While each, with lofty masts and brightening sheen
Of fair spread sails, moves like a vested queen ;—
Or rather, be some distant bark, astray,
Seen like a pilgrim on his lonely way,
Holding its steady course from port and shore,
A form distinct, a speck, and seen no more,-
How doth the pride, the sympathy, the flame,
Of human feeling stir his thrilling frame!

O Thou! whose mandate dust inert obey'd! What is this creature man whom thou hast made!"

I.

On Palos' shore, whose crowded strand
Bore priests and nobles of the land,
And rustic hinds and townsmen trim,
And harness'd soldiers stern and grim,
And lowly maids and dames of pride,
And infants by their mother's side,—
The boldest seaman stood that e'er
Did bark or ship through tempest steer;
And wise as bold, and good as wise;
The magnet of a thousand eyes,
That on his form and features cast;
His noble mien and simple guise,
In wonder seem'd to look their last.
A form which conscious worth is gracing,
A face where hope, the lines effacing
Of thought and care, bestow'd, in truth,
To the quick eyes' imperfect tracing
The look and air of youth.

II.

Who, in his lofty gait, and high
Expression of th' enlighten'd eye,
Had recognised in that bright bour

The disappointed suppliant of dull power,
Who had in vain of states and kings desired
The pittance for his vast emprise required?—
The patient sage, who, by his lamp's faint light,
O'er chart and map spent the long silent night?—
The man who meekly fortune's buffets bore,
Trusting in One alone, whom heaven and earth
adore?

III.

Another world is in his mind,

Peopled with creatures of his kind,

With hearts to feel, with minds to soar,
Thoughts to consider and explore;

Souls, who might find, from trespass shriven,
Virtue on earth and joy in heaven.
"That power divine, whom storms obey,"
(Whisper'd his heart,) a leading star,
Will guide him on his blessed way;
Brothers to join by fate divided far.
Vain thoughts! which heaven doth but ordain
In part to be, the rest, alas! how vain!

IV.

But hath there lived of mortal mould,
Whose fortunes with his thoughts could hold
An even race? Earth's greatest son
That e'er earn'd fame, or empire won,
Bath but fulfill'd, within a narrow scope,
A stinted portion of his ample hope.

With heavy sigh and look depress'd,
The greatest men will sometimes hear
The story of their acts address'd
To the young stranger's wandering ear,
And check the half-swoln tear.
Is it or modesty or pride

Which may not open praise abide ?
No;

read his inward thoughts! they tell,
His deeds of fame he prizes well.
But, ah! they in his fancy stand,
As relics of a blighted band,
Who, lost to man's approving sight,
Have perish'd in the gloom of night,
Ere yet the glorious light of day
Had glitter'd on their bright array.
His mightiest feat had once another,
Of high imagination born,-

A loftier and a nobler brother,
From dear existence torn;

And she for those, who are not, steeps
Her soul in wo,-like Rachel, weeps.

V.

The signal given, with hasty strides
The sailors climb'd their ships' dark sides;
Their anchors weigh'd; and from the shore
Each stately vessel slowly bore.
High o'er the deeply shadow'd flood,
Upon his deck their leader stood,
And turn'd him to the parted land,

And bow'd his head and waved his hand.
And then, along the crowded strand,
A sound of many sounds combined,
That wax'd and waned upon the wind,
Burst like heaven's thunder, deep and grand
A lengthen'd peal, which paused, and then
Renew'd, like that which loathly parts,
Oft on the ear return'd again,
The impulse of a thousand hearts.
But as the lengthen'd shouts subside,
Distincter accents strike the ear,
Wafting across the current wide,

| Heart-utter'd words of parting cheer:
"O! shall we ever see again

Those gallant souls recross the main?
God keep the brave! God be their guide!
God bear them safe through storm and tide
Their sails with favouring breezes swell!
O brave Columbus! fare thee well!"

VI.

From shore and strait, and gulf and bay,
The vessels held their daring way,
Left far behind, in distance thrown
All land to Moor or Christian known,
Left far behind the misty isle,
Whose fitful shroud, withdrawn the while,
Shows wood and hill and headland bright
To later seamen's wondering sight,
And tide and sea left far behind
That e'er bore freight of human kind;
Where ship or bark to shifting gales,
E'er tack'd their course or spread their sails,
Around them lay a boundless main
In which to hold their silent reign;

But for the passing current's flow,

And cleft waves, brawling round the prow, They might have thought some magic spell

A gentler mien; relations, friends, Glare on him now like angry fiends; And, as he moves, ah, wretched cheer!

dwell.

VII.

What did this trackless waste supply
To soothe the mind or please the eye?
The rising morn through dim mist breaking,
The flicker'd east with purple streaking;
The midday cloud through thin air flying,
With deeper blue the blue sea dying;
Long ridgy waves their white mains rearing,
And in the broad gleam disappearing;
The broaden'd, blazing sun declining,
And western waves like fire flood shining;
The sky's vast dome to darkness given,
And all the glorious host of heaven.

VIII.

Full oft upon the deck, while other's slept,
To mark the bearing of each well-known star
That shone aloft, or on th' horizon far,
The anxious Chief his lonely vigil kept;
The mournful wind, the hoarse wave breaking near,
The breathing groans of sleep, the plunging lead,
The steersman's call, and his own stilly tread,
Are all the sounds of night that reach his ear.
His darker form stalk'd through the sable gloom
With gestures discomposed and features keen,
That might not in the face of day be seen,
Like some unblessed spirit from the tomb.

Night after night, and day succeeding day,
So pass'd their dull, unvaried time away;

But all undaunted, firm and sage,

He scorns their threats, yet thus he soothes their

rage:

"I brought you from your native shore

An unknown ocean to explore.

I brought you, partners, by my side,
Want, toil, and danger, to abide.

Yet weary stillness hath so soon subdued

The buoyant soul, the heart of pride,

Men who in battle's brunt full oft have firmly stood.
That to some nearing coast we bear,
How many cheering signs declare!
Wayfaring birds the blue air ranging,
Their shadowy line to blue air changing,
Pass o'er our heads in frequent flocks;
While seaweed from the parent rocks
With fibry roots, but newly torn

In tressy lengthen'd wreaths are on the clear wave borne.

Nay, has not e'en the drifting current brought
Things of rude art,-of human cunning wrought?
Be yet two days your patience tried,
And if no shore is then descried,
E'en turn your dastard prows again,
And cast your leader to the main.”

XI.

And thus a while with steady hand He kept in check a wayward band, Who but with half-express'd disdain Their rebel spirit could restrain.

From every valiant heart but his alone;

Where still, by day, enthroned, she held her state With sunny look and brow elate.

IX.

Oft spurn'd the deck with grating heel;

The seaman, bending o'er the flood,
With stony gaze all listless stood;

The sturdy bandit, wildly rude,
Sung, as he strode, some garbled strain,

bend,

Nor hope delay'd, nor adverse fate subdue,
With more redoubled danger must contend

Than storm or wave-a fierce and angry crew.

"Dearly," say they, "may we those visions rue Which lured us from our native land,

A wretched, lost, devoted band,
Led on by hope's delusive gleam,
The victims of a madman's dream!
Nor gold shall e'er be ours, nor fame;
Not e'en the remnant of a name,
On some rude-letter'd stone to tell
On what strange coast our wreck befell.
For us no requiem shall be sung,
Nor prayer be said, nor passing knell
In holy church be rung."

X.

To thoughts like these, all forms give way
Of duty to a leader's sway;
All habits of respect that bind
With easy tie the human mind.
E'en love and admiration throw
Their nobler bands aside, nor show

Timed by his sabre's jangling chain
The proud Castilian, boasted name'

Child of an ancient race

Which proudly prized its spotless fame,
And deem'd all fear disgrace,

Felt quench'd within him honour's generous flame
And in his gather'd mantle wrapp'd his face.

XII.

So pass'd the day, the night, the second day With its red setting sun's extinguish'd ray. Dark, solemn midnight coped the ocean wide, When from his watchful stand Columbus cried, "A light, a light!"-blest sounds that rung In every ear. At once they sprung With haste aloft, and, peering bright, Descried afar the blessed sight. "It moves, it slowly moves like ray Of torch that guides some wanderer's way! And other lights more distant, seeming As if from town or hamlet streaming! 'Tis land, 'tis peopled land; man dwelleth there, And thou, O God of heaven! hast heard thy ser vant's prayer!"

XIII.

Returning day gave to their view

The distant shore and headlands blue
Of long-sought land. Then rose on air
Loud shouts of joy, mix'd wildly strange
With voice of weeping and of prayer,
Expressive of their blessed change
From death to life, from fierce to kind,

From all that sinks, to all that elevates the mind.
Those who, by faithless fear insnared,
Had their brave chief so rudely dared,
Now, with keen self-upbraiding stung,
With every manly feeling wrung,
Repentant tears, looks that entreat,
Are kneeling at his worshipp'd feet.
"O pardon blinded, stubborn guilt!
O henceforth make us what thou wilt!
Our hands, our hearts, our lives, are thine,
Thou wondrous man! led on by power divine !"

XIV.

Ah! would some magic could arrest
The generous feelings of the breast,
Which thwart the common baser mass
Of sordid thoughts, so fleetly pass,-
A sun glimpse through the storm!
The rent cloud closes, tempests swell,
And its late path we cannot tell;
Lost is its trace and form.

No; not on earth such fugitives are bound;

In some veil'd future state will the bless'd charm

be found.

XV.

Columbus led them to the shore,
Which ship had never touch'd before;
And there he knelt upon the strand
To thank the God of sea and land;
And there, with mien and look elate,
Gave welcome to each toil-worn mate.
And lured with courteous signs of cheer,
The dusky natives gathering near;
Who on them gazed with wandering eyes,
As mission'd spirits from the skies.
And there did he possession claim,
In Isabella's royal name.

XVI.

It was a land, unmarr'd by art,
To please the eye and cheer the heart:
The natives' simple huts were seen
Peeping their palmy groves between,-
Groves, where each dome of sweepy leaves
In air of morning gently heaves,
And, as the deep vans fall and rise,
Changes its richly verdant dyes;
A land whose simple sons till now
Had scarcely seen a careful brow;
They spent at will each passing day
In lightsome toil or active play.
Some their light canoes were guiding,
Along the shore's sweet margin gliding.
Some in the sunny sea were swimming,

The bright waves o'er their dark forms gleaming;

Some on the beach for shell-fish stooping,
Or on the smooth sand gayly trooping;
Or in link'd circles featly dancing
With golden braid and bracelet glancing.
By shelter'd door were infants creeping,
Or on the shaded herbage sleeping;
Gay feather'd birds the air were winging,
And parrots on their high perch swinging,
While humming-birds, like sparks of light,
Twinkled and vanish'd from the sight.

XVII.

They eyed the wondrous strangers o'er and o'er,-
Those beings of the ocean and the air,

With humble, timid reverence; all their store
Of gather'd wealth inviting them to share ;
To share whate'er their lowly cabins hold;
Their feather'd crowns, their fruits, their arms,
their gold.

Their gold, that fatal gift!-0 foul disgrace!
Repaid with cruel wreck of all their harmless race.

XVIII.

There some short, pleasing days with them he dwelt,

And all their simple kindness dearly felt.
But they of other countries told,

Not distant, where the sun declines,
Where reign Caziques o'er warriors bold,
Rich with the gold of countless mines.
And he to other islands sail'd,
And was by other natives hail'd.
Then on Hispaniola's shore,
Where bays and harbours to explore
Much time he spent ; a simple tower
Of wood he built, the seat to be,
And shelter of Spain's infant power;
Hoping the nurseling fair to see,
Amidst those harmless people shoot
Its stately stem from slender root.
There nine and thirty chosen men he placed,
Gave parting words of counsel and of cheer;
One after one his nobler friends embraced,
And to the Indian chieftain, standing near,
"Befriend my friends, and give them aid,
When I am gone," he kindly said,

Blest them, and left them there his homeward course to steer.

XIX.

His prayer to Heaven for them preferr'd
Was not, alas! with favour heard.
Oft, as his ship the land forsook,
He landward turn'd his farewell look,
And cheer'd his Spaniards cross the wave,

Who distant answer faintly gave;
Distant but cheerful. On the strand
He saw their clothed figures stand
With naked forms link'd hand in hand!-
Saw thus caress 'd, assured, and bold,
Those he should never more behold.
Some simple Indians, gently won,
To visit land, where sets the sun
In clouds of amber, and behold,
The wonders oft by Spaniards told;