Canto IV.

But anger swell'd the haughty prophet's breast, Rage burn'd within, and robb'd his soul of rest; Such was his pride, he wish'd they all in flame Might rather perish than belie his fame, And God's own bolts the tottering towers assail, And millions perish, than his word should fail. Then to the heavens he sent this peevish prayer— (Vain, impious man, to send such pinings there): "While yet within my native land, I stay'd, "This would at last reward my toil, I said, "Destruction through the Assyrian streets to cry, "And then the event my mission falsify; "For this I strove to shun thy sight before, "And sought repose upon a foreign shore; "I knew thou wert so gracious and so kind, "Such mercy sways thy all creating mind, "Averse thy bolts of vengeance to employ, "And still relenting when you should'st destroy, "That when I had declar'd thy sacred will, "Thou would'st not what I prophesy'd fulfil, "But leave me thus to scorn, contempt, and shame, "A lying prophet, blasted in my fame— "And now, I pray thee, grant my last request, "O take my life, so wretched and unblest! "If here I stay, 'tis but to grieve and sigh; "Then take my life—'tis better far to die!" "Is it thy place to swell with rage and pride, "(Thus to his pining prophet, God reply'd) "Say is it just thy heart should burn with ire "Because yon' city is not wrapt in fire? "What if I choose its ruin to delay, "And send destruction on some future day, "Must thou, for that, with wasting anguish sigh, "And, hostile to my pleasure, wish to die?" Then Jonah parted from the mourning town, And near its eastern limits sate him down, A booth he builded with assiduous care, (Form'd of the cypress boughs that flourish'd there) And anxious now beneath their shadow lay, Waiting the issue of the fortieth day— As yet uncertain if the Power Divine Or would to mercy, or to wrath incline— Meantime the leaves that roof'd his arbour o'er, Shrunk up and faded, sheltered him no more; But God ordain'd a thrifty gourd to rise, To screen his prophet from the scorching skies; High o'er his head aspired the spreading leaf, Too fondly meant to mitigate his grief. So close a foliage o'er his head was made, That not a beam could pierce the happy shade: The wondering seer perceiv'd the branches grow And bless'd the shadow that reliev'd his woe; But when the next bright morn began to shine (So God ordain'd) a worm attack'd the vine, Beneath his bite its goodly leaves decay, And wasting, withering, die before the day! Then as the lamp of heaven still higher rose From eastern skies a sultry tempest blows, The vertic sun as fiercely pour'd his ray, And beam'd around insufferable day. How beat those beams on Jonah's fainting head! How oft he wish'd a place among the dead! All he could do, was now to grieve and sigh, His life detest, and beg of God to die. Again, Jehovah to his prophet said, "Art thou so angry for thy vanish'd shade— "For a mere shadow dost thou well to grieve, "For this poor loss would'st thou thy being leave?"— "My rage is just, (the frantic prophet cry'd), "My last, my only comfort is deny'd— "The spreading vine that form'd my leafy bower; "Behold it vanish'd in the needful hour! "To beating winds and sultry suns a prey, "My fainting spirit droops and dies away— "Give me a mansion in my native dust, "For though I die with rage, my rage is just." Once more the Almighty deign'd to make reply— "Does this lost gourd thy sorrow swell so high, "Whose friendly shade not to thy toil was due, "Alone it sprouted and alone it grew; "A night beheld its branches waving high, "And the next sun beheld those branches die; "And should not pity move the Lord of all "To spare the vast Assyrian capital, "Within whose walls uncounted myriads stray, "Their Father I, my sinful offspring they?— "Should they not move the creating mind "With six score thousand of the infant kind, "And herds untold that graze the spacious field, "For whom yon' meads their stores of fragrance yield; "Should I this royal city wrap in flame, "And slaughter millions to support thy fame, "When now repentant to their God they turn, "And their past follies, low in ashes, mourn?— "Vain, thoughtless wretch, recall thy weak request, "Death never came to man a welcome guest;— "Why wish to die—what madness prompts thy mind? "Too long the days of darkness thou shalt find; "Life was a blessing by thy Maker meant, "Dost thou despise the blessings he has lent— "Enjoy my gifts while yet the seasons run "True to their months, and social with the sun; "When to the dust my mandate bids thee fall, "All these are lost, for death conceals them all— "No more the sun illumes the sprightly day, "The seasons vanish, and the stars decay: "The trees, the flowers, no more thy sense delight, "Death shades them all in ever-during night. "Then think not long the little space I lent— "Of thy own sins, like Nineveh, repent; "Rejoice at last the mighty change to see, "And bear with them as I have borne with thee."

Sprung from a race that had long till'd the soil, And first disrobed it of its native trees, He wish'd to heir their lands, but not their toil, And thought the ploughman's life no life of ease;— "'Tis wrong (said he) these pretty hands to wound "With felling oaks, or delving in the ground: "I, who at least have forty pounds in cash "And in a country store might cut a dash, "Why should I till these barren fields (he said) "I who have learnt to cypher, write and read, "These fields that shrubs, and weeds, and brambles bear, "That pay me not, and only bring me care!" Some thoughts had he, long while, to quit the sod, In sea-port towns to try his luck in trade, But, then, their ways of living seem'd most odd— For dusty streets to leave his native shade, From grassy plats to pebbled walks removed— The more he thought of them, the less he loved: The city springs he could not drink, and still Preferr'd the fountain near some bushy hill: And yet no splendid objects there were seen, No distant hills, in gaudy colours clad, Look where you would, the prospect was but mean, Scrub oaks, and scatter'd pines, and willows sad— Banks of a shallow river, stain'd with mud; A stream, where never swell'd the tide of flood, Nor lofty ship her topsails did unlose, Nor sailor sail'd, except in long canoes. It would have puzzled Faustus, to have told, What did attach him to this paltry spot; Where even the house he heir'd was very old, And all its outworks hardly worth a groat: Yet so it was, the fancy took his brain A country shop might here some custom gain: Whiskey, he knew, would always be in vogue, While there are country squires to take a cogue, Laces and lawns would draw each rural maid, And one must have her shawl, and one her shade.—

Hard by the road a pigmy building stood, Thatch'd was its roof, and earthen were its floors; So small its size, that, in a jesting mood, It might be call'd a house turn'd out of doors— Yet here, adjacent to an aged oak, Full fifty years old dad his hams did smoke, Nor ceas'd the trade, 'till worn with years and spent, To Pluto's smoke-house he, himself, was sent. Hither our merchant turn'd his curious eye, And mused awhile upon this sable shell; "Here father smoked his hogs (he said) and why "In truth, may not our garret do as well?" So, down he took his hams and bacon flitches, Resolv'd to fill the place with other riches; From every hole and cranny brush'd the soot, And fixt up shelves throughout the crazy hut; A counter, too, most cunningly was plann'd, Behind whose breast-work none but he might stand, Excepting now and then, by special grace, Some brother merchant from some other place. Now, muster'd up his cash, and said his prayers, In Sunday suit he rigs himself for town, Two raw-boned steeds (design'd for great affairs) Are to the waggon hitch'd, old Bay and Brown; Who ne'er had been before a league from home, But now are doom'd full many a mile to roam, Like merchant-ships, a various freight to bring Of ribbons, lawns, and many a tawdry thing. Molasses too, blest sweet, was not forgot, And island Rum, that every taste delights, And teas, for maid and matron must be bought, Rosin and catgut strings for fiddling wights— But why should I his invoice here repeat? 'Twould be like counting grains in pecks of wheat. Half Europe's goods were on his invoice found, And all was to be bought with forty pound! Soon as the early dawn proclaim'd the day, He cock'd his hat with pins, and comb'd his hair: Curious it was, and laughable to see The village-merchant, mounted in his chair: Shelves, piled with lawns and linens, in his head, Coatings and stuffs, and cloths, and scarlets red— All that would suit man, woman, girl, or boy; Muslins and muslinets, jeans, grograms, corduroy. Alack! said I, he little, little dreams That all the cash he guards with studious care— His cash! the mother of a thousand schemes, Will hardly buy a load of earthen ware! But why should I excite the hidden tear By whispering truths ungrateful to his ear; Still let him travel on, with scheming pate, As disappointment never comes too late.—

Through woods obscure and rough perplexing ways, Slow and alone, he urged the clumsy wheel; Now stopping short, to let his horses graze, Now treating them with straw and Indian meal: At length a lofty steeple caught his eye, "Higher (thought he) than ever kite did fly:— But so it is, these churchmen are so proud They ever will be climbing to a cloud; Bound on a sky-blue cruise, they always rig The longest steeple, and the largest wig." Now safe arrived upon the pebbled way, Where well-born steeds the rattling coaches trail, Where shops on shops are seen—and ladies gay Walk with their curtains some, and some their veil; Where sons of art their various labors shew And one cries fish! and one cries muffins ho! Amaz'd, alike, the merchant, and his pair Of scare-crow steeds, did nothing else but stare; So new was all the scene, that, smit with awe, They grinn'd, and gaz'd, and gap'd at all they saw, And often stopp'd, to ask at every door, "Sirs, can you tell us where's the cheapest store!" "The cheapest store (a sly retailer said) "Cheaper than cheap, guid faith, I have to sell; "Here are some colour'd cloths that never fade: "No other shop can serve you half so well; "Wanting some money now, to pay my rent, "I'll sell them at a loss of ten per cent.— "Hum-hums are here—and muslins—what you please— "Bandanas, baftas, pullcats, India teas; "Improv'd by age, and now grown very old, "And given away, you may depend—not sold!" Lured by the bait the wily shopman laid, He gave his steeds their mess of straw and meal, Then gazing round the shop, thus, cautious said, "Well, if you sell so cheap, I think we'll deal; "But pray remember, 'tis for goods I'm come, "For, as to polecats, we've enough at home— "Full forty pounds I have, and that in gold "(Enough to make a trading man look bold) "Unrig your shelves, and let me take a peep; "'Tis odds I leave them bare, you sell so cheap." The city merchant stood, with lengthen'd jaws; And stared awhile, then made this short reply— "You clear my shelves! (he said)—this trunk of gauze "Is more than all your forty pounds can buy:— "On yonder board, whose burthen seems so small "That one man's pocket might contain it all, "More value lies, than you and all your race "From Adam down, could purchase or possess." Convinced, he turn'd him to another street, Where humbler shopmen from the crowd retreat; Here caught his eye coarse callicoes and crape, Pipes and tobacco, ticklenburghs and tape. Pitchers and pots, of value not so high But he might sell, and forty pounds would buy. Some jugs, some pots, some fifty ells of tape, A keg of wine, a cask of low proof rum, Bung'd close—for fear the spirit should escape That many a sot was waiting for at home; A gross of pipes, a case of home-made gin, Tea, powder, shot—small parcels he laid in; Molasses, too, for swichell[A]-loving wights, (Swichell, that wings Sangrado's boldest flights, When bursting forth the wild ideas roll, Flash'd from that farthing-candle, call'd his soul:) All these he bought, and would have purchased more, To furnish out his Lilliputian store; But cash fell short—and they who smiled while yet The cash remain'd, now took a serious fit:— No more the shop-girl could his talk endure, But, like her cat, sat sullen and demure.— The dull retailer found no more to say, But shook his head, and wish'd to sneak away, Leaving his house-dog, now, to make reply, And watch the counter with a lynx's eye.— Our merchant took the hint, and off he went, Resolv'd to sell at twenty-five per cent.

Returning far o'er many a hill and stone And much in dread his earthen ware would break, Thoughtful he rode, and uttering many a groan Lest at some worm-hole vent his cask should leak— His cask, that held the joys of rural squire Which even, 'twas said, the parson did admire, And valued more than all the dusty pages That Calvin penn'd, and fifty other sages— Once high in fame—beprais'd in verse and prose, But now unthumb'd, enjoy a sweet repose. At dusk of eve he reach'd his old abode, Around him quick his anxious townsmen came, One ask'd what luck had happ'd him on the road, And one ungear'd the mud-bespatter'd team. While on his cask each glanced a loving eye, Patient, to all he gave a brisk reply— Told all that had befallen him on his way, What wonders in the town detain'd his stay— "Houses as high as yonder white-oak tree "And boats of monstrous size that go to sea, "Streets throng'd with busy folk, like swarming hive; "The Lord knows how they all contrive to live— "No ploughs I saw, no hoes, no care, no charge, "In fact, they all are gentlemen at large, "And goods so thick on every window lie, "They all seem born to sell—and none to buy."

Alack-a-day! on life's uncertain road How many plagues, what evils must befal;— Jove has on none unmingled bliss bestow'd, But disappointment is the lot of all: Thieves rob our stores, in spite of locks and keys, Cats steal our cream, and rats infest our cheese, The gayest coat a grease-spot may assail, Or Susan pin a dish-clout to its tail,— Our village-merchant (trust me) had his share Of vile mis-haps—for now, the goods unpackt, Discover'd, what might make a deacon swear, Jugs, cream-pots, pipes, and grog-bowls sadly crackt— A general groan throughout the crowd was heard; Most pitied him, and some his ruin fear'd; Poor wight! 'twas sad to see him fret and chafe, While each enquir'd, "Sir, is the rum-cask safe?" Alas! even that some mischief had endured;— One rascal hoop had started near the chine!— Then curiously the bung-hole they explored, With stem of pipe, the leakage to define— Five gallons must be charged to loss and gain!— "—Five gallons! (cry'd the merchant, writh'd with pain) "Now may the cooper never see full flask, "But still be driving at an empty cask— "Five gallons might have mellowed down the 'squire "And made the captain strut a full inch higher; "Five gallons might have prompted many a song, "And made a frolic more than five days long: "Five gallons now are lost, and—sad to think, "That when they leak'd—no soul was there to drink!" Now, slightly treated with a proof-glass dram, Each neighbour took his leave, and went to bed, All but our merchant: he, with grief o'ercome, Revolv'd strange notions in his scheming head— "For losses such as these, (thought he) 'tis meant, "That goods are sold at twenty-five per cent: "No doubt these trading men know what is just, "'Tis twenty-five times what they cost at first!" So rigging off his shelves by light of candle, The dismal smoke-house walls began to shine: Here, stood his tea-pots—some without a handle— A broken jar—and there his keg of wine; Pipes, many a dozen, ordered in a row; Jugs, mugs, and grog-bowls—less for sale than show: The leaky cask, replenish'd from the well, Roll'd to its birth—but we no tales will tell.— Catching the eye in elegant display, All was arranged and snug, by break of day: The blue dram-bottle, on the counter plac'd, Stood, all prepared for him that buys to taste;— Sure bait! by which the man of cash is taken, As rats are caught by cheese or scraps of bacon. Now from all parts the rural people ran, With ready cash, to buy what might be bought: One went to choose a pot, and one a pan, And they that had no pence their produce brought, A hog, a calf, safe halter'd by the neck; Potatoes (Ireland's glory) many a peck; Bacon and cheese, of real value more Than India's gems, or all Potosi's ore. Some questions ask'd, the folks began to stare— No soul would purchase, pipe, or pot, or pan: Each shook his head—hung back—"Your goods so dear! "In fact (said they) the devil's in the man! "Rum ne'er shall meet my lips (cry'd honest Sam) "In shape of toddy, punch, grog, sling, or dram; "No cash of mine you'll get (said pouting Kate) "While gauze is valued at so dear a rate." Thus things dragg'd on for many a tedious day; No custom came; and nought but discontent Gloom'd through the shop.—"Well, let them have their way, (The merchant said) I'll sell at cent per cent, "By which, 'tis plain, I scarce myself can save, "For cent per cent is just the price I gave." "Now! (cry'd the squire who still had kept his pence) "Now, Sir, you reason like a man of sense! "Custom will now from every quarter come; "In joyous streams shall flow the inspiring rum, "'Till every soul in pleasing dreams be sunk, "And even our Socrates himself—is drunk!" Soon were the shelves disburthen'd of their load; In three short hours the kegs of wine ran dry— Swift from its tap even dull molasses flow'd; Each saw the rum cask wasting, with a sigh— The farce concluded, as it was foreseen— With empty shelves—long trust—and law suits keen— The woods resounding with a curse on trade,— An empty purse—sour looks—and hanging head.—

"Here lies a worthy corpse (Sangrado said) "Its debt to Commerce now, no doubt, is paid.— "Well—'twas a vile disease that kill'd it, sure, "A quick consumption, that no art could cure! "Thus shall we all, when life's vain dream is out, "Be lodg'd in corners dark, or kick'd about! "Time is the tapster of our race below, "That turns the key, and bids the juices flow: "Quitting my books, henceforth be mine the task "To moralize upon this empty cask— "Thank heaven we've had the taste—so far 'twas well; "And still, thro' mercy, may enjoy the smell!"

Well!—strange it is, that men will still apply Things to themselves, that authors never meant: Each country merchant asks me, "Is it I On whom your rhyming ridicule is spent?" Friends, hold your tongues—such myriads of your race Adorn Columbia's fertile, favour'd climes, A man might rove seven years from place to place Ere he would know the subject of my rhymes.— Perhaps in Jersey is this creature known, Perhaps New-England claims him for her own: And if from Fancy's world this wight I drew, What is the imagin'd character to you?"

Traveller Where are those famed piles of human grandeur, Those sphinxes, pyramids, and Pompey's pillar, That bid defiance to the arm of Time— Tell me, dear Genius: for I long to see them. Genius At Alexandria rises Pompey's pillar, Whose birth is but of yesterday, compar'd With those prodigious fabricks that you see O'er yonder distant plain—upon whose breast Old Nile hath never roll'd his swelling streams, The only plain so privileg'd in Egypt. These pyramids may well excite your wonder, They are of most remote antiquity, Almost co-eval with those cloud-crown'd hills That westward from them rise—'twas the same age That saw old Babel's tower aspiring high, When first the sage Egyptian architects These ancient turrets to the heavens rais'd;— But Babel's tower is gone, and these remain! Traveller Old Rome I thought unrivall'd in her years, At least the remnants that we find of Rome, But these, you tell me, are of older date. Genius Talk not of Rome!—before they lopt a bush From the seven hills where Rome, earth's empress, stood, These pyramids were old—their birth day is Beyond tradition's reach, or history. Traveller Then let us haste toward those piles of wonder That scorn to bend beneath this weight of years— Lo! to my view, the aweful mansions rise The pride of art, the sleeping place of death! Are these the four prodigious monuments That so astonish every generation— Let us examine this, the first and greatest— A secret horror chills my breast, dear Genius, To touch these monuments that are so ancient, The fearful property of ghosts and death!— Yet of such mighty bulk that I presume A race of giants were the architects.— Since these proud fabricks to the heavens were rais'd How many generations have decay'd, How many monarchies to ruin pass'd! How many empires had their rise and fall! While these remain—and promise to remain As long as yonder sun shall gild their summits, Or moon or stars their wonted circles run. Genius The time will come When these stupendous piles you deem immortal, Worn out with age, shall moulder on their bases, And down, down, low to endless ruin verging, O'erwhelm'd by dust, be seen and known no more!— Ages ago, in dark oblivion's lap Had they been shrouded, but the atmosphere In these parch'd climates, hostile to decay, Is pregnant with no rain, that by its moisture Might waste their bulk in such excess of time, And prove them merely mortal. 'Twas on this plain the ancient Memphis stood, Her walls encircled these tall pyramids— But where is Pharoah's palace, where the domes Of Egypt's haughty lords?—all, all are gone, And like the phantom snows of a May morning Left not a vestige to discover them! Traveller How shall I reach the vortex of this pile— How shall I clamber up its shelving sides? I scarce endure to glance toward the summit, It seems among the clouds—When was't thou rais'd, O work of more than mortal majesty— Was this produc'd by persevering man, Or did the gods erect this pyramid? Genius Nor gods, nor giants rais'd this pyramid— It was the toil of mortals like yourself That swell'd it to the skies— See'st thou yon' little door? Through that they pass'd, Who rais'd so high this aggregate of wonders! What cannot tyrants do, When they have subject nations at their will, And the world's wealth to gratify ambition! Millions of slaves beneath their labours fainted Who here were doom'd to toil incessantly, And years elaps'd while groaning myriads strove To raise this mighty tomb—and but to hide The worthless bones of an Egyptian king.— O wretch, could not a humbler tomb have done, Could nothing but a pyramid inter thee! Traveller Perhaps old Jacob's race, when here oppress'd, Rais'd, in their years of bondage this dread pile. Genius Before the Jewish patriarchs saw the light, While yet the globe was in its infancy These were erected to the pride of man— Four thousand years have run their tedious round Since these smooth stones were on each other laid, Four thousand more may run as dull a round Ere Egypt sees her pyramids decay'd. Traveller But suffer me to enter, and behold The interior wonders of this edifice. Genius 'Tis darkness all, with hateful silence join'd— Here drowsy bats enjoy a dull repose, And marble coffins, vacant of their bones, Show where the royal dead in ruin lay! By every pyramid a temple rose Where oft in concert those of ancient time Sung to their goddess Isis hymns of praise; But these are fallen!—their columns too superb Are levell'd with the dust—nor these alone— Where is thy vocal statue, Memnon, now, That once, responsive to the morning beams, Harmoniously to father Phœbus sung! Where is the image that in past time stood High on the summit of yon' pyramid?— Still may you see its polish'd pedestal— Where art thou ancient Thebes?——all bury'd low, All vanish'd! crumbled into mother dust, And nothing of antiquity remains But these huge pyramids, and yonder hills. Time Old Babel's tower hath felt my potent arm I ruin'd Ecbatan and Babylon, Thy huge Colossus, Rhodes, I tumbled down, And on these pyramids I smote my scythe; But they resist its edge—then let them stand. But I can boast a greater feat than this, I long ago have shrouded those in death Who made those structures rebels to my power— But, O return!—These piles are not immortal! This earth, with all its balls of hills and mountains, Shall perish by my hand—then how can these, These hoary headed pyramids of Egypt, That are but dwindled warts upon her body, That on a little, little spot of ground Extinguish the dull radiance of the sun, Be proof to Death and me?——Traveller return— There's nought but God immortal——He alone Exists secure, when Man, and Death, and Time, (Time not immortal, but a fancied point In the vast circle of eternity) Are swallow'd up, and, like the pyramids, Leave not an atom for their monument!

Sappho No more I sing by yonder shaded stream, Where once intranc'd I fondly pass'd the day, Supremely blest, when Phaon was my theme, But wretched now, when Phaon is away! Of all the youths that grac'd our Lesbian isle He, only he, my heart propitious found, So soft his language, and so sweet his smile, Heaven was my own when Phaon clasp'd me round! But soon, too soon, the faithless lover fled To wander on some distant barbarous shore— Who knows if Phaon is alive or dead, Or wretched Sappho shall behold him more. Ismenius As late in fair Sicilia's groves I stray'd, Charm'd with the beauties of the vernal scene I sate me down amid the yew tree's shade, Flowers blooming round, with herbage fresh and green. Not distant far a monument arose Among the trees and form'd of Parian stone, And, as if there some stranger did repose, It stood neglected, and it stood alone. Along its sides dependent ivy crept, The cypress bough, Plutonian green, was near, A sculptur'd Venus on the summit wept, A pensive Cupid dropt the parting tear. Strains deep engrav'd on every side I read, How Phaon died upon that foreign shore— Sappho, I think your Phaon must be dead, Then hear the strains that do his fate deplore: Thou swain that lov'st the morning air, To those embowering trees repair, Forsake thy sleep at early dawn. And of this landscape to grow fonder, Still, O still persist to wander Up and down the flowery lawn; And as you there enraptur'd rove From hill to hill, from grove to grove, Pensive now and quite alone, Cast thine eye upon this stone, Read its melancholy moan; And if you can refuse a tear To the youth that slumbers here, Whom the Lesbians held so dear, Nature calls thee not her own. Echo, hasten to my aid! Tell the woods and tell the waves, Tell the far off mountain caves (Wrapt in solitary shade); Tell them in high tragic numbers, That beneath this marble tomb, Shrouded in unceasing gloom Phaon, youthful Phaon, slumbers, By Sicilian swains deplor'd— That a narrow urn restrains Him who charm'd our pleasing plains, Him, whom every nymph ador'd. Tell the woods and tell the waves, Tell the mossy mountain caves, Tell them, if none will hear beside, How our lovely Phaon died. In that season when the sun Bids his glowing charioteer Phœbus, native of the sphere, High the burning zenith run; Then our much lamented swain, O'er the sunny, scorched plain, Hunting with a chosen train, Slew the monsters of the waste From those gloomy caverns chac'd Round stupendous Etna plac'd.— Conquer'd by the solar beam At last he came to yonder stream; Panting, thirsting there he lay On this fatal summer's day, While his locks of raven jett Were on his temples dripping wet; The gentle stream ran purling by O'er the pebbles, pleasantly, Tempting him to drink and die— He drank indeed—but never thought Death was in the gelid draught!— Soon it chill'd his boiling veins, Soon this glory of the plains Left the nymphs and left the swains, And has fled with all his charms Where the Stygian monarch reigns, Where no sun the climate warms!— Dread Pluto then, as once before, Pass'd Avernus' waters o'er; Left the dark and dismal shore, And strait enamour'd, as he gloomy stood, Seiz'd Phaon by the waters of the wood. Now o'er the silent plain We for our much lov'd Phaon call again, And Phaon! Phaon! ring the woods amain— From beneath this myrtle tree, Musidora, wretched maid, How shall Phaon answer thee, Deep in vaulted caverns laid!— Thrice the myrtle tree hath bloom'd Since our Phaon was entomb'd, I, who had his heart, below, I have rais'd this turret high, A monument of love and woe That Phaon's name may never die.— With deepest grief, O muse divine, Around his tomb thy laurels twine And shed thy sorrow, for to morrow Thou, perhaps, shalt cease to glow— My hopes are crost, my lover lost, And I must weeping o'er the mountains go! Sappho Ah, faithless Phaon, thus from me to rove, And bless my rival in a foreign grove! Could Sicily more charming forests show Than those that in thy native Lesbos grow— Did fairer fruits adorn the bending tree Than those that Lesbos did present to thee! Or didst thou find through all the changing fair One beauty that with Sappho could compare! So soft, so sweet, so charming and so kind, A face so fair, such beauties of the mind— Not Musidora can be rank'd with me Who sings so well thy funeral song for thee!—[34] I'll go!—and from the high Leucadian steep Take my last farewell in the lover's leap, I charge thee, Phaon, by this deed of woe To meet me in the Elysian shades below, No rival beauty shall pretend a share, Sappho alone shall walk with Phaon there. She spoke, and downward from the mountain's height Plung'd in the plashy wave to everlasting night.

Wakeful, vagrant, restless thing, Ever wandering on the wing, Who thy wondrous source can find, Fancy, regent of the mind; A spark from Jove's resplendent throne, But thy nature all unknown. This spark of bright, celestial flame, From Jove's seraphic altar came, And hence alone in man we trace, Resemblance to the immortal race. Ah! what is all this mighty whole, These suns and stars that round us roll! What are they all, where'er they shine, But Fancies of the Power Divine! What is this globe, these lands, and seas, And heat, and cold, and flowers, and trees, And life, and death, and beast, and man, And time—that with the sun began— But thoughts on reason's scale combin'd, Ideas of the Almighty mind! On the surface of the brain Night after night she walks unseen, Noble fabrics doth she raise In the woods or on the seas, On some high, steep, pointed rock, Where the billows loudly knock And the dreary tempests sweep Clouds along the uncivil deep. Lo! she walks upon the moon, Listens to the chimy tune Of the bright, harmonious spheres, And the song of angels hears; Sees this earth a distant star,[A] Pendant, floating in the air; Leads me to some lonely dome, Where Religion loves to come, Where the bride of Jesus dwells, And the deep ton'd organ swells In notes with lofty anthems join'd, Notes that half distract the mind. Now like lightning she descends To the prison of the fiends, Hears the rattling of their chains, Feels their never ceasing pains— But, O never may she tell Half the frightfulness of hell. Now she views Arcadian rocks, Where the shepherds guard their flocks, And, while yet her wings she spreads, Sees chrystal streams and coral beds, Wanders to some desert deep, Or some dark, enchanted steep, By the full moonlight doth shew Forests of a dusky blue, Where, upon some mossy bed, Innocence reclines her head. Swift, she stretches o'er the seas To the far off Hebrides, Canvas on the lofty mast Could not travel half so fast— Swifter than the eagle's flight Or instantaneous rays of light! Lo! contemplative she stands On Norwegia's rocky lands— Fickle Goddess, set me down Where the rugged winters frown Upon Orca's howling steep, Nodding o'er the northern deep, Where the winds tumultuous roar, Vext that Ossian sings no more. Fancy, to that land repair, Sweetest Ossian slumbers there; Waft me far to southern isles Where the soften'd winter smiles, To Bermuda's orange shades, Or Demarara's lovely glades; Bear me o'er the sounding cape, Painting death in every shape, Where daring Anson spread the sail Shatter'd by the stormy gale— Lo! she leads me wide and far, Sense can never follow her— Shape thy course o'er land and sea, Help me to keep pace with thee, Lead me to yon' chalky cliff, Over rock and over reef, Into Britain's fertile land, Stretching far her proud command. Look back and view, thro' many a year, Cæsar, Julius Cæsar, there. Now to Tempe's verdant wood, Over the mid-ocean flood Lo! the islands of the sea— Sappho, Lesbos mourns for thee: Greece, arouse thy humbled head, Where are all thy mighty dead, Who states to endless ruin hurl'd And carried vengeance through the world?— Troy, thy vanish'd pomp resume, Or, weeping at thy Hector's tomb, Yet those faded scenes renew, Whose memory is to Homer due. Fancy, lead me wandering still Up to Ida's cloud-topt hill; Not a laurel there doth grow But in vision thou shalt show,— Every sprig on Virgil's tomb Shall in livelier colours bloom, And every triumph Rome has seen Flourish on the years between. Now she bears me far away In the east to meet the day, Leads me over Ganges' streams, Mother of the morning beams— O'er the ocean hath she ran, Places me on Tinian; Farther, farther in the east, Till it almost meets the west, Let us wandering both be lost On Taitis sea-beat coast, Bear me from that distant strand, Over ocean, over land, To California's golden shore— Fancy, stop, and rove no more. Now, tho' late, returning home, Lead me to Belinda's tomb; Let me glide as well as you Through the shroud and coffin too, And behold, a moment, there, All that once was good and fair— Who doth here so soundly sleep? Shall we break this prison deep?— Thunders cannot wake the maid, Lightnings cannot pierce the shade, And tho' wintry tempests roar, Tempests shall disturb no more. Yet must those eyes in darkness stay, That once were rivals to the day?— Like heaven's bright lamp beneath the main They are but set to rise again. Fancy, thou the muses' pride, In thy painted realms reside Endless images of things, Fluttering each on golden wings, Ideal objects, such a store, The universe could hold no more: Fancy, to thy power I owe Half my happiness below; By thee Elysian groves were made, Thine were the notes that Orpheus play'd; By thee was Pluto charm'd so well While rapture seiz'd the sons of hell— Come, O come—perceiv'd by none, You and I will walk alone.

Sad monarch of the world below, Stern guardian of this drowsy shade, Through these unlovely realms I go To seek a captive thou hast made. O'er Stygian waters have I pass'd, Contemning Jove's severe decree, And reached thy sable court at last To find my lost Eurydicè. Of all the nymphs so deckt and drest Like Venus of the starry train, She was the loveliest and the best, The pride and glory of the plain. O free from thy despotic sway This nymph of heaven-descended charms, Too soon she came this dusky way— Restore thy captive to my arms! As by a stream's fair verdant side In myrtle shades she roved along, A serpent stung my blooming bride, This brightest of the female throng— The venom hastening thro' her veins Forbade the freezing blood to flow. And thus she left the Thracian plains For these dejected groves below. Even thou may'st pity my sad pain, Since Love, as ancient stories say, Forced thee to leave thy native reign, And in Sicilian meadows stray: Bright Proserpine thy bosom fired, For her you sought unwelcome light, Madness and love in you conspired To seize her to the shades of night. But if, averse to my request, The banished nymph, for whom I mourn, Must in Plutonian chambers rest, And never to my arms return—— Take Orpheus too—his warm desire Can ne'er be quench'd by your decree: In life or death he must admire, He must adore Eurydicè!

This antique dome the insatiate tooth of time Now level with the dust has almost laid;— Yet ere 'tis gone, I seize my humble theme From these low ruins, that his years have made. Behold the unsocial hearth!—where once the fires Blazed high, and soothed the storm-stay'd traveller's woes; See! the weak roof, that abler props requires, Admits the winds, and swift descending snows. Here, to forget the labours of the day, No more the swains at evening hours repair, But wandering flocks assume the well known way To shun the rigours of the midnight air. In yonder chamber, half to ruin gone, Once stood the ancient housewife's curtained bed— Timely the prudent matron has withdrawn, And each domestic comfort with her fled. The trees, the flowers that her own hands had reared, The plants, the vines, that were so verdant seen,— The trees, the flowers, the vines have disappear'd, And every plant has vanish'd from the green. So sits in tears on wide Campania's plain Rome, once the mistress of a world enslaved; That triumph'd o'er the land, subdued the main, And Time himself, in her wild transports, braved. So sits in tears on Palestina's shore The Hebrew town, of splendour once divine— Her kings, her lords, her triumphs are no more; Slain are her priests, and ruin'd every shrine. Once, in the bounds of this deserted room, Perhaps some swain nocturnal courtship made, Perhaps some Sherlock mused amidst the gloom; Since Love and Death forever seek the shade. Perhaps some miser, doom'd to discontent, Here counted o'er the heaps acquired with pain; He to the dust—his gold, on traffick sent, Shall ne'er disgrace these mouldering walls again. Nor shall the glow-worm fopling, sunshine bred, Seek, at the evening hour this wonted dome— Time has reduced the fabrick to a shed, Scarce fit to be the wandering beggar's home. And none but I its dismal case lament— None, none but I o'er its cold relics mourn, Sent by the muse—(the time perhaps misspent)— To write dull stanzas on this dome forlorn.

"Far be the dull and heavy day "And toil, and restless care, from me— "Sorrow attends on loads of gold, "And kings are wretched, I am told. "Soon from the noisy town removed "To such wild scenes as Plato[38] lov'd, "Where, placed the leafless oaks between, "Less haughty grows the wintergreen, "There, Night, will I (lock'd in thy arms, "Sweet goddess of the sable charms) "Enjoy the dear, delightful dreams "That fancy prompts by shallow[39] streams, "Where wood nymphs walk their evening round, "And fairies haunt the moonlight ground. "Beneath some mountain's towering height "In cottage low I hail the night, "Where jovial swains with heart sincere "Welcome the new returning year;— "Each tells a tale or chaunts a song "Of her, for whom he sigh'd so long, "Of Cynthia[40] fair, or Delia coy, "Neglecting still her love-sick boy— "While, near, the hoary headed sage "Recalls the feats of youth's gay age, "All that in past time e'er was seen, "And many a frolic on the green, "How champion he with champions met, "And fiercely they did combat it— "Or how, full oft, with horn and hound "They chaced the deer the forest round— "The panting deer as swiftly flies, "Yet by the well-aimed musquet dies! "Thus pass the evening hours away, "Unnoticed dies the parting day; "Unmeasured flows that happy juice, "Which mild October did produce, "No surly sage, too frugal found, "No niggard housewife deals it round: "And deep they quaff the inspiring bowl "That kindles gladness in the soul.—[41] "But now the moon, exalted high, "Adds lustre to the earth and sky, "And in the mighty ocean's glass "Admires the beauties of her face— "About her orb you may behold "The circling stars that freeze with cold— "But they in brighter seasons please, "Winter can find no charms in these, "While less ambitious, we admire, "And more esteem domestic fire. "O could I there a mansion find "Suited exactly to my mind "Near that industrious, heavenly train "Of rustics honest, neat, and plain; "The days, the weeks, the years to pass "With some good-natured, longing lass, "With her the cooling spring to sip, "And seize, at will, her damask lip; "The groves, the springs, the shades divine, "And all Arcadia should be mine! "Steep me, steep me, some poppies deep "In beechen bowl, to bring on sleep; "Love hath my soul in fetters bound, "Through the dull night no sleep I found;— "O gentle sleep! bestow thy dreams "Of fields, and woods, and murmuring streams, "Dark, tufted groves, and grottoes rare, "And Flora, charming Flora, there. "Dull Commerce, hence, with all thy train "Of debts, and dues, and loss, and gain; "To hills, and groves, and purling streams, "To nights of ease, and heaven-born dreams, "While wiser Damon hastes away, "Should I in this dull city stay, "Condemn'd to death by slow decays "And care that clouds my brightest days? "No—by Silenus' self I swear, "In rustic shades I'll kill that care." So spoke Lysander, and in haste His clerks discharg'd, his goods re-cased, And to the western forests flew With fifty airy schemes in view; His ships were set to public sale— But what did all this change avail?— In three short months, sick of the heavenly train, In three short months—he moved to town again.

Sweet, lovely Elm, who here dost grow Companion of unsocial care, Lo! thy dejected branches die Amidst this torrid air— Smit by the sun or blasting moon, Like fainting flowers, their verdure gone. Thy withering leaves, that drooping hang, Presage thine end approaching nigh; And lo! thy amber tears distill, Attended with that parting sigh— O charming tree! no more decline, But be thy shades and love-sick whispers mine. Forbear to die—this weeping eye Shall shed her little drops on you, Shall o'er thy sad disaster grieve, And wash thy wounds with pearly dew, Shall pity you, and pity me, And heal the languor of my tree! Short is thy life, if thou so soon must fade, Like angry Jonah's gourd at Nineveh, That, in a night, its bloomy branches spread, And perish'd with the day.— Come, then, revive, sweet lovely Elm, lest I, Thro' vehemence of heat, like Jonah, wish to die.

Illustrious monarch of Iberia's soil, Too long I wait permission to depart; Sick of delays, I beg thy list'ning ear— Shine forth the patron and the prince of art. While yet Columbus breathes the vital air, Grant his request to pass the western main: Reserve this glory for thy native soil, And what must please thee more—for thy own reign. Of this huge globe, how small a part we know— Does heaven their worlds to western suns deny?— How disproportion'd to the mighty deep The lands that yet in human prospect lie! Does Cynthia, when to western skies arriv'd, Spend her sweet beam upon the barren main, And ne'er illume with midnight splendor, she, The natives dancing on the lightsome green?— Should the vast circuit of the world contain Such wastes of ocean, and such scanty land?— 'Tis reason's voice that bids me think not so, I think more nobly of the Almighty hand. Does yon' fair lamp trace half the circle round To light the waves and monsters of the seas?— No—be there must beyond the billowy waste Islands, and men, and animals, and trees. An unremitting flame my breast inspires To seek new lands amidst the barren waves, Where falling low, the source of day descends, And the blue sea his evening visage laves. Hear, in his tragic lay, Cordova's sage:[A] "The time shall come, when numerous years are past, "The ocean shall dissolve the bands of things, "And an extended region rise at last;

"And Typhis shall disclose the mighty land "Far, far away, where none have rov'd before; "Nor shall the world's remotest region be "Gibraltar's rock, or Thule's[B] savage shore."[44]

Fir'd at the theme, I languish to depart, Supply the barque, and bid Columbus sail, He fears no storms upon the untravell'd deep; Reason shall steer, and skill disarm the gale. Nor does he dread to lose the intended course, Though far from land the reeling galley stray, And skies above, and gulphy seas below Be the sole objects seen for many a day. Think not that Nature has unveil'd in vain The mystic magnet to the mortal eye: So late have we the guiding needle plann'd Only to sail beneath our native sky? Ere this was found, the ruling power of all Found for our use an ocean in the land, Its breadth so small we could not wander long, Nor long be absent from the neighbouring strand. Short was the course, and guided by the stars, But stars no more shall point our daring way; The Bear shall sink, and every guard be drown'd, And great Arcturus scarce escape the sea, When southward we shall steer—O grant my wish. Supply the barque, and bid Columbus sail, He dreads no tempests on the untravell'd deep, Reason shall steer, and shall disarm the gale.

Acasto Now shall the adventurous muse attempt a theme More new, more noble and more flush of fame Than all that went before— Now through the veil of ancient days renew The period famed when first Columbus touched5 These shores so long unknown—through various toils, Famine, and death, the hero forced his way, Through oceans pregnant with perpetual storms, And climates hostile to adventurous man. But why, to prompt your tears, should we resume,10 The tale of Cortez, furious chief, ordained With Indian blood to dye the sands, and choak, Famed Mexico, thy streams with dead? or why Once more revive the tale so oft rehearsed Of Atabilipa, by thirst of gold,15 (Too conquering motive in the human breast,) Deprived of life, which not Peru's rich ore Nor Mexico's vast mines could then redeem? Better these northern realms demand our song, Designed by nature for the rural reign,20 For agriculture's toil.—No blood we shed For metals buried in a rocky waste.— Cursed be that ore, which brutal makes our race And prompts mankind to shed their kindred blood. Eugenio But whence arose25 That vagrant race who love the shady vale, And choose the forest for their dark abode?— For long has this perplext the sages' skill To investigate.—Tradition lends no aid To unveil this secret to the human eye,30 When first these various nations, north and south, Possest these shores, or from what countries came; Whether they sprang from some primæval head In their own lands, like Adam in the east,— Yet this the sacred oracles deny,35 And reason, too, reclaims against the thought: For when the general deluge drowned the world Where could their tribes have found security, Where find their fate, but in the ghastly deep?— Unless, as others dream, some chosen few40 High on the Andes 'scaped the general death, High on the Andes, wrapt in endless snow, Where winter in his wildest fury reigns, And subtile æther scarce our life maintains. But here philosophers oppose the scheme:45 This earth, say they, nor hills nor mountains knew Ere yet the universal flood prevailed; But when the mighty waters rose aloft, Roused by the winds, they shook their solid base, And, in convulsions, tore the deluged world,50 'Till by the winds assuaged, again they fell, And all their ragged bed exposed to view. Perhaps far wandering toward the northern pole The streights of Zembla, and the frozen zone, And where the eastern Greenland almost joins55 America's north point, the hardy tribes Of banished Jews, Siberians, Tartars wild Came over icy mountains, or on floats, First reached these coasts, hid from the world beside.— And yet another argument more strange,60 Reserved for men of deeper thought, and late, Presents itself to view:—In Peleg's days, (So says the Hebrew seer's unerring pen) This mighty mass of earth, this solid globe, Was cleft in twain,—"divided" east and west,65 While then perhaps the deep Atlantic roll'd,— Through the vast chasm, and laved the solid world; And traces indisputable remain Of this primæval land now sunk and lost.— The islands rising in our eastern main70 Are but small fragments of this continent, Whose two extremities were Newfoundland And St. Helena.—One far in the north, Where shivering seamen view with strange surprize The guiding pole-star glittering o'er their heads;75 The other near the southern tropic rears Its head above the waves—Bermuda's isles, Cape Verd, Canary, Britain, and the Azores, With fam'd Hibernia, are but broken parts Of some prodigious waste, which once sustain'd80 Nations and tribes, of vanished memory, Forests and towns, and beasts of every class, Where navies now explore their briny way. Leander Your sophistry, Eugenio, makes me smile; The roving mind of man delights to dwell85 On hidden things, merely because they're hid: He thinks his knowledge far beyond all limit, And boldly fathoms Nature's darkest haunts;— But for uncertainties, your broken isles, Your northern Tartars, and your wandering Jews,90 (The flimsy cobwebs of a sophist's brain) Hear what the voice of history proclaims:— The Carthagenians, ere the Roman yoke Broke their proud spirits, and enslaved them too, For navigation were renowned as much95 As haughty Tyre with all her hundred fleets. Full many a league their venturous seamen sailed Through streight Gibraltar, down the western shore Of Africa, to the Canary isles: By them called Fortunate; so Flaccus sings.100 Because eternal spring there clothes the fields And fruits delicious bloom throughout the year.— From voyaging here, this inference I draw, Perhaps some barque with all her numerous crew Falling to leeward of her destined port,105 Caught by the eastern Trade, was hurried on Before the unceasing blast to Indian isles, Brazil, La Plata, or the coasts more south— There stranded, and unable to return, Forever from their native skies estranged.110 Doubtless they made these virgin climes their own, And in the course of long revolving years A numerous progeny from these arose, And spread throughout the coasts—those whom we call Brazilians, Mexicans, Peruvians rich,115 The tribes of Chili, Patagon, and those Who till the shores of Amazon's long stream.— When first the power of Europe here attained, Vast empires, kingdoms, cities, palaces And polished nations stock'd the fertile land.120 Who has not heard of Cusco, Lima, and The town of Mexico—huge cities form'd From Indian architecture; ere the arms Of haughty Spain disturb'd the peaceful soil?— But here, amid this northern dark domain,125 No towns were seen to rise.—No arts were here; The tribes unskill'd to raise the lofty mast, Or force the daring prow thro' adverse waves, Gazed on the pregnant soil, and craved alone Life from the unaided genius of the ground,—130 This indicates they were a different race; From whom descended, 'tis not ours to say— That power, no doubt, who furnish'd trees, and plants, And animals to this vast continent, Spoke into being man among the rest,—135 But what a change is here!—what arts arise! What towns and capitals! how commerce waves Her gaudy flags, where silence reign'd before! Acasto Speak, learned Eugenio, for I've heard you tell The dismal story, and the cause that brought140 The first adventurers to these western shores! The glorious cause that urged our fathers first To visit climes unknown, and wilder woods Than e'er Tartarian or Norwegian saw, And with fair culture to adorn a soil145 That never felt the industrious swain before. Eugenio All this long story to rehearse, would tire; Besides, the sun towards the west retreats, Nor can the noblest theme retard his speed, Nor loftiest verse—not that which sang the fall150 Of Troy divine, and fierce Achilles' ire.— Yet hear a part:—By persecution wronged And sacerdotal rage, our fathers came From Europe's hostile shores to these abodes, Here to enjoy a liberty in faith,155 Secure from tyranny and base controul. For this they left their country and their friends, And plough'd the Atlantic wave in quest of peace; And found new shores, and sylvan settlements, And men, alike unknowing and unknown.160 Hence, by the care of each adventurous chief New governments (their wealth unenvied yet) Were form'd on liberty and virtue's plan. These searching out uncultivated tracts Conceived new plans of towns, and capitals,165 And spacious provinces.—Why should I name Thee, Penn, the Solon of our western lands; Sagacious legislator, whom the world Admires, long dead: an infant colony, Nursed by thy care, now rises o'er the rest170 Like that tall pyramid in Egypt's waste O'er all the neighbouring piles, they also great. Why should I name those heroes so well known, Who peopled all the rest from Canada To Georgia's farthest coasts, West Florida,175 Or Apalachian mountains?—Yet what streams Of blood were shed! what Indian hosts were slain, Before the days of peace were quite restored! Leander Yes, while they overturn'd the rugged soil And swept the forests from the shaded plain180 'Midst dangers, foes, and death, fierce Indian tribes With vengeful malice arm'd, and black design, Oft murdered, or dispersed, these colonies— Encouraged, too, by Gallia's hostile sons, A warlike race, who late their arms display'd,185 At Quebec, Montreal, and farthest coasts Of Labrador, or Cape Breton, where now The British standard awes the subject host. Here, those brave chiefs, who, lavish of their blood, Fought in Britannia's cause, in battle fell!—190 What heart but mourns the untimely fate of Wolfe, Who, dying, conquered!—or what breast but beats To share a fate like his, and die like him! Acasto But why alone commemorate the dead, And pass those glorious heroes by, who yet195 Breathe the same air, and see the light with us?— The dead, Leander, are but empty names, And they who fall to-day the same to us As they who fell ten centuries ago!— Lost are they all that shined on earth before;200 Rome's boldest champions in the dust are laid, Ajax and great Achilles are no more, And Philip's warlike son, an empty shade!— A Washington among our sons of fame Will rise conspicuous as the morning star205 Among the inferior lights:— To distant wilds Virginia sent him forth— With her brave sons he gallantly opposed The bold invaders of his country's rights, Where wild Ohio pours the mazy flood,210 And mighty meadows skirt his subject streams.— But now delighting in his elm tree's shade, Where deep Potowmac laves the enchanting shore, He prunes the tender vine, or bids the soil Luxuriant harvests to the sun display.—215 Behold a different scene—not thus employed Were Cortez, and Pizarro, pride of Spain, Whom blood and murder only satisfied, And all to glut their avarice and ambition!— Eugenio Such is the curse, Acasto, where the soul220 Humane is wanting—but we boast no feats Of cruelty like Europe's murdering breed:— Our milder epithet is merciful, And each American, true hearted, learns To conquer, and to spare; for coward souls225 Alone seek vengeance on a vanquished foe. Gold, fatal gold, was the alluring bait To Spain's rapacious tribes—hence rose the wars From Chili to the Caribbean sea, And Montezuma's Mexican domains:230 More blest are we, with whose unenvied soil Nature decreed no mingling gold to shine, No flaming diamond, precious emerald, No blushing sapphire, ruby, chrysolite, Or jasper red—more noble riches flow235 From agriculture, and the industrious swain, Who tills the fertile vale, or mountain's brow. Content to lead a safe, a humble life, Among his native hills, romantic shades Such as the muse of Greece of old did feign,240 Allured the Olympian gods from chrystal skies, Envying such lovely scenes to mortal man. Leander Long has the rural life been justly fam'd, And bards of old their pleasing pictures drew Of flowery meads, and groves, and gliding streams:245 Hence, old Arcadia—wood-nymphs, satyrs, fauns; And hence Elysium, fancied heaven below!— Fair agriculture, not unworthy kings, Once exercised the royal hand, or those Whose virtues raised them to the rank of gods.250 See old Laertes in his shepherd weeds Far from his pompous throne and court august, Digging the grateful soil, where round him rise, Sons of the earth, the tall aspiring oaks, Or orchards, boasting of more fertile boughs,255 Laden with apples red, sweet scented peach, Pear, cherry, apricot, or spungy plumb; While through the glebe the industrious oxen draw The earth-inverting plough.—Those Romans too, Fabricius and Camillus, loved a life260 Of neat simplicity and rustic bliss, And from the noisy Forum hastening far, From busy camps, and sycophants, and crowns, 'Midst woods and fields spent the remains of life, Where full enjoyment still awaits the wise.265 How grateful, to behold the harvests rise, And mighty crops adorn the extended plains!— Fair plenty smiles throughout, while lowing herds Stalk o'er the shrubby hill or grassy mead, Or at some shallow river slake their thirst.—270 The inclosure, now, succeeds the shepherd's care, Yet milk-white flocks adorn the well stock'd farm, And court the attention of the industrious swain.— Their fleece rewards him well, and when the winds Blow with a keener blast, and from the north275 Pour mingled tempests through a sunless sky (Ice, sleet, and rattling hail) secure he sits Warm in his cottage, fearless of the storm, Enjoying now the toils of milder moons, Yet hoping for the spring.—Such are the joys,280 And such the toils of those whom heaven hath bless'd With souls enamoured of a country life. Acasto Such are the visions of the rustic reign— But this alone, the fountain of support, Would scarce employ the varying mind of man;285 Each seeks employ, and each a different way: Strip Commerce of her sail, and men once more Would be converted into savages;— No nation e'er grew social and refined 'Till Commerce first had wing'd the adventurous prow,290 Or sent the slow-paced caravan, afar, To waft their produce to some other clime, And bring the wished exchange—thus came, of old, Golconda's golden ore, and thus the wealth Of Ophir, to the wisest of mankind.295 Eugenio Great is the praise of Commerce, and the men Deserve our praise, who spread the undaunted sail, And traverse every sea—their dangers great, Death still to combat in the unfeeling gale, And every billow but a gaping grave:—300 There, skies and waters, wearying on the eye, For weeks and months no other prospect yield But barren wastes, unfathomed depths, where not The blissful haunt of human form is seen To cheer the unsocial horrors of the way.—305 Yet all these bold designs to Science owe Their rise and glory.—Hail, fair Science! thou, Transplanted from the eastern skies, dost bloom In these blest regions.—Greece and Rome no more Detain the Muses on Citheron's brow,310 Or old Olympus, crowned with waving woods, Or Hæmus' top, where once was heard the harp, Sweet Orpheus' harp, that gained his cause below, And pierced the souls of Orcus and his bride; That hush'd to silence by its voice divine315 Thy melancholy waters, and the gales O Hebrus! that o'er thy sad surface blow.— No more the maids round Alpheus' waters stray, Where he with Arethusa's stream doth mix, Or where swift Tiber disembogues his waves320 Into the Italian sea, so long unsung; Hither they wing their way, the last, the best Of countries, where the arts shall rise and grow, And arms shall have their day;—even now we boast A Franklin, prince of all philosophy,325 A genius piercing as the electric fire, Bright as the lightning's flash, explained so well, By him, the rival of Britannia's sage.— This is the land of every joyous sound, Of liberty and life, sweet liberty!330 Without whose aid the noblest genius fails, And Science irretrievably must die. Leander But come, Eugenio, since we know the past— What hinders to pervade with searching eye The mystic scenes of dark futurity?335 Say, shall we ask what empires yet must rise, What kingdoms, powers and states, where now are seen Mere dreary wastes and awful solitude, Where Melancholy sits, with eye forlorn, And time anticipates, when we shall spread340 Dominion from the north, and south, and west, Far from the Atlantic to Pacific shores, And people half the convex of the main!— A glorious theme!—but how shall mortals dare To pierce the dark events of future years345 And scenes unravel, only known to fate? Acasto This might we do, if warmed by that bright coal Snatch'd from the altar of cherubic fire Which touched Isaiah's lips—or if the spirit Of Jeremy and Amos, prophets old,350 Might swell the heaving breast—I see, I see Freedom's established reign; cities, and men, Numerous as sands upon the ocean shore, And empires rising where the sun descends!— The Ohio soon shall glide by many a town355 Of note; and where the Mississippi stream, By forests shaded, now runs weeping on, Nations shall grow, and states not less in fame Than Greece and Rome of old!—we too shall boast Our Scipios, Solons, Catos, sages, chiefs360 That in the lap of time yet dormant lie, Waiting the joyous hour of life and light.— O snatch me hence, ye muses, to those days When, through the veil of dark antiquity, A race shall hear of us as things remote,365 That blossomed in the morn of days.—Indeed, How could I weep that we exist so soon, Just in the dawning of these mighty times, Whose scenes are painting for eternity! Dissentions that shall swell the trump of fame,370 And ruin hovering o'er all monarchy! Eugenio Nor shall these angry tumults here subside Nor murder cease, through all these provinces, Till foreign crowns have vanished from our view And dazzle here no more—no more presume375 To awe the spirit of fair Liberty;— Vengeance must cut the thread,—and Britain, sure Will curse her fatal obstinacy for it! Bent on the ruin of this injured country, She will not listen to our humble prayers.380 Though offered with submission: Like vagabonds and objects of destruction, Like those whom all mankind are sworn to hate, She casts us off from her protection, And will invite the nations round about,385 Russians and Germans, slaves and savages, To come and have a share in our perdition.— O cruel race, O unrelenting Britain, Who bloody beasts will hire to cut our throats, Who war will wage with prattling innocence,390 And basely murder unoffending women!— Will stab their prisoners when they cry for quarter, Will burn our towns, and from his lodging turn The poor inhabitant to sleep in tempests!— These will be wrongs, indeed, and all sufficient395 To kindle up our souls to deeds of horror, And give to every arm the nerves of Samson— These are the men that fill the world with ruin, And every region mourns their greedy sway,— Not only for ambition——400 But what are this world's goods, that they for them Should exercise perpetual butchery? What are these mighty riches we possess, That they should send so far to plunder them?— Already have we felt their potent arm—405 And ever since that inauspicious day, When first Sir Francis Bernard His ruffians planted at the council door, And made the assembly room a home for vagrants, And soldiers, rank and file—e'er since that day410 This wretched land, that drinks its children's gore, Has been a scene of tumult and confusion!— Are there not evils in the world enough? Are we so happy that they envy us? Have we not toiled to satisfy their harpies,415 Kings' deputies, that are insatiable; Whose practice is to incense the royal mind And make us despicable in his view?— Have we not all the evils to contend with That, in this life, mankind are subject to,420 Pain, sickness, poverty, and natural death— But into every wound that nature gave They will a dagger plunge, and make them mortal! Leander Enough, enough!—such dismal scenes you paint, I almost shudder at the recollection.—425 What! are they dogs that they would mangle us?— Are these the men that come with base design To rob the hive, and kill the industrious bee!— To brighter skies I turn my ravished view, And fairer prospects from the future draw:—430 Here independent power shall hold her sway, And public virtue warm the patriot breast: No traces shall remain of tyranny, And laws, a pattern to the world beside, Be here enacted first.——435 Acasto And when a train of rolling years are past, (So sung the exiled seer in Patmos isle) A new Jerusalem, sent down from heaven. Shall grace our happy earth,—perhaps this land, Whose ample bosom shall receive, though late,440 Myriads of saints, with their immortal king, To live and reign on earth a thousand years, Thence called Millennium. Paradise anew Shall flourish, by no second Adam lost, No dangerous tree with deadly fruit shall grow,445 No tempting serpent to allure the soul From native innocence.—A Canaan here, Another Canaan shall excel the old, And from a fairer Pisgah's top be seen. No thistle here, nor thorn, nor briar shall spring,450 Earth's curse before: the lion and the lamb In mutual friendship linked, shall browse the shrub. And timorous deer with softened tygers stray O'er mead, or lofty hill, or grassy plain; Another Jordan's stream shall glide along,455 And Siloah's brook in circling eddies flow: Groves shall adorn their verdant banks, on which The happy people, free from toils and death. Shall find secure repose. No fierce disease, No fevers, slow consumption, ghastly plague,460 (Fate's ancient ministers) again proclaim Perpetual war with man: fair fruits shall bloom, Fair to the eye, and sweeter to the taste; Nature's loud storms be hushed, and seas no more Rage hostile to mankind—and, worse than all,465 The fiercer passions of the human breast Shall kindle up to deeds of death no more, But all subside in universal peace.—— Such days the world, And such America at last shall have470 When ages, yet to come, have run their round, And future years of bliss alone remain.

A hermit's house beside a stream, With forests planted round, Whatever it to you may seem More real happiness I deem Than if I were a monarch crown'd. A cottage I could call my own, Remote from domes of care; A little garden walled with stone, The wall with ivy overgrown, A limpid fountain near, Would more substantial joys afford, More real bliss impart Than all the wealth that misers hoard, Than vanquish'd worlds, or worlds restored— Mere cankers of the heart! Vain, foolish man! how vast thy pride, How little can your wants supply!— 'Tis surely wrong to grasp so wide— You act as if you only had To vanquish—not to die!

Six thousand years in these dull regions pass'd, 'Tis time, you'll say, we knew their bounds at last, Knew to what skies our setting stars retire, And where the wintry suns expend their fire; What land to land protracts the varied scene, And what extended oceans roll between; What worlds exist beneath antarctic skies, And from Pacific waves what verdant islands rise. In vain did Nature shore from shore divide: Art formed a passage and her waves defied: When his bold plan the master pilot drew Dissevered worlds stept forward at the view, And lessening still the intervening space, Disclosed new millions of the human race. Proud even of toil, succeeding ages joined New seas to vanquish, and new worlds to find; Age following age still farther from the shore, Found some new wonder that was hid before, 'Till launched at length, with avarice doubly bold, Their hearts expanding as the world grew old, Some to be rich, and some to be renowned, The earth they rifled, and explored it round. Ambitious Europe! polished in thy pride, Thine was the art that toil to toil allied, Thine was the gift, to trace each heavenly sphere, And seize its beams, to serve ambition here: Hence, fierce Pizarro stock'd a world with graves, Hence Montezuma left a race of slaves.— Which project suited best with heaven's decree, To force new doctrines, or to leave them free?— Religion only feigned to claim a share, Their riches, not their souls, employed your care.— Alas! how few of all that daring train That seek new worlds embosomed in the main, How few have sailed on virtue's nobler plan, How few with motives worthy of a man!— While through the deep-sea waves we saw them go Where'er they found a man they made a foe; Superior only by superior art, Forgot the social virtues of the heart, Forgetting still, where'er they madly ran, That sacred friendship binds mankind to man, Fond of exerting power untimely shewn, The momentary triumph all their own! Met on the wrecks and ravages of time, They left no native master of his clime, His trees, his towns, with hardened front they claimed, Seized every region that a despot named And forced the oath that bound him to obey Some prince unknown, ten thousand miles away. Slaves to their passions, man's imperious race, Born for contention, find no resting place, And the vain mind, bewildered and perplext, Makes this world wretched to enjoy the next. Tired of the scenes that Nature made their own, They rove to conquer what remains unknown: Avarice, undaunted, claims whate'er she sees, Surmounts earth's circle, and foregoes all ease: Religion, bolder, sends some sacred chief To bend the nations to her own belief. To their vain standard Europe's sons invite, Who hold no other world can think aright. Behold their varied tribes, with self applause, First in religion, liberty, and laws, And while they bow to cruelty and blood, Condemn the Indian with his milder god.— Ah, race to justice, truth, and honour blind, Are thy convictions to convert mankind!— Vain pride—convince them that your own are just, Or leave them happy, as you found them first. What charm is seen through Europe's realms of strife That adds new blessings to the savage life?— On them warm suns with equal splendor shine, Their each domestic pleasure equals thine, Their native groves as soft a bloom display, As self-contented roll their lives away, And the gay soul, in fancy's visions blest, Leaves to the care of chance her heaven of rest. What are the arts that rise on Europe's plan But arts destructive to the bliss of man? What are all wars, where'er the marks you trace, But the sad records of our world's disgrace? Reason degraded from her tottering throne, And precepts, called divine, observed by none. Blest in their distance from that bloody scene, Why spread the sail to pass the gulphs between?— If winds can waft to ocean's utmost verge, And there new islands and new worlds emerge— If wealth, or war, or science bid thee roam, Ah, leave religion and thy laws at home, Leave the free native to enjoy his store, Nor teach destructive arts, unknown before— Woes of their own those new found worlds invade, There, too, fierce passions the weak soul degrade, Invention there has winged the unerring dart, There the swift arrow vibrates to the heart. Revenge and death contending bosoms share, And pining envy claims her subjects there. Are these too few?—then see despotic power Spends on a throne of logs her busy hour. Hard by, and half ambitious to ascend, Priests, interceding with the gods, attend— Atoning victims at their shrines they lay, Their crimson knives tremendous rites display, Or the proud despot's gore remorseless shed. Through life detested, or adored when dead. Born to be wretched, search this globe around, Dupes to a few the race of man is found! Seek some new world in some new climate plac'd, Some gay Ta-ia[A] on the watery waste, Though Nature clothes in all her bright array, Some proud tormentor steals her charms away: Howe'er she smiles beneath those milder skies, Though men decay the monarch never dies! Howe'er the groves, howe'er the gardens bloom, A monarch and a priest is still their doom!

As o'er his charts Columbus ran, Such disproportion he survey'd, He thought he saw in art's mean plan Blunders that Nature never made; The land in one poor corner placed, And all beside, a swelling waste!— "It can't be so," Columbus said; "This world on paper idly drawn,[49] "O'er one small tract so often gone "The pencil tires; in this void space "Allow'd to find no resting place. "But copying Nature's bold design, "If true to her, no fault is mine; "Perhaps in these moist regions dwell "Forms wrought like man, and lov'd as well. "Yet to the west what lengthen'd seas! "Are no gay islands found in these, "No sylvan worlds that Nature meant "To balance Asia's vast extent? "As late a mimic globe I made "(Imploring Fancy to my aid) "O'er these wild seas a shade I threw, "And a new world my pencil drew. "But westward plac'd, and far away "In the deep seas this country lay "Beyond all climes already known, "In Neptune's bosom plac'd alone. "Who knows but he that hung this ball "In the clear void, and governs all, "On those dread scenes, remote from view, "Has trac'd his great idea too. "What can these idle charts avail— "O'er real seas I mean to sail; "If fortune aids the grand design, "Worlds yet unthought of shall be mine. "But how shall I this country find! "Gay, painted picture of the mind! "Religion[B] holds my project vain, "And owns no worlds beyond the main.

"'Midst yonder hills long time has stay'd[50] "In sylvan cells a wondrous maid, "Who things to come can truly tell, "Dread mistress of the magic spell. "Whate'er the depths of time can shew "All pass before her in review, "And all events her eyes survey, "'Till time and nature both decay. "I'll to her cave, enquiring there "What mighty things the fates prepare; "Whether my hopes and plans are vain, "Or I must give new worlds to Spain."

Inchantress Who dares attempt this gloomy grove Where never shepherd dream'd of love, And birds of night are only found, And poisonous weeds bestrew the ground: Hence, stranger, take some other road, Nor dare prophane my dark abode; The winds are high, the moon is low— Would you enter?—no, no, no:— Columbus Sorceress of mighty power![A] Hither at the midnight hour Over hill and dale I've come, Leaving ease and sleep at home: With daring aims my bosom glows; Long a stranger to repose, I have come to learn from you Whether phantoms I pursue, Or if, as reason would persuade, New worlds are on the ocean laid— Tell me, wonder-working maid, Tell me, dire inchantress, tell, Mistress of the magic spell!

Inchantress The staring owl her note has sung; With gaping snakes my cave is hung; Of maiden hair my bed is made, Two winding sheets above it laid; With bones of men my shelves are pil'd, And toads are for my supper boil'd; Three ghosts attend to fill my cup, And four to serve my pottage up; The crow is waiting to say grace:— Wouldst thou in such a dismal place The secrets of thy fortune trace? Columbus Though death and all his dreary crew Were to be open'd on my view, I would not from this threshold fly 'Till you had made a full reply. Open wide this iron gate, I must read the book of fate: Tell me, if beyond the main Islands are reserv'd for Spain; Tell me, if beyond the sea Worlds are to be found by me: Bid your spirits disappear, Phantoms of delusive fear, These are visions I despise, Shadows and uncertainties. Inchantress Must I, then, yield to your request! Columbus, why disturb my rest!— For this the ungrateful shall combine, And hard misfortune shall be thine;— For this the base reward remains Of cold neglect and galling chains![B] In a poor solitude forgot, Reproach and want shall be the lot Of him that gives new worlds to Spain, And westward spreads her golden reign. Before you came to vex my bower I slept away the evening hour, Or watch'd the rising of the moon, With hissing vipers keeping tune, Or galloping along the glade Took pleasure in the lunar shade, And gather'd herbs, or made a prize Of horses' tails and adders' eyes: Now open flies the iron gate, Advance, and read the book of fate! On thy design what woes attend! The nations at the ocean's end, No longer destin'd to be free, Shall owe distress and death to thee! The seats of innocence and love Shall soon the scenes of horror prove: But why disturb these Indian climes, The pictures of more happy times! Has avarice, with unfeeling breast, Has cruelty thy soul possess'd? May ruin on thy boldness wait!— Advance, and read the book of fate. When vulture, fed but once a week, And ravens three together shriek, And skeleton for vengeance cries, Then shall the fatal curtain rise! Two lamps in yonder vaulted room, Suspended o'er a brazen tomb, Shall lend their glimmerings, as you pass, To find your fortune in that glass Whose wondrous virtue is, to show Whate'er the inquirer wants to know.

Columbus Strange things I see, bright mirror, in thy breast:— There Perseverance stands, and nobly scorns The gabbling tongue of busy calumny; Proud Erudition in a scholar's garb Derides my plans and grins a jeering smile. Hypocrisy, clad in a doctor's gown, A western continent deems heresy: The princes, kings, and nobles of the land Smile at my projects, and report me mad: One royal woman only stands my friend, Bright Isabell, the lady of our hearts, Whom avarice prompts to aid my purposes, And love of toys—weak female vanity!— She gains her point!—three slender barques I see (Or else the witch's glass deceives mine eye) Rigg'd trim, and furnish'd out with stores and men, Fitted for tedious journeys o'er the main: Columbus—ha!—their motions he directs; Their captains come, and ask advice from him, Holding him for the soul of resolution. Now, now we launch from Palos! prosperous gales Impel the canvas: now the far fam'd streight Is pass'd, the pillars of the son of Jove, Long held the limits of the paths of men: Ah! what a waste of ocean here begins, And lonely waves, so black and comfortless! Light flies each bounding galley o'er the main; Now Lancerota gathers on our view, And Teneriffe her clouded summit rears: Awhile we linger at these islands fair That seem the utmost boundaries of the world, Then westward aiming on the unfathom'd deep Sorrowing, with heavy hearts we urge our way. Now all is discontent—such oceans pass'd, No land appearing yet, dejects the most; Yet, fertile in expedients, I alone The mask of mild content am forc'd to wear: A thousand signs I see, or feign to see, Of shores at hand, and bottoms underneath, And not a bird that wanders o'er the main, And not a cloud that traverses the sky But brings me something to support their hopes: All fails at last!—so frequently deceiv'd They growl with anger—mad to look at death They gnash their teeth, and will be led no more; On me their vengeance turns: they look at me As their conductor to the realms of ruin: Plot after plot discover'd, not reveng'd, They join against their chief in mutiny: They urge to plunge him in the boiling deep As one, the only one that would pursue Imaginary worlds through boundless seas:— The scene is chang'd—Fine islands greet mine eye, Cover'd with trees, and beasts, and yellow men; Eternal summer through the vallies smiles And fragrant gales o'er golden meadows play!— Inchantress, 'tis enough!—now veil your glass— The curtain falls—and I must homeward pass.

Prince and the pride of Spain! while meaner crowns, Pleas'd with the shadow of monarchial sway, Exact obedience from some paltry tract Scarce worth the pain and toil of governing, Be thine the generous care to send thy fame Beyond the knowledge, or the guess of man. This gulphy deep (that bounds our western reign So long by civil feuds and wars disgrac'd) Must be the passage to some other shore Where nations dwell, children of early time, Basking in the warm sunshine of the south, Who some false deity, no doubt, adore, Owning no virtue in the potent cross: What honour, sire, to plant your standards there,[A] And souls recover to our holy faith That now in paths of dark perdition stray Warp'd to his worship by the evil one! Think not that Europe and the Asian waste, Or Africa, where barren sands abound, Are the sole gems in Neptune's bosom laid: Think not the world a vast extended plain: See yond' bright orbs, that through the ether move, All globular; this earth a globe like them Walks her own rounds, attended by the moon, Bright comrade, but with borrowed lustre bright. If all the surface of this mighty round Be one wide ocean of unfathom'd depth Bounding the little space already known, Nature must have forgot her wonted wit And made a monstrous havock of proportion. If her proud depths were not restrain'd by lands, And broke by continents of vast extent Existing somewhere under western skies, Far other waves would roll before the storms Than ever yet have burst on Europe's shores, Driving before them deluge and confusion. But Nature will preserve what she has plann'd: And the whole suffrage of antiquity, Platonic dreams, and reason's plainer page All point at something that we ought to see Buried behind the waters of the west, Clouded with shadows of uncertainty. The time is come for some sublime event Of mighty fame:—mankind are children yet, And hardly dream what treasures they possess In the dark bosom of the fertile main, Unfathom'd, unattempted, unexplor'd. These, mighty prince, I offer to reveal, And by the magnet's aid, if you supply Ships and some gallant hearts, will hope to bring From distant climes, news worthy of a king.

Ferdinand What would this madman have, this odd projector! A wild address I have to-day attended, Mingling its folly with our great affairs, Dreaming of islands and new hemispheres Plac'd on the ocean's verge, we know not where— What shall I do with this petitioner? Minister Even send him, sire, to perish in his search: He has so pester'd me these many years With idle projects of discovery— His name—I almost dread to hear it mention'd: He is a Genoese of vulgar birth And has been round all Europe with his plans Presenting them to every potentate; He lives, 'tis said, by vending maps and charts,[52] And being us'd to sketch imagin'd islands On that blank space that represents the seas, His head at last grows giddy with this folly, And fancied isles are turned to real lands With which he puzzles me perpetually: What pains me too, is, that our royal lady Lends him her ear, and reads his mad addresses, Oppos'd to reason and philosophy. Ferdinand He acts the devil's part in Eden's garden; Knowing the man was proof to his temptations He whisper'd something in the ear of Eve, And promis'd much, but meant not to perform. Minister I've treated all his schemes with such contempt That any but a rank, mad-brain'd enthusiast, Pushing his purpose to extremities, Would have forsook your empire, royal sir, Discourag'd, and forgotten long ago. Ferdinand Has he so long been busy at his projects?— I scarcely heard of him till yesterday: A plan pursued with so much obstinacy Looks not like madness:—wretches of that stamp Survey a thousand objects in an hour, In love with each, and yet attach'd to none Beyond the moment that it meets the eye— But him I honour, tho' in beggar's garbs, Who has a soul of so much constancy As to bear up against the hard rebuffs, Sneers of great men, and insolence of power, And through the opposition of them all Pursues his object:—Minister, this man Must have our notice:—Let him be commissioned Viceroy of all the lands he shall discover, Admiral and general in the fleets of Spain; Let three stout ships be instantly selected, The best and strongest ribb'd of all we own, With men to mann them, patient of fatigue: But stay, attend! how stands our treasury?— Minister Empty—even to the bottom, royal sir! We have not coin for bare necessities, Much less, so pardon me, to spend on madmen.

While Turkish queens, dejected, pine, Compell'd sweet freedom to resign; And taught one virtue, to obey, Lament some eastern tyrant's sway, Queen of our hearts, bright Isabell! A happier lot to you has fell, Who makes a nation's bliss your own, And share the rich Castilian throne. Exalted thus, beyond all fame, Assist, fair lady, that proud aim Which would your native reign extend To the wide world's remotest end. From science, fed by busy thought, New wonders to my view are brought: The vast abyss beyond our shore I deem impassable no more. Let those that love to dream or sleep Pretend no limits to the deep: I see beyond the rolling main Abounding wealth reserv'd for Spain. From Nature's earliest days conceal'd, Men of their own these climates yield, And scepter'd dames, no doubt, are there, Queens like yourself, but not so fair. But what should most provoke desire Are the fine pearls that they admire, And diamonds bright and coral green More fit to grace a Spanish queen. Their yellow shells, and virgin gold, And silver, for our trinkets sold, Shall well reward this toil and pain, And bid our commerce shine again. As men were forc'd from Eden's shade By errors that a woman made, Permit me at a woman's cost To find the climates that we lost. He that with you partakes command, The nation's hope, great Ferdinand, Attends, indeed, to my request, But wants no empires in the west. Then, queen, supply the swelling sail, For eastward breathes the steady gale That shall the meanest barque convey To regions richer than Cathay.[A]

Arriv'd upon that flowery coast Whole towns of golden temples boast, While these bright objects strike our view Their wealth shall be reserv'd for you. Each swarthy king shall yield his crown, And smiling lay their sceptres down, When they, not tam'd by force of arms, Shall hear the story of your charms. Did I an empty dream pursue Great honour still must wait on you, Who sent the lads of Spain to keep Such vigils on the untravell'd deep, Who fix'd the bounds of land and sea, Trac'd Nature's works through each degree, Imagin'd some unheard of shore But prov'd that there was nothing more. Yet happier prospects, I maintain, Shall open on your female reign, While ages hence with rapture tell How much they owe to Isabell!

Your yellow shells, and coral green. And gold, and silver—not yet seen, Have made such mischief in a woman's mind The queen could almost pillage from the crown, And add some costly jewels of her own, Thus sending you that charming coast to find Where all these heavenly things abound, Queens in the west, and chiefs renown'd. But then no great men take you by the hand, Nor are the nobles busied in your aid; The clergy have no relish for your scheme, And deem it madness—one archbishop said You were bewilder'd in a paltry dream That led directly to undoubted ruin, Your own and other men's undoing:— And our confessor says it is not true, And calls it heresy in you Thus to assert the world is round, And that Antipodes are found Held to the earth, we can't tell how.— But you shall sail; I heard the queen declare That mere geography is not her care;— And thus she bids me say, "Columbus, haste away, "Hasten to Palos, and if you can find "Three barques, of structure suited to your mind, "Strait make a purchase in the royal name; "Equip them for the seas without delay, "Since long the journey is (we heard you say) "To that rich country which we wish to claim.— "Let them be small—for know the crown is poor "Though basking in the sunshine of renown. "Long wars have wasted us: the pride of Spain "Was ne'er before so high, nor purse so mean; "Giving us ten years' war, the humbled Moor "Has left us little else but victory: "Time must restore past splendor to our reign."

Columbus In three small barques to cross so vast a sea, Held to be boundless, even in learning's eye, And trusting only to a magic glass, Which may have represented things untrue, Shadows and visions for realities!—[53] It is a bold attempt!—Yet I must go, Travelling the surge to its great boundary; Far, far away beyond the reach of men, Where never galley spread her milk-white sail Or weary pilgrim bore the Christian name! But though I were confirm'd in my design And saw the whole event with certainty, How shall I so exert my eloquence, And hold such arguments with vulgar minds As to convince them I am not an idiot Chasing the visions of a shatter'd brain, Ending in their perdition and my own? The world, and all its wisdom is against me; The dreams of priests; philosophy in chains; False learning swoln with self-sufficiency; Men seated at the helm of royalty Reasoning like school-boys;—what discouragements! Experience holds herself mine enemy, And one weak woman only hears my story!— I'll make a speech—"Here jovial sailors, here! "Ye that would rise beyond the rags of fortune, "Struggling too long with hopeless poverty, "Coasting your native shores on shallow seas, "Vex'd by the gallies of the Ottoman; "Now meditate with me a bolder plan, "Catching at fortune in her plenitude! "He that shall undertake this voyage with me "Shall be no longer held a vulgar man: "Princes shall wish they had been our companions, "And Science blush she did not go along "To learn a lesson that might humble pride "Now grinning idly from a pedant's cap, "Lurking behind the veil of cowardice. "Far in the west a golden region lies "Unknown, unvisited for many an age, "Teeming with treasures to enrich the brave. "Embark, embark—Columbus leads the way— "Why, friends, existence is alike to me "Dear and desireable with other men; "What good could I devise in seeking ruin? "Embark, I say; and he that sails with me "Shall reap a harvest of immortal honour: "Wealthier he shall return than they that now "Lounge in the lap of principalities, "Hoarding the gorgeous treasures of the east."— Alas, alas! they turn their backs upon me, And rather choose to wallow in the mire Of want, and torpid inactivity, Than by one bold and masterly exertion Themselves ennoble, and enrich their country!

Thomas I wish I was over the water again! 'Tis a pity we cannot agree; When I try to be merry 'tis labour in vain, You always are scolding at me; Then what shall I do With this termagant Sue; Tho' I hug her and squeeze her I never can please her— Was there ever a devil like you! Susan If I was a maid as I now am a wife With a sot and a brat to maintain, I think it should be the first care of my life, To shun such a drunkard again: Not one of the crew Is so hated by Sue; Though they always are bawling, And pulling and hauling— Not one is a puppy like you.[54] Thomas Dear Susan, I'm sorry that you should complain: There is nothing indeed to be done; If a war should break out, not a sailor in Spain Would sooner be found at his gun: Arriving from sea I would kneel on one knee, And the plunder presenting To Susan relenting— Who then would be honour'd like me! Susan To-day as I came by the sign of the ship, A mighty fine captain was there, He was asking for sailors to take a small trip, But I cannot remember well where: He was hearty and free, And if you can agree To leave me, dear honey, To bring me some money!— How happy—indeed—I shall be! Thomas The man that you saw not a sailor can get, 'Tis a captain Columbus, they say; To fit out a ship he is running in debt, And our wages he never will pay: Yes, yes, it is he, And, Sue, do ye see, On a wild undertaking His heart he is breaking— The devil may take him for me!