And made a monstrous havock of proportion.
If her proud depths were not restrain'd by lands,
And broke by continents of vast extent
Existing somewhere under western skies,
Far other waves would roll before the storms
Than ever yet have burst on Europe's shores,
Driving before them deluge and confusion.
But Nature will preserve what she has plann'd: And the whole suffrage of antiquity,
Platonic dreams, and reason's plainer page
All point at something that we ought to see
Buried behind the waters of the west,
Clouded with shadows of uncertainty.
The time is come for some sublime event
Of mighty fame : — mankind are children yet,
And hardly dream what treasures they possess
In the dark bosom of the fertile main,
Unfathom'd, unattempted, unexplor❜d.
These, mighty prince, I offer to reveal,
And by the magnet's aid, if you supply
Ships and some gallant hearts, will hope to bring
From distant climes, news worthy of a king.
PICTURE XII. COLUMBUS IN CHAINS
Are these the honors they reserve for me,
Chains for the man that gave new worlds to Spain !
Rest here, my swelling heart! — O kings, O queens,
Patrons of monsters, and their progeny,
Authors of wrong, and slaves to fortune merely !
Why was I seated by my prince's side,
Honour'd, caress'd like some first peer of Spain?
Was it that I might fall most suddenly
From honour's summit to the sink of scandal?
'Tis done, 'tis done! - what madness is ambition !
What is there in that little breath of men,
Which they call Fame, that should induce the brave
To forfeit ease and that domestic bliss
Which is the lot of happy ignorance,
Less glorious aims, and dull humility? —
Whoe'er thou art that shall aspire to honour,
And on the strength and vigor of the mind
Vainly depending, court a monarch's favour,
Pointing the way to vast extended empire;
First count your pay to be ingratitude,
Then chains and prisons, and disgrace like mine!
Each wretched pilot now shall spread his sails,
And treading in my footsteps, hail new worlds,
Which, but for me, had still been empty visions.
FROM "THE HOUSE of Night"
Death in this tomb his weary bones hath laid,
Sick of dominion o'er the human kind;
Behold what devastations he hath made,
Survey the millions by his arm confined.
"Six thousand years has sovereign sway been mine, None but myself can real glory claim;
Great Regent of the world I reigned alone,
And princes trembled when my mandate came.
"Vast and unmatched throughout the world, my fame
Takes place of gods, and asks no mortal date-
No: by myself, and by the heavens, I swear
Not Alexander's name is half so great.
"Nor swords nor darts my prowess could withstand,
All quit their arms, and bowed to my decree, —
Even mighty Julius died beneath thy hand,
For slaves and Caesars were the same to me!"
Traveller, wouldst thou his noblest trophies seek,
Search in no narrow spot obscure for those ;
The sea profound, the surface of all land,
Is moulded with the myriads of his foes.
There oft a restless Indian queen
(Pale Shebah with her braided hair), And many barbarous form is seen
To chide the man that lingers there.
By midnight moons, o'er moistening dews,
In habit for the chase arrayed,
The hunter still the deer pursues,
The hunter and the deer
And long shall timorous Fancy see
The painted chief, and pointed spear, And Reason's self shall bow the knee To shadows and delusions here.
THE WILD HONEYSUCKLE
Fair flower, that dost so comely grow,
Hid in this silent, dull retreat,
Untouched thy honied blossoms blow,
Unseen thy little branches greet:
No roving foot shall crush thee here,
No busy hand provoke a tear.
By Nature's self in white arrayed,
She bade thee shun the vulgar eye,
And planted here the guardian shade,
And sent soft waters murmuring by ;
Thus quietly thy summer goes,
Thy days declining to repose.
Smit with those charms, that must decay,
I grieve to see your future doom;
They died nor were those flowers more gay,
The flowers that did in Eden bloom;
Unpitying frosts and Autumn's power
Shall leave no vestige of this flower.
From morning suns and evening dews
At first thy little being came;
If nothing once, you nothing lose,
For when you die you are the same;
The space between is but an hour,
The frail duration of a flower.
TO A HONEY BEE
Thou, born to sip the lake or spring,
Or quaff the waters of the stream,
Why hither come, on vagrant wing?
Does Bacchus tempting seem, —
Did he for joy this glass prepare?
Will I admit you to a share?
Did storms harass or foes perplex,
Did wasps or king-birds bring dismay,
Did wars distress, or labors vex,
Or did you miss your way?
A better seat you could not take
Than on the margin of this lake.
Welcome! I hail you to my glass:
All welcome here you find; Here let the cloud of trouble pass,
Here be all care resigned.
This fluid never fails to please,
And drown the grief of men or bees.
What forced you here we cannot know,
And you will scarcely tell,
But cheery we would have you go
And bid a glad farewell :
On lighter wings we bid you fly,
Your dart will now all foes defy.
Yet take not, oh! too deep a drink,
And in this ocean die ;
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