Whoe'er thou art, approach, and, with a sigh, Mark where the small remains of Greatness lie.[Footnote 2]

There sleeps the dust of Him for ever gone; How near the Scene where once his Glory shone!

And, tho' no more ascends the voice of Prayer, Tho' the last footsteps cease to linger there, Still, like an awful Dream that comes again, Alas, at best, as transient and as vain, Still do I see (while thro' the vaults of night The funeral-song once more proclaims the rite) The moving Pomp along the shadowy Isle, That, like a Darkness, fill'd the solemn Pile; The ill.u.s.trious line, that in long order led, Of those that lov'd Him living, mourn'd Him dead; Of those, the Few, that for their Country stood Round Him who dar'd be singularly good; All, of all ranks, that claim'd Him for their own; And nothing wanting--but Himself alone! [Footnote 3]

Oh say, of Him now rests there but a name; Wont, as He was, to breathe ethereal flame?

Friend of the Absent! Guardian of the Dead! [Footnote 4]

Who but would here their sacred sorrows shed?

(Such as He shed on NELSON'S closing grave; How soon to claim the sympathy He gave!) In Him, resentful of another's wrong, The dumb were eloquent, the feeble strong.

Truth from his lips a charm celestial drew-- Ah, who so mighty and so gentle too?

What tho' with War the madding Nations rung, 'Peace,' when He spoke, dwelt ever on his tongue!

Amidst the frowns of Power, the tricks of State, Fearless, resolv'd, and negligently great!

In vain malignant vapours gather'd round; He walk'd, erect, on consecrated ground.

The clouds, that rise to quench the Orb of day, Reflect its splendour, and dissolve away!

When in retreat He laid his thunder by, For letter'd ease and calm Philosophy, Blest were his hours within the silent grove, Where still his G.o.d-like Spirit deigns to rove; Blest by the orphan's smile, the widow's prayer, For many a deed, long done in secret there.

There shone his lamp on Homer's hallow'd page.

There, listening, sate the hero and the sage; And they, by virtue and by blood allied, Whom most He lov'd, and in whose arms He died.

Friend of all Human-kind! not here alone (The voice, that speaks, was not to Thee unknown) Wilt Thou be miss'd,--O'er every land and sea Long, long shall England be rever'd in Thee!

And, when the Storm is hush'd--in distant years-- Foes on thy grave shall meet, and mingle tears!

[Footnote 1: After the Funeral of the Right Hon. CHARLES JAMES FOX on Friday, October 10,1806.]

[Footnote 2: Venez voir le peu qui nous reste de tant de grandeur, &c. Bossuet. Oraison funebre de Louis de Bourbon.]

[Footnote 3: Et rien enfin ne manque dans tons ces honneurs, que celui a qui on les rend.--Ibid.]

[Footnote 4: Alluding particularly to his speech on moving a new writ for the borough of Tavistock, March 16,1802.]

THE VOYAGE OF COLUMBUS.

CHI SE' TU, CHE VIENI----?

DA ME STESSO NON VEGNO.

DANTE.

I have seen the day, That I have worn a visor, and could tell A tale-------- SHAKSP.

PREFACE.

The following Poem (or, to speak more properly, what remains of it [Footnote]) has here and there a lyrical turn of thought and expression. It is sudden in its transitions, and full of historical allusions; leaving much to be imagined by the reader.

The subject is a voyage the most memorable in the annals of mankind.

Columbus was a person of extraordinary virtue and piety, acting under the sense of a divine impulse; and his achievement the discovery of a New World, the inhabitants of which were shut out from the light of Revelation, and given up, as they believed, to the dominion of malignant spirits.

Many of the incidents will now be thought extravagant; yet they were once perhaps received with something more than indulgence. It was an age of miracles; and who can say that among the venerable legends in the library of the Escurial, or the more authentic records which fill the great chamber in the _Archivo_ of Simancas, and which relate entirely to the deep tragedy of America, there are no volumes that mention the marvellous things here described? Indeed the story, as already told throughout Europe, admits of no heightening. Such was the religious enthusiasm of the early writers, that the Author had only to transfuse it into his verse; and he appears to have done little more; though some of the circ.u.mstances, which he alludes to as well-known, have long ceased to be so. By using the language of that day, he has called up Columbus 'in his habit as he lived;' and the authorities, such as exist, are carefully given by the translator.

[Footnote: The Original in the Castilian language, according to the Inscription that fellows, was found among other MSS. in an old religious house near Palos, situated on an island formed by the river Tinto, and dedicated to our Lady of Rabida. The Writer describes himself as having sailed with Columbus; but his style and manner are evidently of an after-time.]

INSCRIBED ON THE ORIGINAL Ma.n.u.sCRIPT.

Unclasp me, Stranger; and unfold, With trembling care, my leaves of gold Rich in gothic portraiture-- If yet, alas, a leaf endure.

In RABIDA'S monastic fane I cannot ask, and ask in vain.

The language of CASTILE I speak; Mid many an Arab, many a Greek, Old in the days of CHARLEMAIN; When minstrel-music wander' round, And Science, waking, bless' the sound.

No earthly thought has here a place; The cowl let down on every face.

Yet here, in consecrated dust, Here would I sleep, if sleep I must.

From GENOA when COLUMBUS came, (At once her glory and her shame) 'Was here he caught the holy flame.

'Twas here the generous vow he made; His banners on the altar laid.-- One hallow'd morn, methought, I felt As if a soul within me dwelt!

But who arose and gave to me The sacred trust I keep for thee, And in his cell at even-tide Knelt before the cross and died-- Inquire not now. His name no more Glimmers on the chancel-floor, Near the lights that ever shine Before ST. MARY'S blessed shrine.

To me one little hour devote, And lay thy staff and scrip beside thee; Read in the temper that he wrote, And may his gentle spirit guide thee!

My leaves forsake me, one by one; The book-worm thro' and thro' has gone.

Oh haste--unclasp me, and unfold; The tale within was never told!

THE ARGUMENT.

_Columbus, having wandered from kingdom to kingdom, at length obtains three ships and sets sail on the Atlantic. The compa.s.s alters from its antient direction; the wind becomes constant and unremitting; night and day he advances, till he is suddenly stopped in his course by a ma.s.s of vegetation, extending as far as the eye can reach, and a.s.suming the appearance of a country overwhelmed by the sea. Alarm and despondence on board. He resigns himself to the care of Heaven, and proceeds on his voyage; while columns of water move along in his path before him.

Meanwhile the deities of America a.s.semble in council; and one of the Zemi, the G.o.ds of the islanders, announces his approach. "In vain,"

says he, "have we guarded the Atlantic for ages. A mortal has baffled our power; nor will our votaries arm against him. Yours are a sterner race. Hence; and, while we have recourse to stratagem, do you array the nations round your altars, and prepare for an exterminating war."

They disperse while he is yet speaking; and, in the shape of a condor, he directs his flight to the fleet. His journey described. He arrives there. A panic. A mutiny. Columbus restores order; continues on his voyage; and lands in a New World. Ceremonies of the first interview. Rites of hospitality. The ghost of Cazziva.

Two months pa.s.s away, and an Angel, appearing in a dream to Columbus, thus addresses him: "Return to Europe; though your Adversaries, such is the will of Heaven, shall let loose the hurricane against you. A little while shall they triumph; insinuating themselves into the hearts of your followers, and making the World, which you came to bless, a scene of blood and slaughter. Yet is there cause for rejoicing. Your work is done. The cross of Christ is planted here; and, in due time, all things shall be made perfect!"_

CANTO I.

Night--Columbus on the Atlantic--the variation of the compa.s.s, &c.

Say who first pa.s.s'd the portals of the West, And the great Secret of the Deep possess'd; Who first the standard of his Faith unfurl'd On the dread confines of an unknown World; Sung ere his coming [a]--and by Heav'n design'd To lift the veil that cover'd half mankind! [b]-- 'Twas night. The Moon, o'er the wide wave, disclos'd Her awful face; and Nature's self repos'd; When, slowly rising in the azure sky, Three white sails shone--but to no mortal eye.

Entering a boundless sea. In slumber cast, The very ship-boy, on the dizzy mast, Half breath'd his orisons! Alone unchang'd, Calmly, beneath, the great Commander rang'd, [c]

Thoughtful not sad; and, as the planet grew, His n.o.ble form, wrapt in his mantle blue, Athwart the deck a solemn shadow threw.

"Thee hath it pleas'd--Thy will be done!" he said, [d]

Then sought his cabin; and, their capas [Footnote 1] spread, Around him lay the sleeping as the dead, When, by his lamp, to that mysterious Guide, On whose still counsels all his hopes relied, That Oracle to man in mercy giv'n, Whose voice is truth, whose wisdom is from heav'n, [e]

Who over sands and seas directs the stray, And, as with G.o.d's own finger, points the way, He turn'd; but what strange thoughts perplex'd his soul, When, lo, no more attracted to the Pole, The Compa.s.s, faithless as the circling vane, Flutter'd and fix'd, flutter'd and fix'd again; And still, as by some unseen Hand imprest, Explor'd, with trembling energy, the West! [Footnote 2]

"Ah no!" he cried, and calm'd his anxious brow.

"Ill, nor the signs of ill, 'tis thine to show.

Thine but to lead me where I wish'd to go!"

COLUMBUS err'd not. [f] In that awful hour, Sent forth to save, and girt with G.o.d-like power, And glorious as the regent of the sun, [Footnote 3]

An Angel came! He spoke, and it was done!

He spoke, and, at his call, a mighty Wind, [g]

Not like the fitful blast, with fury blind, But deep, majestic, in its destin'd course, Rush'd with unerring, unrelenting force, From the bright East. Tides duly ebb'd and flow'd; Stars rose and set; and new horizons glow'd; Yet still it blew! As with primeval sway, Still did its ample spirit, night and day, Move on the waters!--All, resign'd to Fate, Folded their arms and sat; and seem'd to wait [h]

Some sudden change; and sought, in chill suspense, New spheres of being, and new modes of sense; As men departing, tho' not doom'd to die, And midway on their pa.s.sage to eternity.

[Footnote 1: The capa is the Spanish cloak.]

[Footnote 2: Herrera, dec. I. lib. i. c. 9.]

[Footnote 3: Rev. xix. 17.]