Joanna Baillie, a noted Scottish poetess. Born at Bothwell, Scotland, 1762; died at Hampstead, near London, February 23, 1851. From "The Legend of Columbus."
Is there a man that, from some lofty steep,
Views in his wide survey the boundless deep,
When its vast waters, lined with sun and shade,
Wave beyond wave, in serried distance, fade?
COLUMBUS THE CONQUEROR.
No kingly conqueror, since time began
The long career of ages, hath to man
A scope so ample given for trade's bold range
Or caused on earth's wide stage such rapid, mighty change.—Ibid.
THE EXAMPLE OF COLUMBUS.
Some ardent youth, perhaps, ere from his home
He launch his venturous bark, will hither come,
Read fondly o'er and o'er his graven name,
With feelings keenly touched, with heart aflame;
Till, wrapped in fancy's wild delusive dream,
Times past and long forgotten, present seem.
To his charmed ear the east wind, rising shrill,
Seems through the hero's shroud to whistle still.
The clock's deep pendulum swinging through the blast
Sounds like the rocking of his lofty mast;
While fitful gusts rave like his clam'rous band,
Mixed with the accents of his high command.
Slowly the stripling quits the pensive scene,
And burns and sighs and weeps to be what he has been.
Oh, who shall lightly say that fame
Is nothing but an empty name?
Whilst in that sound there is a charm
The nerves to brace, the heart to warm,
As, thinking of the mighty dead,
The young from slothful couch will start,
And vow, with lifted hands outspread,
Like them to act a noble part.
Oh, who shall lightly say that fame
Is nothing but an empty name?
When but for those, our mighty dead,
All ages past a blank would be,
Sunk in oblivion's murky bed,
A desert bare, a shipless sea!
They are the distant objects seen,
The lofty marks of what hath been.—Ibid.
PALOS—THE DEPARTURE.
On Palos' shore, whose crowded strand
Bore priests and nobles of the land,
And rustic hinds and townsmen trim,
And harnessed soldiers stern and grim,
And lowly maids and dames of pride,
And infants by their mother's side—
The boldest seaman stood that e'er
Did bark or ship through tempest steer;
And wise as bold, and good as wise;
The magnet of a thousand eyes,
That on his form and features cast,
His noble mien and simple guise,
In wonder seemed to look their last.
A form which conscious worth is gracing,
A face where hope, the lines effacing
Of thought and care, bestowed, in truth,
To the quick eyes' imperfect tracing
The look and air of youth.
The signal given, with hasty strides
The sailors line their ships' dark sides,
Their anchors weighed, and from the shore
Each stately vessel slowly bore.
High o'er the deep and shadowed flood,
Upon his deck their leader stood,
And turned him to departed land,
And bowed his head and waved his hand.
And then, along the crowded strand,
A sound of many sounds combined,
That waxed and waved upon the wind,
Burst like heaven's thunder, deep and grand;
A lengthened peal, which paused, and then
Renewed, like that which loathly parts,
Oft on the ear returned again,
The impulse of a thousand hearts.
But as the lengthened shouts subside,
Distincter accents strike the ear,
Wafting across the current wide
Heart-uttered words of parting cheer:
"Oh, shall we ever see again
Those gallant souls across the main?
God keep the brave! God be their guide!
God bear them safe through storm and tide!
Their sails with favoring breezes swell!
O brave Columbus, fare thee well!"—Ibid.