canon residentiary and precentor of Salisbury, a man of exemplary benevolence.



THE SPIRIT OF DISCOVERY BY SEA:

A DESCRIPTIVE AND HISTORICAL POEM.

INTRODUCTION.[152]

I need not perhaps inform the reader, that I had before written a Canto on the subject of this poem; but I was dissatisfied with the metre, and felt the necessity of some connecting idea that might give it a degree of unity and coherence.

This difficulty I considered as almost inseparable from the subject; I therefore relinquished the design of making an extended poem on events, which, though highly interesting and poetical, were too unconnected with each other to unite properly in one regular whole. But on being kindly permitted to peruse the sheets of Mr Clarke's valuable work on the History of Navigation, I conceived (without supposing historically with him that all ideas of navigation were derived from the ark of Noah) that I might adopt the circumstance poetically, as capable of furnishing an unity of design; besides which, it had the advantage of giving a more serious cast and character to the whole.

To obviate such objections as might be made by those who, from an inattentive survey, might imagine there was any carelessness of arrangement, I shall lay before the reader a general analysis of the several books; and, I trust, he will readily perceive a leading principle, on which the poem begins, proceeds, and ends.

I feel almost a necessity for doing this in justice to myself, as some compositions have been certainly misunderstood, where the connexion might, by the least attention, have been perceived. In going over part of the same ground which I had taken before, I could not always avoid the use of similar expressions.

I trust I need not apologise for having, in some instances, departed from strict historical facts. It is not true that Camoens sailed with De Gama, though, from the authority of Voltaire, it has been sometimes supposed that he did. There are other circumstances for which I may have less reason to expect pardon. The Egyptians were never, or but for a short time, a maritime nation. In answer to this, I must say, that history and poetry are two things; and though the poet has no right to contradict the historian, yet, if he find two opinions upon points of history, he may certainly take that which is most susceptible of poetical ornament; particularly if it have sufficient plausibility, and the sanction of respectable names.

In deducing the first maritime attempts from Thebes, so called from Thebaoth, the Ark, founded by the sons of Cush, who first inhabited the caves on the granite mountains of Ethiopia, I have followed the idea of Bruce, which has many testimonies, particularly that of Herodotus, in its favour. In making the ships of Ammon first pass the straits of Babelmandel, and sail to Ophir, I have the authority of Sir Isaac Newton. But still these points must, from their nature, be obscure; the poet, however, has a right to build upon them, whilst what he advances is not in direct contradiction to all historical admitted facts. He may take what is shadowy, if it be plausible, poetical, and coherent with his general plan. Having said ingenuously thus much, I hope I shall not be severely accused for having admitted, en passant, some ideas (which may be thought visionary) in the notes, respecting the allusion to the ark in Theocritus, the situation of Ophir, the temple of Solomon, and the algum-tree.

I must also submit to the candour of the critic, the necessity I sometimes felt myself under of varying the verse, and admitting, when the subject seemed particularly to require it, a break into the measure. He will consider, as this poem is neither didactic, nor epic, that might lead on the mind by diversity of characters, and of prospects; it was therefore necessary (at least I thought myself at liberty so to do) to break the uniformity of the subject by digression, contrast, occasional change of verse, et cet. But after all, at a time so unfavourable to long poems, I doubt whether the reader will have patience to accompany me to the end of my circumnavigation. If he do, and if this much larger poetical work than I have ever attempted should be as favourably received as what I have before published has been, I shall sincerely rejoice.

At all events, in an age which I think has produced genuine poetry, if I cannot say "Ed Io, anchi, sono pittore;" it will be a consolation to me to reflect, that I have no otherwise courted the muse, than as the consoler of sorrow, the painter of scenes romantic and interesting, the handmaid of good sense, unadulterated feelings, and religious hope.

It was at first intended that the poem should consist of six books; one book being assigned to De Gama, and another to Columbus. These have been compressed. I was the more inclined to this course, as the great subject of the DISCOVERY OF AMERICA is in the hands of such poets as Mr Southey and Mr Rogers.

DONHEAD, Nov. 3, 1804.

[152] Dedicated to His Royal Highness George Prince of Wales (afterwards George IV.)



ANALYSIS.

BOOK THE FIRST.

The book opens with the resting of the Ark on the mountains of the great Indian Caucasus, considered by many authors as Ararat: the present state of the inhabited world, contrasted with its melancholy appearance immediately after the flood. The poem returns to the situation of our forefathers on leaving the ark; beautiful evening described. The Angel of Destruction appears to Noah in a dream, and informs him that although he and his family alone have escaped, the VERY ARK, which was the means of his present preservation, shall be the cause of the future triumph of Destruction.

In his dream, the evils in consequence of the discovery of America, the slave-trade, et cet., are set before him. Noah, waking from disturbed sleep, ascends the summit of Caucasus. An angel appears to him; tells him that the revelations in his dream were PERMITTED BY THE ALMIGHTY; that he is commissioned to explain everything; he presents to his view the shadow of the world as it exists; regions are pointed out; the dispersion of mankind; the rise of superstition; the birth of a SAVIOUR, and the triumph of Charity: that navigation shall be the means of extending the knowledge of GOD over the globe; and though some evils must take place, happiness and love shall finally prevail upon the earth.

BOOK THE SECOND

Commences with an ardent wish, that as our forefather viewed the world clearly displayed before him in a vision, so we of these late days might be able, through the clouds of time, to look back upon the early ages of the globe; we might then see, in their splendour, Thebes, Edom, et cet.; but the early history of mankind is obscure, the only certain light is from the sacred writings. By these we are informed of the dispersion of earth's first inhabitants, after the flood. The descendants of HAM, after this dispersion, according to Bruce, having first gained the summits of the Ethiopian mountains, there form subterraneous abodes. In process of time they descend, people Egypt, build Thebes; obscure tradition of the Ark; first make voyages.

Ophir is not long afterwards discovered. This Bruce places, on most respectable authority, at Sofala; I have ventured to place it otherwhere, but still admitting one general idea, that when the way to it overland was attended with difficulties, an easier course was at last opened by sea. As to Ammon's exploits, I must shelter myself under the authority of Sir Isaac Newton. After a sacrifice by the Egyptians, the monsoon sets in. The ships follow its direction, as the mariners imagine a god leads them. Hence the discovery of so much of the world by sea. Reflection on commerce. The voyage of Solomon. A description of the glory of TYRE, the most commercial mart of the early world. Tyrian discoveries in the Mediterranean; voyages to the coast of Italy and Spain, to the Straits, and from thence to Britain.

Tyre is destroyed, and the thought naturally arises, that Britain, which, at the time of the splendour of the maritime Tyrians, was an obscure island, is now at the summit of maritime renown; while TYRE is a place where only "the fisherman dries his net." This leads to an EULOGIUM ON ENGLAND; and the book concludes with the triumphs of her fleets and armies on that very shore, on which science, and art, and commerce, and MARITIME RENOWN, first arose.

This digression, introducing the siege of Acre, appeared to the author not only natural, but in some measure necessary to break the uniformity of the subject.

BOOK THE THIRD

Commences with the feelings excited by the conclusion of the last, by a warm wish that England may for ages retain her present elevated rank. This leads to the consideration of her NAVAL OPULENCE, which carries us back to the subject we had left—THE FATE OF TYRE.

The history of the empires succeeding Tyre is touched on: the fall of her destroyer, Babylon; the succession of Cyrus; the character of Cyrus, and his want of enlarged policy, having so many means of encouraging commerce; and his ill-fated expedition to the East Indies.

ALEXANDER THE GREAT first conceives the idea of establishing a vast MARITIME EMPIRE: in his march of conquest, he proceeds to the last river of the Punjab, the Hyphasis, which descends into the Indus, the sources of which are near the mountains of CAUCASUS, WHERE THE ARK RESTED.

The Indian account of the Deluge, it is well known, resembles most wonderfully the history of Moses. When Alexander can proceed no further, poetical fiction introduces the person of a Brahmin, who relates the history of the Deluge: viz., that one sacred man was, in this part of the world, miraculously preserved by an ark; the further march of the conqueror towards the holy spot is deprecated: his best glory shall be derived from the sea, and from uniting either world in commerce. Alexander is animated with the idea; and his fleet, under Nearchus, proceeds down the Indus to the sea. This forms a middle, connected with the account of the Deluge, book first.

BOOK THE FOURTH.

Nearchus' voyage being accomplished, and Alexandria now complete, Commerce is represented as standing on the Pharos, and calling to all nations. The tide of commerce would have flowed still in the track pointed out by the sagacity of Alexander, but that a wider scene, beyond THE ANCIENT WORLD, opens to the VIEW OF DISCOVERY. The use of the magnet is discovered; and Henry of Portugal prosecutes the plan of opening a passage along the coast of Africa to the East. One of his ships on its return from the expedition has been driven from Cape Bojador (the formidable boundary of Portuguese research) by a storm at sea. The isle afterwards called Porto Santo is discovered. The circumstance related; but the extraordinary appearance of a supernatural shade over the waters at a distance excites many fears and superstitions. The attempt, however, to penetrate the mystery, is resolved on. Zarco reaches the island of Madeira; tomb found; which introduces the episode. At the tomb of the first discoverer (whether this be fanciful or not, is nothing to poetry) the Spirit of Discovery casts her eyes over the globe; she pursues De Gama to the East; history of Camoens touched on; Columbus; sees with triumph the discovery of a new world, and from thence extends her ideas till the great globe is encompassed; after which she returns to the "tranquil bosom of the Thames," with Drake, the first circumnavigator, whose ship, after its various perils, being laid up in that river, gives rise to some brief concluding reflections.

BOOK THE FIFTH.

Hitherto we have described only the triumphs of Discovery; but it appears necessary that many incidental evils, special and general, should be mentioned. Fate and miserable end of some great commanders,—of our gallant and benevolent countryman, Cook. After the natural feelings of regret, the mind is led to contemplate the great advantages of his voyages: the health of seamen; the accessions to geographical knowledge; the spirit of humanity and science; his exploring the east part of New-Holland; and being the first to determine the proximity of America to Asia. This circumstance leads us back from the point whence we set out—THE ARK OF NOAH; and hence we are partly enabled to solve, what has been for so many ages unknown, the difficulty{g} respecting the earth's being peopled from one family.

The poem having thus gained a middle and end, the conclusion of the whole is, that as this uncertainty in the physical world has been by DISCOVERY cleared up, so all the apparent contradictions in the moral world shall be reconciled. We have yet many existing evils to deplore; but when the SUPREME DISPOSER's plan shall have been completed, then the earth, which has been explored and enlightened by discovery and knowledge, shall be destroyed; but the MIND OF MAN, rendered at last perfect, shall endure through all ages, and "justify His ways from whom it sprung."

* * * * *

Such is the outline and plan of the following poem. I have felt myself obliged to give this hasty analysis, thinking that self-defence almost required it, lest a careless reader might charge me with carelessness of arrangement.

I must again beg it to be remembered, that History and Poetry are two things; and that the poet has a right to build his system, not on what is exact truth, but on what is, at least, plausible; what will form, in the clearest manner, a WHOLE; and what is most susceptible of poetical ornament.



THE SPIRIT OF DISCOVERY BY SEA.

BOOK THE FIRST.

Awake a louder and a loftier strain! Beloved harp, whose tones have oft beguiled My solitary sorrows, when I left The scene of happier hours, and wandered far, A pale and drooping stranger; I have sat (While evening listened to the convent bell) On the wild margin of the Rhine, and wooed Thy sympathies, "a-weary of the world," And I have found with thee sad fellowship, Yet always sweet, whene'er my languid hand 10 Passed carelessly o'er the responsive wires, While unambitious of the laurelled meed That crowns the gifted bard, I only asked Some stealing melodies, the heart might love, And a brief sonnet to beguile my tears! But I had hope that one day I might wake Thy strings to loftier utterance; and now, Bidding adieu to glens, and woods, and streams, And turning where, magnificent and vast, Main Ocean bursts upon my sight, I strike,— 20 Rapt in the theme on which I long have mused,— Strike the loud lyre, and as the blue waves rock, Swell to their solemn roar the deepening chords. Lift thy indignant billows high, proclaim Thy terrors, Spirit of the hoary seas! I sing thy dread dominion, amid wrecks, And storms, and howling solitudes, to Man Submitted: awful shade of Camoens Bend from the clouds of heaven. By the bold tones 30 Of minstrelsy, that o'er the unknown surge (Where never daring sail before was spread) Echoed, and startled from his long repose The indignant Phantom[153] of the stormy Cape; Oh, let me think that in the winds I hear Thy animating tones, whilst I pursue With ardent hopes, like thee, my venturous way, And bid the seas resound my song! And thou, Father of Albion's streams, majestic Thames, Amid the glittering scene, whose long-drawn wave 40 Goes noiseless, yet with conscious pride, beneath The thronging vessels' shadows; nor through scenes More fair, the yellow Tagus, or the Nile, That ancient river, winds. THOU to the strain Shalt haply listen, that records the MIGHT Of OCEAN, like a giant at thy feet Vanquished, and yielding to thy gentle state The ancient sceptre of his dread domain! All was one waste of waves, that buried deep Earth and its multitudes: the Ark alone, 50 High on the cloudy van of Ararat, Rested; for now the death-commissioned storm Sinks silent, and the eye of day looks out Dim through the haze; while short successive gleams 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[154] gleams; 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 pasturing herds, or wandering flocks; nor song 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[155] Shiver and moan along its waste of snows. So stirs the earth; and for the Ark that passed Alone and darkling o'er the dread abyss, 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 Of the soft sky, where distant clouds hang still 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 the sole moon Mounts high in shadowy beauty; every cloud Retires, as in the blue space she moves on Amid the fulgent orbs supreme, and looks The queen of heaven and earth. Stilly the streams Retiring sound; midnight's high hollow vault 170 Faint echoes; stilly sound the distant streams. When, hark! a strange and mingled wail, and cries As of ten thousand thousand perishing! A phantom, 'mid the shadows of the dead, Before the holy Patriarch, as he slept, Stood terrible:—Dark as a storm it stood Of thunder and of winds, like hollow seas Remote; meantime a voice was heard: Behold, Noah, the foe of thy weak race! my name Destruction, whom thy sons in yonder plains 180 Shall worship, and all grim, with mooned horns Paint fabling: when the flood from off the earth Before it swept the living multitudes, I rode amid the hurricane; I heard The universal shriek of all that lived. In vain they climbed the rocky heights: I struck The adamantine mountains, and like dust They crumbled in the billowy foam. My hall, Deep in the centre of the seas, received The victims as they sank! Then, with dark joy, 190 I sat amid ten thousand carcases, That weltered at my feet! But THOU and THINE Have braved my utmost fury: what remains But vengeance, vengeance on thy hated race;— And be that sheltering shrine the instrument! Thence, taught to stem the wild sea when it roars, In after-times to lands remote, where roamed The naked man and his wan progeny, They, more instructed in the fatal use Of arts and arms, shall ply their way; and thou 200 Wouldst bid the great deep cover thee to see The sorrows of thy miserable sons: But turn, and view in part the truths I speak. He said, and vanished with a dismal sound Of lamentation from his grisly troop. Then saw the just man in his dream what seemed A new and savage land: huge forests stretched Their world of wood, shading like night the banks Of torrent-foaming rivers, many a league Wandering and lost in solitudes; green isles 210 Here shone, and scattered huts beneath the shade Of branching palms were seen; whilst in the sun A naked infant playing, stretched his hand To reach a speckled snake, that through the leaves Oft darted, or its shining volumes rolled Erratic. From the woods a sable man Came, as from hunting; in his arms he took The smiling child, that with the feathers played Which nodded on his brow; the sheltering hut 220 Received them, and the cheerful smoke went up Above the silent woods. Anon was heard The sound as of strange thunder, from the mouths Of hollow engines, as, with white sails spread, Tall vessels, hulled like the great Ark, approached The verdant shores: they, in a woody cove Safe-stationed, hang their pennants motionless Beneath the palms. Meantime, with shouts and song, The boat rows hurrying to the land; nor long 230 Ere the great sea for many a league is tinged, While corpse on corpse, down the red torrent rolled,[156] Floats, and the inmost forests murmur—Blood. Now vast savannahs meet the view, where high Above the arid grass the serpent lifts His tawny crest:—Not far a vessel rides Upon the sunny main, and to the shore Black savage tribes a mournful captive urge, Who looks to heaven with anguish. Him they cast Bound in the rank hold of the prison-ship, 240 With many a sad associate in despair, Each panting chained to his allotted space; And moaning, whilst their wasted eye-balls roll. Another scene appears: the naked slave Writhes to the bloody lash; but more to view Nature forbad, for starting from his dream The just Man woke. Shuddering he gazed around; He saw the earliest beam of morning shine Slant on the hills without; he heard the breath Of placid kine, but troubled thoughts and sad 250 Arose. He wandered forth; and now far on, By heavy musings led, reached a ravine Most mild amid the tempest-riven rocks, Through whose dark pass he saw the flood remote Gray-spreading, while the mists of morn went up. He paused; when on his lonely pathway flashed A light, and sounds as of approaching wings Instant were heard. A radiant form appeared, Celestial, and with heavenly accent said: Noah, I come commissioned from above, 260 Where angels move before th' eternal throne Of heaven's great King in glory, to dispel The mists of darkness from thy sight; for know, Not unpermitted of th' Eternal One The shadows of thy melancholy dream Hung o'er thee slumbering: Mine the task to show Futurity's faint scene;—now follow me. He said; and up to the unclouded height Of that great Eastern mountain,[157] that surveys Dim Asia, they ascended. Then his brow 270 The Angel touched, and cleared with whispered charm The mortal mist before his eyes.—At once (As in the skiey mirage, when the seer From lonely Kilda's western summit sees A wondrous scene in shadowy vision rise) The NETHER WORLD, with seas and shores, appeared Submitted to his view: but not as then, A melancholy waste, deform and sad; But fair as now the green earth spreads, with woods, Champaign, and hills, and many winding streams 280 Robed, the magnificent illusion rose. He saw in mazy longitude devolved The mighty Brahma-Pooter; to the East Thibet and China, and the shining sea That sweeps the inlets of Japan, and winds Amid the Curile and Aleutian isles, Pale to the north. Siberia's snowy scenes Are spread; Jenisca and the freezing Ob Appear, and many a forest's shady track Far as the Baltic, and the utmost bounds 290 Of Scandinavia; thence the eye returns: And lo! great Lebanon—abrupt and dark With pines, and airy Carmel, rising slow Above the midland main, where hang the capes Of Italy and Greece; swart Africa, Beneath the parching sun, her long domain Reveals, the mountains of the Moon, the source Of Nile, the wild mysterious Niger, lost Amid the torrid sands; and to the south Her stormy cape. Beyond the misty main 300 The weary eye scarce wanders, when behold Plata, through vaster territory poured; And Andes, sweeping the horizon's tract, Mightiest of mountains! whose eternal snows Feel not the nearer sun; whose umbrage chills The murmuring ocean; whose volcanic fires A thousand nations view, hung like the moon High in the middle waste of heaven; thy range, Shading far off the Southern hemisphere, A dusky file Titanic. 310 So spread Before our great forefather's view the globe Appeared; with seas, and shady continents, And verdant isles, and mountains lifting dark Their forests, and indenting rivers, poured In silvery maze. And, Lo! the Angel said, These scenes, O Noah, thy posterity Shall people; but remote and scattered wide, They shall forget their GOD, and see no trace, Save dimly, of their Great Original. 320 Rude caves shall be their dwellings: till, with noise Of multitudes, imperial cities rise. But the Arch Fiend, the foe of GOD and man, Shall fling his spells; and, 'mid illusions drear, Blear Superstition shall arise, the earth Eclipsing.—Deep in caves,[158] vault within vault Far winding; or in night of thickest woods, Where no bird sings; or 'mid huge circles gray Of uncouth stone, her aspect wild, and pale As the terrific flame that near her burns, 330 She her mysterious rites, 'mid hymns and cries, Shall wake, and to her shapeless idols, vast And smeared with blood, or shrines of lust, shall lead Her votaries, maddening as she waves her torch, With visage more expanded, to the groans Of human sacrifice. Nor think that love And happiness shall dwell in vales remote: The naked man shall see the glorious sun, And think it but enlightens his poor isle, 340 Hid in the watery waste; cold on his limbs The ocean-spray shall beat; his Deities Shall be the stars, the thunder, and the winds; And if a stranger on his rugged shores Be cast, his offered blood shall stain the strand. O wretched man! who then shall raise thee up From this thy dark estate, forlorn and lost? The Patriarch said. The Angel answered mild, His God, who destined him to noblest ends! 350 But mutual intercourse shall stir at first The sunk and grovelling spirit, and from sleep The sullen energies of man rouse up, As of a slumbering giant. He shall walk Sublime amid the works of GOD: the earth Shall own his wide dominion; the great sea Shall toss in vain its roaring waves; his eye Shall scan the bright orbs as they roll above Glorious, and his expanding heart shall burn, As wide and wider in magnificence 360 The vast scene opens; in the winds and clouds, The seas, and circling planets, he shall see The shadow of a dread Almighty move. Then shall the Dayspring rise, before whose beam The darkness of the world is past:—For, hark! Seraphs and angel-choirs with symphonies Acclaiming of ten thousand golden harps, Amid the bursting clouds of heaven revealed, At once, in glory jubilant, they sing— God the Redeemer liveth! He who took 370 Man's nature on him, and in human shroud Veiled his immortal glory! He is risen! God the Redeemer liveth! And behold! The gates of life and immortality Open to all that breathe! Oh, might the strains But win the world to love; meek Charity Should lift her looks and smile; and with faint voice The weary pilgrim of the earth exclaim, As close his eye-lids—Death, where is thy sting? 380 O Grave, where is thy victory? And ye, Whom ocean's melancholy wastes divide, Who slumber to the sullen surge, awake, Break forth into thanksgiving, for the bark That rolled upon the desert deep, shall bear The tidings of great joy to all that live, Tidings of life and light. Oh, were those men, (The Patriarch raised his drooping looks, and said) 390 Such in my dream I saw, who to the isles And peaceful sylvan scenes o'er the wide seas Came tilting; then their murderous instruments Lifted, that flashed to the indignant sun, Whilst the poor native died:—Oh, were those men Instructed in the laws of holier love, Thou hast displayed? The Angel meek replied— Call rather fiends of hell those who abuse The mercies they receive: that such, indeed, 400 On whom the light of clearer knowledge beams, Should wander forth, and for the tender voice Of charity should scatter crimes and woe, And drench, where'er they pass, the earth with blood, Might make ev'n angels weep: But the poor tribes That groaned and died, deem not them innocent As injured; more ensanguined rites and deeds Of deepest stain were theirs; and what if God, So to approve his justice, and exact 410 Most even retribution, blood for blood, Bid forth the Angel of the storm of death! Thou saw'st, indeed, the seeming innocence Of man the savage; but thou saw'st not all. Behold the scene more near! hear the shrill whoop Of murderous war! See tribes on neighbour tribes Rush howling, their red hatchets wielding high, And shouting to their barbarous gods! Behold The captive bound, yet vaunting direst hate, And mocking his tormentors, while they gash 420 His flesh unshrinking, tear his eyeballs, burn His beating breast! Hear the dark temples ring To groans and hymns of murderous sacrifice; While the stern priest, the rites of horror done, With hollow-echoing chaunt lifts up the heart Of the last victim 'mid the yelling throng, Quivering, and red, and reeking to the sun![159] Reclaimed by gradual intercourse, his heart Warmed with new sympathies, the forest-chief Shall cast the bleeding hatchet to his gods 430 Of darkness, and one Lord of all adore— Maker of heaven and earth. Let it suffice, He hath permitted EVIL for a while To mingle its deep hues and sable shades Amid life's fair perspective, as thou saw'st Of late the blackening clouds; but in the end All these shall roll away, and evening still Come smilingly, while the great sun looks down On the illumined scene. So Charity 440 Shall smile on all the earth, and Nature's God Look down upon his works; and while far off The shrieking night-fiends fly, one voice shall rise From shore to shore, from isle to furthest isle— Glory to God on high, and on earth peace, Peace and good-will to men! Thou rest in hope, And Him with meekness and with trust adore! He said, and spreading bright his ampler wing, Flew to the heaven of heavens; the meek man bowed Adoring, and, with pensive thoughts resigned, Bent from the aching height his lonely way.

[153] See Camoens' description of the dreadful Phantom at the Cape of Good Hope.

[154] Part of the mountainous range of the vast Indian Caucasus, where the Ark rested.

[155] Forster says the miserable creatures who visited the ship in the Straits of Magellan, seldom uttered any other word than "Passeray"—hence the name of Pecherais was given to them.

[156] From Dariena to Nicaragua, the Spaniards slew 400,000 people with dogs, sword, fire, and divers tortures.—Purchas.

[157] That tremendous Caff (according to the Indian superstition) inhabited by spirits, demons, and the griffin Simorg.

[158] The caves of Elephanta and Salsette.

[159] At the dedication of the temple of Vitzuliputzli, A.D. 1486, 64,080 human victims were sacrificed in four days.

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;[160] and with lifted torch 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 Erithraean, to the plains Where Migdol frowned, and Baal-zephon stood,[161] Before whose naval shrine the Memphian host And Pharaoh's pomp were shattered! As her fleets From Ezion went seaward, to the sound Of shouts and brazen trumpets, we might say, 18 How glorious, Edom, in thy ships art thou, And mighty as the rushing winds! 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.[162] Still fearful of the FLOOD, 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, 50 Her marble wrecks colossal, seem to speak 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,[163] for his ark No more in night profound Of ocean, fathomless and dark, 60 Typhon[164] has sunk! Aloud the sistrums ring— 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 Erithraean 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[165] spectred wilderness, 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[166] stands— 80 Be the deep opened! At his voice the deep 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.[167] Where Asia's cape the autumnal surge 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! The Ocean-gods, with sacrifice appeased, 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.

Hence Asia slow 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[168] 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,[169] the vain cords 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 The wealth collected, on the swelling tides, 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 AEgean 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[170] to the clouds, 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 AEtna, 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. Huge pitchy clouds upshoot, and bursting fires 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[171] there 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, Opens her azure bays; Liguria's gulph Is past; the Baetic 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,[172] whether sunk 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; The multitude of isles did shout for thee, 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 310 Of the bright SUN reveal; there hear the voice 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, O Tyre! didst awe the subject seas of yore, 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 paeans 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, And the rent watch-tower echoes to the cry, 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; But let all those who, armed for freedom, fight, 405 "Be as the sun who goes forth in his might."

[160] Alluding to the harps found in the caverns of Thebes.

[161] Migdol was a fortress which guarded the pass of Egypt; Baal-zephon, a sea idol, generally considered the guardian of the coast.

[162] The Cushites inhabited the granite rocks stretching along the Red Sea.

[163] When the Egyptians found the ark, their expression was, "Let us rejoice, we have found the lost Osiris," or Noah.

[164] The deluge or devastating storm.

[165] The desert of Ariana, where the army of Cyrus perished.

[166] Ammon, according to Sir Isaac Newton, was the first artificer who built large ships, and passed the Straits.

[167] The entrance into the Red Sea was called the Gate of Affliction.

[168] Temple of Solomon.

[169] Alluding to the story of Patagonians bursting their cords when taken.

[170] Pillars of Hercules.

[171] Moloch, whose rites of blood are well known, was worshipped along the coast of Syria.

[172] The island described by Plato; by some supposed to be America.

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, An independence and a pride, that fill 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,[173] whose arm 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 Waves all his hoary pines, and seems to say, 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 In darkness:—They their earthly empire mourned; 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 Beat cheerless; no proud moles arise; no ships, 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 160 Upon the scene of arms, as if, all still, 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, When Hayagraiva[174] came, With mooned horns and eyes of flame, And bore the holy Vedas[175] to the deep. 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,[176] yon mountain high, 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,[177] And owns its future sovereign! Urge Thy destined way; what countless pennants stream! (Or is it but the shadow of a dream?) Ev'n now old Indus hails 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[178] thy death-song sing. 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 spirit pointed; and, let death betide, 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[179] 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.

[173] Nebuchadnezzar, the destroyer of Tyre.

[174] Hayagraiva, the evil spirit of the ocean.

[175] The sacred writings of the Hindus.

[176] Caucasus.

[177] Alluding to the astonishment of Alexander's soldiers, when they first witnessed the effects of the tide.

[178] Assoors, the evil genii of India.

[179] Moderators were people stationed on the poop, to excite with songs the maritime ardour, while the oars kept time.

BOOK THE FOURTH.

Stand on the gleaming Pharos,[180] and aloud 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, To Elam's echoing port. Meantime, more high 10 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,[181] 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 To the sad surge beyond—yet Enterprise, 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 To the unwearied surge; and turning 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,[182] from the deep What tidings? The loud storm of night prevailed, And swept our vessel from Bojador's rocks Far out to sea; a sylvan isle[183] received 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, The same mysterious vision. Holy saints! 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,[184] 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 Choirs of innumerous birds of liveliest song 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 Primaeval 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 To louder tones, oh! let my hand, awhile, 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; And whilst the winds blow o'er us, and the sun 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,