Unclasp me, Stranger; and unfold,
With trembling care, my leaves of gold
Rich in gothic portraiture—
If yet, alas, a leaf endure.
In RABIDA’S monastic fane
I cannot ask, and ask in vain.
The language of CASTILE I speak;
Mid many an Arab, many a Greek,
Old in the days of CHARLEMAIN;
When minstrel-music wander’ round,
And Science, waking, bless’ the sound.
No earthly thought has here a place;
The cowl let down on every face.
Yet here, in consecrated dust,
Here would I sleep, if sleep I must.
From GENOA when COLUMBUS came,
(At once her glory and her shame)
’Twas here he caught the holy flame.
’Twas here the generous vow he made;
His banners on the altar laid.—
One hallow’d morn, methought,
I felt As if a soul within me dwelt!
But who arose and gave to me
The sacred trust I keep for thee,
And in his cell at even-tide
Knelt before the cross and died—
Inquire not now. His name no more
Glimmers on the chancel-floor,
Near the lights that ever shine
Before ST. MARY’S blessed shrine.
To me one little hour devote,
And lay thy staff and scrip beside thee;
Read in the temper that he wrote,
And may his gentle spirit guide thee!
My leaves forsake me, one by one;
The book-worm thro’ and thro’ has gone.
Oh haste—unclasp me, and unfold;
The tale within was never told!
THE ARGUMENT.
Columbus, having wandered from kingdom to kingdom, at length obtains three ships and sets sail on the Atlantic. The compass alters from its antient direction; the wind becomes constant and unremitting; night and day he advances, till he is suddenly stopped in his course by a mass of vegetation, extending as far as the eye can reach, and assuming the appearance of a country overwhelmed by the sea. Alarm and despondence on board. He resigns himself to the care of Heaven, and proceeds on his voyage; while columns of water move along in his path before him.
Meanwhile the deities of America assemble in council; and one of the Zemi, the gods of the islanders, announces his approach. “In vain,” says he, “have we guarded the Atlantic for ages. A mortal has baffled our power; nor will our votaries arm against him. Yours are a sterner race. Hence; and, while we have recourse to stratagem, do you array the nations round your altars, and prepare for an exterminating war.” They disperse while he is yet speaking; and, in the shape of a condor, he directs his flight to the fleet. His journey described. He arrives there. A panic. A mutiny. Columbus restores order; continues on his voyage; and lands in a New World. Ceremonies of the first interview. Rites of hospitality. The ghost of Cazziva.
Two months pass away, and an Angel, appearing in a dream to Columbus, thus addresses him: “Return to Europe; though your Adversaries, such is the will of Heaven, shall let loose the hurricane against you. A little while shall they triumph; insinuating themselves into the hearts of your followers, and making the World, which you came to bless, a scene of blood and slaughter. Yet is there cause for rejoicing. Your work is done. The cross of Christ is planted here; and, in due time, all things shall be made perfect!”
THE VOYAGE OF COLUMBUS
CANTO I.
Night—Columbus on the Atlantic—the variation of the compass, &c.
Say who first pass’d the portals of the West,
And the great Secret of the Deep possess’d;
Who first the standard of his Faith unfurl’d
On the dread confines of an unknown World;
Sung ere his coming[[a]]—and by Heav’n design’d
To lift the veil that cover’d half mankind![]—
’Twas night. The Moon, o’er the wide wave, disclos’d
Her awful face; and Nature’s self repos’d;
When, slowly rising in the azure sky,
Three white sails shone—but to no mortal eye.
Entering a boundless sea. In slumber cast,
The very ship-boy, on the dizzy mast,
Half breath’d his orisons! Alone unchang’d,
Calmly, beneath, the great Commander rang’d,[[c]]
Thoughtful not sad; and, as the planet grew,
His noble form, wrapt in his mantle blue,
Athwart the deck a solemn shadow threw.
“Thee hath it pleas’d—Thy will be done!” he said,[[d]]
Then sought his cabin; and, their capas[[1]] spread,
Around him lay the sleeping as the dead,
When, by his lamp, to that mysterious Guide,
On whose still counsels all his hopes relied,
That Oracle to man in mercy giv’n,
Whose voice is truth, whose wisdom is from heav’n,[[e]]
Who over sands and seas directs the stray,
And, as with God’s own finger, points the way,
He turn’d; but what strange thoughts perplex’d his soul,
When, lo, no more attracted to the Pole,
The Compass, faithless as the circling vane,
Flutter’d and fix’d, flutter’d and fix’d again;
And still, as by some unseen Hand imprest,
Explor’d, with trembling energy, the West![[2]]
“Ah no!” he cried, and calm’d his anxious brow.
“Ill, nor the signs of ill, ’tis thine to show.
Thine but to lead me where I wish’d to go!”
COLUMBUS err’d not.[[f]] In that awful hour,
Sent forth to save, and girt with God-like power,
And glorious as the regent of the sun,[[3]]
An Angel came! He spoke, and it was done!
He spoke, and, at his call, a mighty Wind,[[g]]
Not like the fitful blast, with fury blind,
But deep, majestic, in its destin’d course,
Rush’d with unerring, unrelenting force,
From the bright East. Tides duly ebb’d and flow’d;
Stars rose and set; and new horizons glow’d;
Yet still it blew! As with primeval sway,
Still did its ample spirit, night and day,
Move on the waters!—All, resign’d to Fate,
Folded their arms and sat; and seem’d to wait[[h]]
Some sudden change; and sought, in chill suspense,
New spheres of being, and new modes of sense;
As men departing, tho’ not doom’d to die,
And midway on their passage to eternity.
[1] The capa is the Spanish cloak.