SONNETS:

SUGGESTED BY PASSAGES IN THE LIFE OF CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS.

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BY MISS A. D. WOODBRIDGE.

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I.—The Era of Discovery.

The darkest storm-cloud oft upon its breast

Weareth the bow of promise. In the hour

Of deepest anguish, words of healing power

Are whispered to the spirit—“Peace!” and “Rest!”

Praise to our God! if e’en Death’s shadow lower,

Hope lightens all the gloom, with radiant crest—

Oh! Joy is, oft, in garb of sorrow drest,

And direst grief brings rapture as its dower.

Thus, on the night of ages, flashed a light

Of wondrous power and splendor, Learning came

Forth from the cloisters. Welcome to the sight,

A breath from Heaven relit religion’s flame.

’Twas then, his sail the great Discover furled,

’Twas then, was born, as ’twere, this western world.

II.—The Early Life of Columbus.

Amid a glorious city, woke to light

He who threw back a double radiance pure;

And that blue sea! ’Twas as an angel bright,

Beck’ning the child to fame and fortune sure.

How lovingly its waters kissed his feet!

How graceful yielded, as to lure away

The young enthusiast! Should he fail to meet

The ceaseless chime, forbidding him to stay.

The man, the hour were found, and from that time

His soul was girded for its task sublime:

To struggle on, through error’s endless maze;

To bear contempt, and poverty, and pain;

To wait for royal favor’s fickle rays;—

To find a world beyond the western main!

III.—Columbus at the University of Pavia.

Here was the manna for his hungry soul;

And here the fount for which he’d thirsted long.

Though yet his years were few, none might control

His mighty yearnings, or his purpose strong.

Ah! it is joy to watch the spark divine,

To feel it struck, as thought encounters thought!

What deep, exulting happiness was thine,

When to thine aid long-hidden lore was brought,

And thou, Columbus! didst believe the skies

Stooped down to nerve thee for thy high emprise!

’Twas well thou hadst the witness in thine heart,

Or thou hadst fainted in thy weary way;

Though hope “deferred,” though anguish were thy part,

Faith shed a halo round thee day by day.

IV.—Columbus arrives in Spain.

What veiléd glory, and what strange disguise,

We meet in by-ways of this wondrous earth!

How oft the “angel” to our scaléd eyes

Seems but a “stranger” guest of mortal birth!

Met with cold words, or, haply, careless mirth,

Known only when he’s passed into the skies.

Columbus asks for bread!^[2] None see the ties

Which link him to the future home and hearth

Of unborn millions. Thus, the glorious day

Oft dawns in clouds, while the cold, ceaseless rain

Fills up each pause in the wind’s moaning strain,

And forms of evil seem to haunt our way.

The sky seems brightest when the clouds depart!

Earth-woes make heaven still dearer to the heart.

V.—Columbus before the Council.^[3]

A silver lining to on ebon cloud;^[4]

A diamond flashing in Cimmerian cave;

A Lazarus, up-rising from the grave,

Bursting the cerements of the straitened shroud;

To all true men Columbus calls aloud.

He scans the past, with all its priestly lore,

But, Janus-like, beholds the future’s shore.

What glorious scenes, what teeming wonders crowd!

What though the church behold him with a frown!

What though the crosier point toward the rack,

When heresy is near, as to the track

Of precious gold the magic hazel leans?

He heedeth not the mitre, cowl, or gown;

A new creation on his spirit beams.

VI.—Columbus at Court.

The crescent wanes within Granada’s walls;

The Moorish standard bows into the dust;

The hour hath come when proud Boabdil must

Yield to Castilian prowess. In the halls

Of the Alhambra hymns of praise and trust

Ascend to Heaven. On the glad ear there falls

A mighty shout of triumph. Each one calls

“Rejoice! the Cross hath conquered—ever just!”

Who cometh ’mid the throng? One who hath learned

To hope, when hope hath died within the breast;

Fainting, to hold right on, though scoffed and spurned—

Amid that jubilation he is blest.

Man’s eyes are holden, but proud Woman’s name

From that good hour shares the Discoverer’s fame.

VII.—The Embarkation.

Oh! sweet as is the voice of one most dear,

And balmy as the welcome breath of heaven

To the sick soul, long “cabined, cribbed, confined,”

Is the blesséd wind, that on his high career

Now wafts the man to whose high trust is given

A world unknown, save to his mighty mind.

The last deep prayer is said—the mystic rite

Hath brought new strength unto his awe-struck heart,

He who long struggled with the diver’s might,

Who oft the waves of error did dispart,

And gasped for breath amid those shades of night,

Now with the aim unerring of a dart

Strikes for the pearl, bright gleaming to his eyes—

What mortal man e’er brought up such a prize!

VIII.—The Discovery.

The morning dawns, and to th’ enraptured eye

Appears a land, glorious beyond compare,

Save that the dreamer saw in vision fair,

When to the Holy City he drew nigh.

The long-drawn veil e’en now is rent in twain!

Well may he enter in, with grateful prayer,

And bathe, as ’twere in a diviner air.

Well may the tears flow down—a blesséd rain!

And Spain’s broad banner proudly rise on high.

What scenes unknown—what beings from the sky,

May wait his coming, or his glory share,

And sing his praise in a celestial strain?

Methinks his soul might now depart in peace!

Well had it been had he then found release!

IX.—The Return to Spain.

Joy! for the Victor cometh! He hath won

A prouder triumph than the great of eld;

The tempest-tossed, within whose bosom swelled

Bright hopes, that changed to fears, now sees the sun

Shine on the fair and fertile land of Spain,

Which hails his name with proud enraptured strain.

All press to gaze on th’ anointed one,

Whom the Most High within his hand has held—

While peals again the long and loud refrain;

And for “Castile and Leon’s” chosen son,

A full-orbed glory shineth in the West.

Oh! if Life’s sands e’en then had ceased to run,

Bright visions of those “islands of the blest”

Had soothed him to his last and dreamless rest.

X.—Columbus in Chains.

In chains! in chains! homeward once more he came!

Life’s sky is veiled in midnight drear and dark;—

And this is his reward! They leave no mark

Those shameless fetters on his own fair fame.

The shaft may pierce his soul, but yet no shame

Bows that proud head; he is the victor still;

He triumphs in a stern, unconquered will.

His ’scutcheon fair was dimmed by breath of blame;

The stain is washed away by woman’s tears;

His patron-queen forbids his anxious fears—

Her gracious sweetness brings him to the dust.

The pledge of royal favor now he hears.—

But, oh! too long it waited—to be just;

While care and grief led on the lingering years.

XI.—Columbus proposes a new Crusade.

The evening sky is bright with blended hues;

A soft, mild radiance, borrowed from on high,

Seems, to our view, to bring e’en heaven nigh,

And its pure essence in our souls infuse.

Thus, to that noble heart, as from the sky,

There came a presence, in life’s slow decline;

He viewed it as a holy seal and sign—

The Cross must crown the city of the Jews!

Like the pure incense-flame he soars from earth;

In fancy sees the prophet’s page unroll,

And reads therein the presage of his birth,

The mighty mission of his single soul!

Life’s pathway bears for him a healing balm,

Which cheers his heart and nerves his fainting arm.

XII.—The Death of Columbus.

He cometh to the shore of that vast sea,^[5]

Whereon he never yet hath spread his sail;

His last, last voyage. Now every chart must fail,

Save that, our Father! he received of Thee!

With an unwavering trust he meets the wave,

Which bears him onward to the dread unknown;

From man’s injustice to that mighty Throne,

Supreme in power, Omnipotent to save.

Ah! ne’er from that far land shall he return!

His dust shall mingle with his mother-earth

In that fair isle to which his skill gave birth.^[6]

That mighty soul! where doth it “breathe and burn?”

What worlds hath it discerned beyond the tomb,

Which to our eyes are all enwrapped in gloom?