The day was named, the guests invited; III. That morn ('t was in Ste Julienne's cell, As at Ste Julienne's sacred well Their dream of love began), That morn, ere many a star was set, -And now the village gleams at last; So saying, through the fragrant shade While Manchon round and round her play'd: (When Lubin calls, and Blanche steals round, Her finger on her lip, to see; And many an acorn-cup is found They gather as they go Sabot, and coif, and collerette, The housewife's prayer, the grandam's blessing! Babes that had learnt to lisp her name, But what felt D'Arcy, when at length Her father's gate was open flung? Ah, then he found a giant's strength; For round him, as for life, she clung! And when, her fit of weeping o'er, Onward they moved a little space, And saw an old man sitting at the door, Saw his wan cheek, and sunken eye That seem'd to gaze on vacancy, Then, at the sight of that beloved face, At once to fall upon his neck she flew; But not encouraged-back she drew, And trembling stood in dread suspense, Her tears her only eloquence! All, all-the while-an awful distance keeping; Save D'Arcy, who nor speaks nor stirs ; Then Jacqueline the silence broke. While D'Arcy as before look'd on, "His praises from your lips I heard, She, whom in joy, in grief you nursed; On her you thought-but to be kind! Oh are they gone from yours? Two kneeling at your feet behold; One-one how young;-nor yet the other old. Her bridal be her dying day. Well, well might she believe in you!— He shook his aged locks of snow; When she implored, and old Le Roc consented. Yet once I loved him as my own! -Nor can❜st thou, D'Arcy, feel resentment long; All things by all forgot, forgiven. And that dear Saint-may she once more descend But now, in my hands, your's with her's unite. 1 Louis the Fourteenth. 2 Alluding to a popular story related of Henry the Fourth of France; similar to ours of "The King and Miller of Mansfield." The Voyage of Columbus. PREFACE. THE following Poem (or to speak more properly, what remains of it') has here and there a lyrical turn of thought and expression. It is sudden in its transitions, and full of historical allusions; leaving much to be imagined by the reader. The subject is a voyage the most memorable in the annals of mankind. Columbus was a person of extraordinary virtue and piety, acting under the sense of a divine impulse; and his achievement the discovery of a New World, the inhabitants of which were shut out from the light of Revelation, and given up, as they believed, to the dominion of malignant spirits. Many of the incidents will now be thought extravagant; yet they were once perhaps received with something more than indulgence. It was an age of miracles; and who can say that among the venerable legends in the library of the Escurial, or the more authentic records which fill the great chamber in the Archivo of Simancas, and which relate entirely to the deep tragedy of America, there are no volumes that mention the marvellous things here described? Indeed the story, as already told throughout Europe, admits of no heightening. Such was the religious enthusiasm of the early writers, that the Author had only to transfuse it into his verse; and he appears to have done little more; though some of the circumstances which he alludes to as well known, have long ceased to be so. By using the language of that day, he has called up Columbus "in his habit as he lived;" and the authorities, such as exist, are carefully given by the Translator. INSCRIBED ON THE ORIGINAL MANUSCRIPT. UNCLASP me, Stranger; and unfold, In RABIDA's monastic fane, I cannot ask, and ask in vain. The language of Castile I speak; 1 The Original, in the Castilian language, according to the inscription that follows, was found among other MSS. in an old religious house near Palos, situated on an island formed by the fiver Tinto, and dedicated to our Lady of Rábida. The writer describes himself as having sailed with Columbus; but his style and manner are evidently of an after-time. Shakspeare. Yet here, in consecrated dust, One hallow'd morn, methought, I felt To me one little hour devote, PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION. THERE is a spirit in the old Spanish Chroniclers of the sixteenth century that may be compared to the freshness of water at the fountain-head. Their simplicity, their sensibility to the strange and the wonderful, their very weaknesses, give an infinite value, by giving a life and a character to every thing they touch; and their religion, which bursts out everywhere, addresses itself to the imagination in the highest degree. If they err, their errors are not their own. They think and feel after the fashion of the time; and their narratives are so many moving pictures of the actions, manners, and thoughts of their contemporaries. What they had to communicate, might well make them eloquent; but, inasmuch as relates to Columbus, the inspiration went no farther. No National Poem appeared on the subject; no Camoëns did honor to his Genius and his Virtues. Yet the materials, that have descended to us, are surely not unpoetical; and a desire to avail myself of them, to convey in some instances as far as I could, in others as far as I dared, their warmth of coloring and wildness of imagery, led me to conceive the idea of a Poem written not long after his death, when the great consequences of the Discovery were beginning And ere his coming sung on either shore, to unfold themselves, but while the minds of men Him, by the Paynim bard descried of yore, (1) To justify the ways of God to Men. 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 ancient 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. * * "Twas night. The Moon, o'er the wide wave, disclosed Her awful face; and Nature's self reposed; 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 breathed his orisons! Alone unchanged, Calmly, beneath, the great Commander (2) ranged, Thoughtful, not sad; and, as the planet grew, His noble form, wrapt in his mantle blue, Athwart the deck a deepening shadow threw. "Thee hath it pleased-Thy will be done!" he said, (3, Then sought his cabin; and, their capas' 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 given, Meanwhile the deities of America assemble in Whose voice is truth, whose wisdom is from heaven, (4, council; and one of the Zemi, the gods of the island- Who over sands and seas directs the stray, ers, announces his approach. "In vain," says he," have And, as with God's own finger, points the way. we guarded the Atlantic for ages. A mortal has He turn'd; but what strange thoughts perplex'd his soul, baffled our power; nor will our votaries arm against When, lo, no more attracted to the Pole, him. Yours are a sterner race. Hence; and, while The Compass, faithless as the circling vane, we have recourse to stratagem, do you array the na- Flutter'd and fix'd, flutter'd and fix'd again! tions round your altars, and prepare for an extermi- At length, as by some unseen hand imprest nating war." They disperse while he is yet speaking; It sought with trembling energy the West! 2 and, in the shape of a condor, he directs his flight to 'Ah no," he cried, and calm'd his anxious brow, the fleet. His journey described. He arrives there. Ill, nor the signs of ill, 'tis thine to show, A panic. A mutiny. Columbus restores order; con- Thine but to lead me where I wish'd to go!" tinues 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!" CANTO I. Night-Columbus on the Atlantic-the Variation of the Compass, etc. WHO the great Secret of the Deep possess'd And, issuing through the portals of the West, Fearless, resolved, with every sail unfurl'd Planted his standard on the Unknown World? 1 Perhaps even a contemporary subject should not be rejected as such, however wild and extravagant it may be, if the manners be foreign and the place distant-major è longinquo reverentia. "L'éloignement des pays," says Racine, "répare en quelque sorte la trop grande proximité des temps; car le people ne met guère de différence entre ce qui est, si j'ose ainsi parler, à mille ans de lui, et ce qui en est à mille lieues." Columbus err'd not. (5) In that awful hour, CANTO IL The Voyage continued. "WHAT vast foundations in the Abyss are there, (8 1 The capa is the Spanish cloak. When towers and temples, through the closing wave, Long from the stern the great adventurer gazed Of fearful men, when mountains round them rise And once again that valiant company And, see, the heavens bow down, the waters rise, CANTO III. An Assembly of Evil Spirits. THOUGH changed my cloth of gold for amice grey-(15) In my spring-time, when every month was May, And though my world be now a narrow cell, 'Mid pillars of Basalt, the work of fire, Merion, commission'd with his host to sweep "An, why look back, though all is left behind? No sounds of life are stirring in the wind. And you, ye birds, winging your passage home, -Still, as beyond this mortal life impell'd At day-break might the Caravels 2 be seen, Chasing their shadows o'er the deep serene; Their burnish'd prows lash'd by the sparkling tide, Their green-cross standards waving far and wide. And now once more to better thoughts inclined, The seaman, mounting, clamor'd in the wind. The soldier (24) told his tales of love and war; The courtier sung-sung to his gay guitar. Round, at Primero, sate a whisker'd band; So Fortune smiled, careless of sea or land! (25) Leon, Montalvan (serving side by side; Two with one soul-and, as they lived, they died), Vasco the brave, thrice found among the slain, Thrice, and how soon, up and in arms again, As soon to wish he had been sought in vain, Chain'd down in Fez, beneath the bitter thong, To the hard bench and heavy oar so long! Albert of Florence, who, at twilight-time, In my rapt ear pour'd Dante's tragic rhyme, Screen'd by the sail as near the mast we lay, Our nights illumined by the ocean-spray; And Manfred, who espoused with jewell'd ring Young Isabel, then left her sorrowing: Lerma "the generous," Avila "the proud ;"4 Velasquez, Garcia, through the echoing crowd Traced by their mirth-from Ebro's classic shore, From golden Tajo, to return no more! CANTO V. The Voyage continued. YET Who but He undaunted could explore (26) A world of waves, a sea without a shore, Trackless and vast and wild as that reveal'd When round the Ark the birds of tempest wheel'd; When all was still in the destroying hourNo sign of man! no vestige of his power! One at the stern before the hour-glass stood, As 't were to count the sands; one o'er the flood Gazed for St. Elmo; while another cried "Once more good-morrow!" and sate down sigh'd. Then sunk his generous spirit, and he wept. The friend, the father rose; the hero slept. Palos, thy port, with many a pang resign'd, Fill'd with its busy scenes his lonely mind; The solemn march, the vows in concert given, (27) The bended knees and lifted hands to heaven, The incensed rites, and choral harmonies, The Guardian's blessings mingling with his sighs; While his dear boys-ah, on his neck they hung, (28) And long at parting to his garments clung. Oft in the silent night-watch doubt and fear Right through the midst, when, fetlock-deep in gore, And bask and dream along the mountain-side; To urge your mules, tinkling from hill to hill; Or at the vintage-feast to drink your fill, And strike your castanets, with gipsy-maid Dancing Fandangos in the chesnut shadeCome on," he cried, and threw his glove in scorn, Not this your wonted pledge, the brimming horn, Valiant in peace! adventurous at home! Oh, had ye vow'd with pilgrim-staff to roam; Or with banditti sought the sheltering wood, Where mouldering crosses mark the scene of blood!He said, he drew; then, at his Master's frown, Sullenly sheathed, plunging the weapon down. CANTO VI. The flight of an Angel of Darkness. Still unsubdued by Danger's varying form, Day, when it came, came only with its light; 1 F. Columbus, c. 32. 2 Light vessels, formerly used by the Spaniards and Portu- Singly or clustering, round the Southern pole! guese. 3 F. Columbus, c. 23. 4 Many such appellations occur in Bernal Diaz. c. 204. 5 A luminous appearance of good omen. Nor yet the four that glorify the Night 1 F. Col. c. 3. |