Part 2 — CANTO XII.
Reading edition
A Vision.
Still would I speak of Him before I went, Who among us a life of sorrow spent,[q] And, dying, left a world his monument; Still, if the time allow’d! My Hour draws near; But He will prompt me when I faint with fear. —-Alas, He hears me not! He cannot hear!
* * * * *
Twice the Moon fill’d her silver urn with light. Then from the Throne an Angel wing’d his flight; He, who unfix’d the compass, and assign’d O’er the wild waves a pathway to the wind; Who, while approach’d by none but Spirits pure, Wrought, in his progress thro’ the dread obscure, Signs like the ethereal bow—that shall endure![1] Before the great Discoverer, laid to rest, He stood, and thus his secret soul address’d.[2] “The wind recalls thee; its still voice obey. Millions await thy coming; hence, away. To thee blest tidings of great joy consign’d, Another Nature, and a new Mankind! The vain to dream, the wise to doubt shall cense; Young men be glad, and old depart in peace![3] Hence! tho’ assembling in the fields of air, Now, in a night of clouds, thy Foes prepare To rock the globe with elemental wars, And dash the floods of ocean to the stars;[4] To bid the meek repine, the valiant weep, And Thee restore thy Secret to the Deep![5] Not then to leave Thee! to their vengeance cast, Thy heart their aliment, their dire repast![6] To other eyes shall MEXICO unfold Her feather’d tapestries,[7] and roofs of gold. To other eyes, from distant cliff descried,[r] Shall the PACIFIC roll his ample tide. Chains thy reward! beyond the ATLANTIC wave Hung in thy chamber, buried in thy grave![s] Thy reverend form[t] to time and grief a prey, A phantom wandering in the light of day! What tho’ thy grey hairs to the dust descend, Their scent shall track thee, track thee to the end;[8] Thy sons reproach’d with their great father’s fame, And on his world inscrib’d another’s name! That world a prison-house, full of sights of woe, Where groans burst forth, and tears in torrents flow! These gardens of the sun, sacred to song, By dogs of carnage, howling loud and long,[9] Swept—till the voyager, in the desert air,[u] Starts back to hear his alter’d accents there![10] Not thine the olive, but the sword to bring, Not peace, but war! Yet from these shores shall spring Peace without end;[11] from these, with blood defil’d, Spread the pure spirit of thy Master mild! Here, in His train, shall arts and arms attend,[v] Arts to adorn, and arms but to defend. Assembling here, all nations shall be blest;[w] The sad be comforted; the weary rest: Untouch’d shall drop the fetters from the slave;[x] And He shall rule the world he died to save! Hence, and rejoice. The glorious work is done. A spark is thrown that shall eclipse the sun! And, tho’ bad men shall long thy course pursue, As erst the ravening brood o’er chaos flew,[12] He, whom I serve, shall vindicate his reign; The spoiler spoil’d of all;[y] the slayer slain;[13] The tyrant’s self, oppressing and opprest, Mid gems and gold unenvied and unblest:[14] While to the starry sphere thy name shall rise, (Not there unsung thy generous enterprise!) Thine in all hearts to dwell—by Fame enshrin’d, With those, the Few, that live but for Mankind.”
On the two last leaves, and written in another hand, are some stanzas in the romance or ballad measure of the Spaniards. The subject is an adventure soon related.
Thy lonely watch-tower, Larenille, Had lost the western sun; And loud and long from hill to hill Echoed the evening-gun, When Hernan, rising on his oar, Shot like an arrow from the shore. —“Those lights are on St. Mary’s Isle; They glimmer from the sacred pile.”[1] The waves were rough; the hour was late. But soon across the Tinto borne, Thrice he blew the signal-horn, He blew and would not wait. Home by his dangerous path he went; Leaving, in rich habiliment, Two Strangers at the Convent-gate.
They ascended by steps hewn out in the rock; and, having asked for admittance, were lodged there,
Brothers in arms the Guests appear’d; The Youngest with a Princely grace! Short and sable was his beard, Thoughtful and wan his face. His velvet cap a medal bore, And ermine fring’d his broider’d vest; And, ever sparkling on his breast, An image of St. John he wore.[2]
The Eldest had a rougher aspect, and there was craft in his eye. He stood a little behind in a long black mantle, his hand resting upon the hilt of his sword; and his white hat and white shoes glittered in the moon-shine.[3]
“Not here unwelcome, tho’ unknown. Enter and rest!” the Friar said. The moon, that thro’ the portal shone, Shone on his reverend head. Thro’ many a court and gallery dim Slowly he led, the burial-hymn Swelling from the distant choir. But now the holy men retire; The arched cloisters issuing thro’ In long long order, two and two. * * * * * When other sounds had died away, And the waves were heard alone, They enter’d, tho’ unus’d to pray, Where God was worshipp’d, night and day, And the dead knelt round in stone; They enter’d, and from aisle to aisle Wander’d with folded arms awhile, Where on his altar-tomb reclin’d[z] The crosier’d Abbot; and the Knight In harness for the Christian fight, His hands in supplication join’d;— Then said as in a solemn mood, “Now stand we where COLUMBUS stood!” * * * * * “PEREZ,[4] thou good old man,” they cried, “And art thou in thy place of rest?— Tho’ in the western world His grave,[5] [a] That other world, the gift He gave,[6] Would ye were sleeping side by side! Of all his friends He lov’d thee best.” * * * * * The supper in the chamber done, Much of a Southern Sea they spake, And of that glorious City[7] won Near the setting of the Sun, Thron’d in a silver lake; Of seven kings in chains of gold[8]— And deeds of death by tongue untold, Deeds such as breath’d in secret there Had shaken the Confession-chair!
The Eldest swore by our Lady,[9] the Youngest by his conscience;[10] while the Franciscan, sitting by in his grey habit, turned away and crossed himself again and again. “Here is a little book,” said he at last, “the work of one in his shroud below. It tells of things you have mentioned; and, were Cortes and Pizarro here, it might perhaps make them reflect for a moment.” The Youngest smiled as he took it into his hand. He read it aloud to his companion with an unfaltering voice; but, when he laid it down, a silence ensued; nor was he seen to smile again that night.[11] “The curse is heavy,” said he at parting, “but Cortes may live to disappoint it.”—“Aye, and Pizarro too!”
A circumstance, recorded by Herrera, renders this visit not improbable. ‘In May, 1528, Cortes arrived unexpectedly at Palos; and, soon after he had landed, he and Pizarro met and rejoiced; and it was remarkable that they should meet, as they were two of the most renowned men in the world.’ B. Diaz makes no mention of the interview; but, relating an occurrence that took place at this time in Palos, says, ‘that Cortes was now absent at Nuestra Senora de la Rábida.’ The Convent is within half a league of the town.
ADDITIONAL NOTES.
- - - - - venient annis Secula seris, quibus Oceanus Vincula rerum laxet, &c. SENECA in Medea, v. 374.
Which Tasso has imitated in his Giemsalemme Liberata.
Tempo verrà, chie fian d’Ercole i segui Favola vile, &c. c. xv. 30.
Dying, to-night I would fulfill my vow. Praise cannot wound his generous spirit now.
The Poem opens on Friday, the 14th of September, 1402.
Trappassa, et ecco in quel silvestre loco Sorge improvisa la città del foco. Gier. Lib, c. xiii. 33.
Gli incanti d’Ismeno, che ingannano con delusioni, altro non significano, che la falsità delle ragioni, et delle persuasioni, la qual si genera nella moltitudine, et varietà de’ pareri, et de’ discorsi humani.
At the destruction of Callao, in 1747, no more than one of all the inhabitants escaped; and he, by a providence the most extraordinary. This man was on the fort that overlooked the harbour, going to strike the flag, when he perceived the sea to retire to a considerable distance; and then, swelling mountain high, it returned with great violence. The people ran from their houses in terror and confusion; he heard a cry of Miserere rise from all parts of the city; and immediately all was silent; the sea had entirely overwhelmed it, and buried it for ever in its bosom: but the same wave that destroyed it, drove a little boat by the place where he stood, into which he threw himself and was saved. Europ. Settlements.
Undoubtedly, says Herrera, the Infernal Spirit assumed various shapes in that region of the world.
Then, inly gliding like a subtle flame, Thrice, with a cry that thrill’d the mortal frame, Call’d on the Spirit within. Disdaining flight, Calmly she rose, collecting all her might.[1] Dire was the dark encounter! Long unquell’d, Her sacred seat, sovereign and pure, she held. At length the great Foe binds her for his prize, And awful, as in death, the body lies! Not long to slumber! In an evil hour Inform’d and lifted by the unknown Power, It starts, it speaks’. “We live, we breathe no more!” &c.
Many a modern reader will exclaim in the language of Pococurantè, ‘Quelle triste extravagance!’ Let a great theologian of that day, a monk of the Augustine order, be consulted on the subject. ‘Corpus ille perimere vel jugulare potest; nec id modò, verùm et animam ita urgere, et in angustum coarctare novit, ut in momento quoque illi excedendum sit.’
What clarion winds along the yellow sands? Far in the deep the giant-fisher stand, Folding his wings of flame.