Classic Poem

Illustrious monarch of Iberia's soil,
Too long I wait permission to depart;
Sick of delays, I beg thy listening 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 they own reign.
Of this huge globe, how small a part we know--
Does heaven their worlds to western suns deny?
How disproportioned to the mighty deep
The lands that yet in human prospect lie!
Does Cynthia, when to western skies arrived,
Spend her sweet beam upon the barren main,
And ne'er illume with midnight splendor, she,
The native 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
"The time shall come when numerous years are past,
The ocean shall dissolve the bands of things,
And an extended region rise and last;
And Typhis shall disclose the mighty land.
Far, far away, where none have roved before;
Nor shall the world's remotest regions be
Gibraltar's rock, or Thule's savage shore."
Fired at the theme, I languish to depart,
Supply the barque, and bid Columbus sail,
He fears no storms upon the untravelled 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 gulfy seas below
Be the sole object seen for many a day.
Think not that nature has unveiled in vain
The mystic magnet to the mortal eye,
So late have we the guiding needle planned,
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 neighboring 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 drowned,
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 tempest on the untravelled deep,
Reason shall steer, and skill disarm the gale.