He paus'd, in act still further to disclose A long, a dreary prophecy of woes: When springing onward, loud my voice resounds, And midst his rage the threat'ning shade confounds.

"What art thou, horrid form, that rid'st the air?

By Heaven's eternal light, stern fiend, declare."

His lips he writhes, his eyes far round he throws, And, from his breast, deep hollow groans arose, Sternly askance he stood: with wounded pride And anguish torn, "In me, behold," he cried, While dark-red sparkles from his eyeb.a.l.l.s roll'd, "In me the Spirit of the Cape behold, That rock, by you the Cape of Tempests nam'd, } By Neptune's rage, in horrid earthquakes fram'd, } When Jove's red bolts o'er t.i.tan's offspring flam'd. } With wide-stretch'd piles I guard the pathless strand, And Afric's southern mound, unmov'd, I stand: Nor Roman prow, nor daring Tyrian oar Ere dash'd the white wave foaming to my sh.o.r.e; Nor Greece, nor Carthage ever spread the sail On these my seas, to catch the trading gale.

You, you alone have dar'd to plough my main, And, with the human voice, disturb my lonesome reign."

He spoke, and deep a lengthen'd sigh he drew, A doleful sound, and vanish'd from the view: The frighten'd billows gave a rolling swell, And, distant far, prolong'd the dismal yell, Faint, and more faint the howling echoes die, And the black cloud dispersing, leaves the sky.

High to the angel-host, whose guardian care Had ever round us watch'd, my hands I rear, And Heaven's dread King implore: "As o'er our head The fiend dissolv'd, an empty shadow fled; So may his curses, by the winds of heav'n, Far o'er the deep, their idle sport, be driv'n!"----

With sacred horror thrill'd, Melinda's lord Held up the eager hand, and caught the word.

"Oh, wondrous faith of ancient days," he cries, "Conceal'd in mystic lore and dark disguise!

Taught by their sires, our h.o.a.ry fathers tell, On these rude sh.o.r.es a giant-spectre fell, What time, from heaven the rebel band were thrown:[366]

And oft the wand'ring swain has heard his moan.

While o'er the wave the clouded moon appears To hide her weeping face, his voice he rears O'er the wild storm. Deep in the days of yore, A holy pilgrim trod the nightly sh.o.r.e; Stern groans he heard; by ghostly spells controll'd, His fate, mysterious, thus the spectre told: 'By forceful t.i.tan's warm embrace compress'd, The rock-ribb'd mother, Earth, his love confess'd: The hundred-handed giant[367] at a birth, And me, she bore, nor slept my hopes on earth; My heart avow'd, my sire's ethereal flame; Great Adamastor, then, my dreaded name.

In my bold brother's glorious toils engaged, Tremendous war against the G.o.ds I waged: Yet, not to reach the throne of heaven I try, With mountain pil'd on mountain to the sky; To me the conquest of the seas befel, In his green realm the second Jove to quell.

Nor did ambition all my pa.s.sions hold, 'Twas love that prompted an attempt so bold.

Ah me, one summer in the cool of day, I saw the Nereids on the sandy bay, With lovely Thetis from the wave, advance In mirthful frolic, and the naked dance.

In all her charms reveal'd the G.o.ddess trod, With fiercest fires my struggling bosom glow'd; Yet, yet I feel them burning in my heart, And hopeless, languish with the raging smart.

For her, each G.o.ddess of the heavens I scorn'd, For her alone my fervent ardour burn'd.

In vain I woo'd her to the lover's bed, From my grim form, with horror, mute she fled.

Madd'ning with love, by force I ween to gain The silver G.o.ddess of the blue domain; To the h.o.a.r mother of the Nereid band[368]

I tell my purpose, and her aid command: By fear impell'd, old Doris tries to move, And, win the spouse of Peleus to my love.

The silver G.o.ddess with a smile replies, "What nymph can yield her charms a giant's prize!

Yet, from the horrors of a war to save, And guard in peace our empire of the wave, Whate'er with honour he may hope to gain, That, let him hope his wish shall soon attain."

The promis'd grace infus'd a bolder fire, And shook my mighty limbs with fierce desire.

But ah, what error spreads its dreadful night, What phantoms hover o'er the lover's sight!

The war resign'd, my steps by Doris led, While gentle eve her shadowy mantle spread, Before my steps the snowy Thetis shone In all her charms, all naked, and alone.

Swift as the wind with open arms I sprung, And, round her waist with joy delirious clung: In all the transports of the warm embrace, A hundred kisses on her angel face, On all its various charms my rage bestows, And, on her cheek, my cheek enraptur'd glows.

When, oh, what anguish while my shame I tell!

What fix'd despair, what rage my bosom swell!

Here was no G.o.ddess, here no heav'nly charms, A rugged mountain fill'd my eager arms, Whose rocky top, o'erhung with matted brier, Receiv'd the kisses of my am'rous fire.

Wak'd from my dream, cold horror freez'd my blood; Fix'd as a rock, before the rock I stood; "O fairest G.o.ddess of the ocean train, Behold the triumph of thy proud disdain; Yet why," I cried, "with all I wish'd decoy, And, when exulting in the dream of joy, A horrid mountain to mine arms convey!"

Madd'ning I spoke, and furious, sprung away.

Far to the south I sought the world unknown, Where I, unheard, unscorn'd, might wail alone, My foul dishonour, and my tears to hide, And shun the triumph of the G.o.ddess' pride.

My brothers, now, by Jove's red arm o'erthrown, Beneath huge mountains, pil'd on mountains groan; And I, who taught each echo to deplore, And tell my sorrows to the desert sh.o.r.e, I felt the hand of Jove my crimes pursue, My stiff'ning flesh to earthy ridges grew, And my huge bones, no more by marrow warm'd, To horrid piles, and ribs of rock transform'd, Yon dark-brow'd cape of monstrous size became, Where, round me still, in triumph o'er my shame, The silv'ry Thetis bids her surges roar, And waft my groans along the dreary sh.o.r.e.'"----

Melinda's monarch thus the tale pursu'd, Of ancient faith, and GAMA thus renew'd:--

Now, from the wave the chariot of the day, Whirl'd by the fiery coursers, springs away, When, full in view, the giant Cape appears, Wide spreads its limbs, and high its shoulders rears; Behind us, now, it curves the bending side, And our bold vessels plough the eastern tide.

Nor long excursive off at sea we stand, A cultur'd sh.o.r.e invites us to the land.

Here their sweet scenes the rural joys bestow, And give our wearied minds a lively glow.[369]

The tenants of the coast, a festive band, With dances meet us on the yellow sand; Their brides on slow-pac'd oxen rode behind; The spreading horns with flow'ry garlands twin'd, Bespoke the dew-lapp'd beeves their proudest boast, Of all their b.e.s.t.i.a.l store they valued most.

By turns the husbands, and the brides, prolong The various measures of the rural song.

Now, to the dance the rustic reeds resound; The dancers' heels, light-quiv'ring, beat the ground; And now, the lambs around them bleating stray, Feed from their hands, or, round them frisking play.

Methought I saw the sylvan reign of Pan, And heard the music of the Mantuan swan:[370]

With smiles we hail them, and with joy behold The blissful manners of the age of gold.

With that mild kindness, by their looks display'd, Fresh stores they bring, with cloth of red repaid; Yet, from their lips no word we knew could flow, Nor sign of India's strand their hands bestow.

Fair blow the winds; again with sails unfurl'd We dare the main, and seek the eastern world.

Now, round black Afric's coast our navy veer'd, And, to the world's mid circle, northward steer'd: The southern pole low to the wave declin'd, We leave the isle of Holy Cross[371] behind: That isle where erst a Lusian, when he pa.s.s'd The tempest-beaten cape, his anchors cast, And own'd his proud ambition to explore The kingdoms of the morn could dare no more.

From thence, still on, our daring course we hold Thro' trackless gulfs, whose billows never roll'd Around the vessel's pitchy sides before; Thro' trackless gulfs, where mountain surges roar, For many a night, when not a star appear'd, Nor infant moon's dim horns the darkness cheer'd; For many a dreary night, and cheerless day, } In calms now fetter'd, now the whirlwind's play, } By ardent hope still fir'd, we forc'd our dreadful way. } Now, smooth as gla.s.s the shining waters lie, No cloud, slow moving, sails the azure sky; Slack from their height the sails unmov'd decline, The airy streamers form the downward line; No gentle quiver owns the gentle gale, Nor gentlest swell distends the ready sail; Fix'd as in ice, the slumb'ring prows remain, And silence wide extends her solemn reign.

Now to the waves the bursting clouds descend, And heaven and sea in meeting tempests blend; The black-wing'd whirlwinds o'er the ocean sweep, And from his bottom roars the stagg'ring deep.

Driv'n by the yelling blast's impetuous sway Stagg'ring we bound, yet onward bound away: And now, escaped the fury of the storm, New danger threatens in a various form; Though fresh the breeze the swelling canvas swell'd, A current's headlong sweep our prows withheld: The rapid force impress'd on every keel, Backward, o'erpower'd, our rolling vessels reel: When from their southern caves the winds, enraged, In horrid conflict with the waves engaged; Beneath the tempest groans each loaded mast, And, o'er the rushing tide our bounding navy pa.s.s'd.[372]

Now shin'd the sacred morn, when from the east Three kings[373] the holy cradled Babe address'd, And hail'd him Lord of heaven: that festive day[374]

We drop our anchors in an opening bay; The river from the sacred day we name,[375]

And stores, the wand'ring seaman's right, we claim: Stores we receiv'd; our dearest hope in vain, No word they utter'd could our ears retain; Nought to reward our search for India's sound, By word or sign our ardent wishes crown'd.[376]

Behold, O king, how many a sh.o.r.e we tried!

How many a fierce barbarian's rage defied!

Yet still, in vain, for India's sh.o.r.e we try, The long-sought sh.o.r.es our anxious search defy.

Beneath new heavens, where not a star we knew, Through changing climes, where poison'd air we drew; Wandering new seas, in gulfs unknown, forlorn, By labour weaken'd, and by famine worn; Our food corrupted, pregnant with disease, And pestilence on each expected breeze; Not even a gleam of hope's delusive ray To lead us onward through the devious way-- That kind delusion[377] which full oft has cheer'd The bravest minds, till glad success appear'd; Worn as we were, each night with dreary care, Each day, with danger that increas'd despair; Oh ! monarch, judge, what less than Lusian fire Could still the hopeless scorn of fate inspire!

What less, O king, than Lusian faith withstand, When dire despair and famine gave command Their chief to murder, and with lawless power Sweep Afric's seas, and every coast devour!

What more than men in wild despair still bold!

Those, more than men, in these my band behold!

Sacred to death, by death alone subdued, These, all the rage of fierce despair withstood;[378]

Firm to their faith, though fondest hope no more Could give the promise of their native sh.o.r.e!

Now, the sweet waters of the stream we leave, And the salt waves our gliding prows receive: Here to the left, between the bending sh.o.r.es, Torn by the winds the whirling billow roars; And boiling raves against the sounding coast, Whose mines of gold Sofala's merchants boast: Full to the gulf the show'ry south-winds howl, Aslant, against the wind, our vessels roll: Far from the land, wide o'er the ocean driv'n, Our helms resigning to the care of heav'n, By hope and fear's keen pa.s.sions toss'd, we roam, When our glad eyes beheld the surges foam Against the beacons of a cultur'd bay, Where sloops and barges cut the wat'ry way.

The river's opening breast some upward plied, And some came gliding down the sweepy tide.

Quick throbs of transport heav'd in every heart To view the knowledge of the seaman's art; For here, we hop'd our ardent wish to gain, To hear of India's strand, nor hop'd in vain.

Though Ethiopia's sable hue they bore No look of wild surprise the natives wore: Wide o'er their heads the cotton turban swell'd, And cloth of blue the decent loins conceal'd.

Their speech, though rude and dissonant of sound, Their speech a mixture of Arabian own'd.

Fernando, skill'd in all the copious store Of fair Arabia's speech, and flow'ry lore, In joyful converse heard the pleasing tale, That, o'er these seas, full oft, the frequent sail, And lordly vessels, tall as ours, appear'd, Which, to the regions of the morning steer'd, And, back returning, to the southmost land Convey'd the treasures of the Indian strand; Whose cheerful crews, resembling ours, display The kindred face and colour of the day.[379]

Elate with joy we raise the glad acclaim, And, "River of good signs,"[380] the port we name: Then, sacred to the angel guide,[381] who led The young Tobiah to the spousal bed, And safe return'd him through the perilous way, We rear a column[382] on the friendly bay.

Our keels, that now had steer'd through many a clime, By sh.e.l.l-fish roughen'd, and incased with slime, Joyful we clean, while bleating from the field The fleecy dams the smiling natives yield: But while each face an honest welcome shows, And, big with sprightly hope, each bosom glows, (Alas! how vain the bloom of human joy!

How soon the blasts of woe that bloom destroy!) A dread disease its rankling horrors shed, And death's dire ravage through mine army spread.

Never mine eyes such dreary sight beheld, Ghastly the mouth and gums enormous swell'd;[383]

And instant, putrid like a dead man's wound, Poisoned with ftid steams the air around.

No sage physician's ever-watchful zeal, No skilful surgeon's gentle hand to heal, Were found: each dreary mournful hour we gave Some brave companion to a foreign grave.

A grave, the awful gift of every sh.o.r.e!---- Alas! what weary toils with us they bore!

Long, long endear'd by fellowship in woe, O'er their cold dust we give the tears to flow; And, in their hapless lot forbode our own, A foreign burial, and a grave unknown!

Now, deeply yearning o'er our deathful fate, With joyful hope of India's sh.o.r.e elate, We loose the hawsers and the sail expand, And, upward coast the Ethiopian strand.

What danger threaten'd at Quiloa's isle, Mozambique's treason, and Momba.s.sa's guile: What miracles kind Heav'n our guardian wrought, Loud fame already to thine ears has brought: Kind Heaven again that guardian care display'd, And, to thy port our weary fleet convey'd, Where thou, O king, Heaven's regent power below, Bidd'st thy full bounty and thy truth to flow; Health to the sick, and to the weary rest, And sprightly hope reviv'd in every breast, Proclaim thy gifts, with grateful joy repaid, The brave man's tribute for the brave man's aid.

And now, in honour of thy fond command, The glorious annals of my native land; And what the perils of a route so bold, So dread as ours, my faithful lips have told.

Then judge, great monarch, if the world before Ere saw the prow such length of seas explore!

Nor sage Ulysses,[384] nor the Trojan[385] pride Such raging gulfs, such whirling storms defied; Nor one poor tenth of my dread course explor'd, Though by the muse as demiG.o.ds ador'd.

O thou whose breast all Helicon inflam'd,[386]

Whose birth seven vaunting cities proudly claim'd; And thou whose mellow lute and rural song,[387]

In softest flow, led Mincio's waves along, Whose warlike numbers, as a storm impell'd, And Tiber's surges o'er his borders swell'd; Let all Parna.s.sus lend creative fire, And all the Nine[388] with all their warmth inspire; Your demiG.o.ds conduct through every scene Cold fear can paint, or wildest fancy feign; The Syren's guileful lay, dire Circe's spell,[389]

And all the horrors of the Cyclop's cell;[390]

Bid Scylla's barking waves their mates o'erwhelm And hurl the guardian pilot from the helm,[391]

Give sails and oars to fly the purple sh.o.r.e, Where love of absent friend awakes no more;[392]

In all their charms display Calypso's smiles, Her flow'ry arbours and her am'rous wiles; In skins confin'd the bl.u.s.t'ring winds control,[393]

Or, o'er the feast bid loathsome harpies[394] prowl; And lead your heroes through the dread abodes Of tortur'd spectres and infernal[395] G.o.ds; Give ev'ry flow'r that decks Aonia's hill To grace your fables with divinest skill; Beneath the wonders of my tale they fall, Where truth, all unadorn'd and pure, exceeds them all.----

While thus, ill.u.s.trious GAMA charm'd their ears, The look of wonder each Melindian wears, And pleased attention witness'd the command Of every movement of his lips, or hand.

The king, enraptur'd, own'd the glorious fame Of Lisbon's monarchs and the Lusian name; What warlike rage the victor-kings inspir'd!