Classic Poem

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,
" 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 holds my project vain,
" And owns no worlds beyond the main.

" 'Midst yonder hills long time has stay'd
" 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. "