Classic Poem

" BACK to Europe, again, let our sails be unfurled! "
— " Three days, " said Columbus, " and I give you a world! "
And he pointed his finger, and looked through the Vast,
As if he beheld the bright region at last.
He sails, and the dawn, the first day, quickly leads:
He sails, and the golden horizon recedes:
He sails, till the sun, downward sinking from view,
Hides the sea and the sky with their limitless blue.
On, onward he sails, while in vain o'er the lee
Down plunges the lead through the fathomless sea!

The pilot, in silence, leans mournfully o'er
The rudder, which creaks 'mid the dark billows' roar;
He hears the hoarse moan of the waves rushing past,
And the funeral wail of the wind-stricken mast;
The stars of far Europe have fled from the skies,
And the Cross of the South meets his terrified eyes;
But at length the slow dawn, softly streaking the night,
Illumes the dark dome with its beautiful light,
" Columbus! 'tis day, and the darkness hath past! "
" Day! and what dost thou see? " — " I see nought but the Vast! "

What matter! — he's calm! — but, ah, stranger, if you
Had your hand on his heart with such glory in view, —
Had you felt the wild throb of despair and delight
That depressed and expanded his bosom that night,
The quick alternations as morning came near,
The chill and the fever, the rapture and fear, —
You would feel that such moments exhausted the rage
And the multiplied malice and pains of an age;
You would say these three days half a lifetime have slain,
And his fame is too dear at the price of such pain.

Oh! who can describe what the crushed heart must bear,
The delirium of hope and the lonely despair,
Of a Great Man unknown, whom his age doth despise
As a fool, 'mid the vain, vulgar crowd of the wise!
Such wert thou, Galileo! Far better to die
Than thus by a horrible effort to lie!
When you gave, by an agony deep and intense,
That lie to your labours, your reason, your sense,
To the Sun, to the Earth — to that Earth, we repeat,
That you trembled to feel moving under your feet!

The second day's past — and Columbus? — he sleeps,
While Mutiny round him its dark vigil keeps:
" Shall he perish? " — " Death! death! " is the mutinous cry,
" He must triumph to-morrow, or perjured must die! "
The ingrates! Shall his tomb on to-morrow be made
Of that sea which his daring a highway hath made?
Shall that sea on to-morrow, with pitiless waves,
Fling his corse on that shore which his longing eye craves?
The corse of an unknown adventurer then —
One day later — Columbus, the greatest of men!

He dreams, how a veil drooping over the main
Is rent, at the distant horizon, in twain,
And how from beneath, on his rapturous sight
Bursts at length the New World from the darkness of night!
Oh! how fresh! — oh! how fair the new virgin earth seems! —
With gold the fruits glisten, and sparkle the streams;
Green gleams on the mountains, and gladdens the isles,
And the seas and the rivers are dimpled with smiles.
" Joy! joy! " cries Columbus, " this region is mine! "
Ah! not even its name, hapless dreamer, is thine!

Soon changes that dream from a vision so fair,
For he sees that the merciless Spaniards are there,
Who with loud mimic thunder bolts slaughter the host
Of the unarmed people that cover the coast.
He sees the fair palace, the temple on fire,
And the peaceful Cazique 'mid their ashes expire;
He sees, too — oh! saddest, oh! mournfullest sight! —
The crucifix gleam in the thick of the fight:
More terrible far than the merciless steel
Is the uplifted cross in the red hand of zeal!

He sees the earth open and reel to and fro,
And the wretches who breathe in the caverns below.
Poor captives! whose arms, in a languid despair,
Fall fatigued on the gold of the rocks that they tear.
Pale spectres! whose agonized cries, uncontrolled,
Seek the light of that sun that they're ne're to behold.
They struggle, they pant 'mid the pestilent dews,
And by labour escape the sharp whip that pursues,
'Till a long lingering death in the cavern's dim light
Consigns them at length to eternity's night!

Columbus, oppressed by this vision of pain,
Scares it off from his feverish pallet and brain;
It dwindleth, it melteth, it fades from his eye,
As a light passing cloud in the depths of the sky.
All is changed! — he beholds in the wilds of the north,
Full of strength, full of hope, a new empire spring forth;
Its people oppressed, as the war-cry goes round,
Seize the peaceable ploughshare that furrows their ground,
Or that creature of iron which lately they swayed
As it turned into cities their forests of shade.

They have conquered! — they show him with grateful acclaim
Their Hero, their Washington — type of that name.
O sage Cincinnatus and Cato! no more
Need we doubt of thy virtue, or mocking adore.
He has caused our weak hearts that strange grandeur to feel,
And conceive what corruption till now could conceal.
In the council, a Sage by the hero is seen,
And not less revered 'neath a different mien.
He rules, he discovers, and daringly brings
Down the lightning from Heaven, and the sceptre from kings.

At length o'er Columbus slow consciousness breaks —
" Land! land! " cry the sailors, " land! land! " — he awakes —
He runs — yes! behold it — it blesseth his sight —
The land! O sweet spectacle! transport! delight! —
O generous sobs which he cannot restrain! —
What will Ferdinand say? and the Future? and Spain?
He will lay this fair land at the foot of the throne,
His king will repay all the ills he has known;
In exchange for a world what are honours and gains,
Or a crown? — but how is he rewarded? — with chains!