<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=538663" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Spirit Of Discovery By Sea - Book The Fourth</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Stand on the gleaming Pharos, and aloud<br>Shout, Commerce, to the kingdoms of the earth;<br>Shout, for thy golden portals are set wide,<br>And all thy streamers o'er the surge, aloft,<br>In pomp triumphant wave. The weary way<br>That pale Nearchus passed, from creek to creek<br>Advancing slow, no longer bounds the track<br>Of the adventurous mariner, who steers<br>Steady, with eye intent upon the stars,<br>To Elam's echoing port. Meantime, more high <br>Aspiring, o'er the Western main her towers<br>Th' imperial city lifts, the central mart<br>Of nations, and beneath the calm clear sky,<br>At distance from the palmy marge, displays<br>Her clustering columns, whitening to the morn.<br>Damascus' fleece, Golconda's gems, are there.<br>Murmurs the haven with one ceaseless hum;<br>The hurrying camel's bell, the driver's song,<br>Along the sands resound. Tyre, art thou fall'n?<br>A prouder city crowns the inland sea, <br>Raised by his hand who smote thee; as if thus<br>His mighty mind were swayed to recompense<br>The evil of his march through cities stormed,<br>And regions wet with blood! and still had flowed<br>The tide of commerce through the destined track,<br>Traced by his mind sagacious, who surveyed<br>The world he conquered with a sage's eye,<br>As with a soldier's spirit; but a scene<br>More awful opens: ancient world, adieu!<br>Adieu, cloud-piercing pillars, erst its bounds; <br>And thou, whose aged head once seemed to prop<br>The heavens, huge Atlas, sinking fast, adieu!<br>What though the seas with wilder fury rave,<br>Through their deserted realm; though the dread Cape,<br>Sole-frowning o'er the war of waves below,<br>That bar the seaman's search, horrid in air<br>Appear with giant amplitude; his head<br>Shrouded in clouds, the tempest at his feet,<br>And standing thus terrific, seem to say,<br>Incensed--Approach who dare! What though the fears <br>Of superstition people the vexed space<br>With spirits unblessed, that lamentations make<br>To the sad surge beyond--yet Enterprise,<br>Not now a darkling Cyclop on the sands<br>Striding, but led by Science, and advanced<br>To a more awful height, on the wide scene<br>Looks down commanding.<br>Does a shuddering thought<br>Of danger start, as the tumultuous sea<br>Tosses below! Calm Science, with a smile, <br>Displays the wondrous index, that still points,<br>With nice vibration tremulous, to the Pole.<br>And such, she whispers, is the just man's hope<br>In this tempestuous scene of human things;<br>Even as the constant needle to the North<br>Still points; so Piety and meek-eyed Faith<br>Direct, though trembling oft, their constant gaze<br>Heavenward, as to their lasting home, nor fear<br>The night, fast closing on their earthly way.<br>And guided by this index, thou shall pass <br>The world of seas secure. Far from all land,<br>Where not a sea-bird wanders; where nor star,<br>Nor moon appears, nor the bright noonday sun,<br>Safe in the wildering storm, as when the breeze<br>Of summer gently blows; through day, through night,<br>Where sink the well-known stars, and others rise<br>Slow from the South, the victor bark shall ride.<br>Henry! thy ardent mind first pierced the gloom<br>Of dark disastrous ignorance, that sat<br>Upon the Southern wave, like the deep cloud <br>That lowered upon the woody skirts, and veiled<br>From mortal search, with umbrage ominous,<br>Madeira's unknown isle. But look! the morn<br>Is kindled on the shadowy offing; streaks<br>Of clear cold light on Sagres' battlements<br>Are cast, where Henry watches, listening still<br>To the unwearied surge; and turning still<br>His anxious eyes to the horizon's bounds.<br>A sail appears; it swells, it shines: more high<br>Seen through the dusk it looms; and now the hull <br>Is black upon the surge, whilst she rolls on<br>Aloft--the weather-beaten ship--and now<br>Streams by the watch-tower!<br>Zarco, from the deep<br>What tidings?<br>The loud storm of night prevailed,<br>And swept our vessel from Bojador's rocks<br>Far out to sea; a sylvan isle received<br>Our sails; so willed the ALMIGHTY--He who speaks,<br>And all the waves are still! <br>Hail, HENRY cried,<br>The omen: we have burst the sole barrier,<br>(Prosper our wishes, Father of the world!)<br>We speed to Asia.<br>Soon upon the deep<br>The brave ship speeds again. Bojador's rocks<br>Arise at distance, frowning o'er the surf,<br>That boils for many a league without. Its course<br>The ship holds on; till lo! the beauteous isle,<br>That shielded late the sufferers from the storm, <br>Springs o'er the wave again. Here they refresh<br>Their wasted strength, and lift their vows to Heaven,<br>But Heaven denies their further search; for ah!<br>What fearful apparition, palled in clouds,<br>For ever sits upon the Western wave,<br>Like night, and in its strange portentous gloom<br>Wrapping the lonely waters, seems the bounds<br>Of Nature? Still it sits, day after day,<br>The same mysterious vision. Holy saints!<br>Is it the dread abyss where all things cease? <br>Or haply hid from mortal search, thine isle,<br>Cipango, and that unapproached seat<br>Of peace, where rest the Christians whom the hate<br>Of Moorish pride pursued? Whate'er it be,<br>Zarco, thy holy courage bids thee on<br>To burst the gloom, though dragons guard the shore,<br>Or beings more than mortal pace the sands.<br>The favouring gales invite; the bowsprit bears<br>Right onward to the fearful shade; more black<br>The cloudy spectre towers; already fear <br>Shrinks at the view aghast and breathless. Hark!<br>'Twas more than the deep murmur of the surge<br>That struck the ear; whilst through the lurid gloom<br>Gigantic phantoms seem to lift in air<br>Their misty arms; yet, yet--bear boldly on--<br>The mist dissolves;--seen through the parting haze,<br>Romantic rocks, like the depictured clouds,<br>Shine out; beneath a blooming wilderness<br>Of varied wood is spread, that scents the air;<br>Where fruits of 'golden rind,' thick interspersed <br>And pendent, through the mantling umbrage gleam<br>Inviting. Cypress here, and stateliest pine,<br>Spire o'er the nether shades, as emulous<br>Of sole distinction where all nature smiles.<br>Some trees, in sunny glades alone their head<br>And graceful stem uplifting, mark below<br>The turf with shadow; whilst in rich festoons<br>The flowery lianes braid their boughs; meantime<br>Choirs of innumerous birds of liveliest song<br>And brightest plumage, flitting through the shades, <br>With nimble glance are seen; they, unalarmed,<br>Now near in airy circles sing, then speed<br>Their random flight back to their sheltering bowers,<br>Whose silence, broken only by their song,<br>From the foundation of this busy world,<br>Perhaps had never echoed to the voice,<br>Or heard the steps, of Man. What rapture fired<br>The strangers' bosoms, as from glade to glade<br>They passed, admiring all, and gazing still<br>With new delight! 'Tis solitude around; <br>Deep solitude, that on the gloom of woods<br>Primaeval fearful hangs: a green recess<br>Now opens in the wilderness; gay flowers<br>Of unknown name purple the yielding sward;<br>The ring-dove murmurs o'er their head, like one<br>Attesting tenderest joy; but mark the trees,<br>Where, slanting through the gloom, the sunshine rests!<br>Beneath, a moss-grown monument appears,<br>O'er which the green banana gently waves<br>Its long leaf; and an aged cypress near <br>Leans, as if listening to the streamlet's sound,<br>That gushes from the adverse bank; but pause--<br>Approach with reverence! Maker of the world,<br>There is a Christian's cross! and on the stone<br>A name, yet legible amid its moss,--<br>Anna!<br>In that remote, sequestered spot,<br>Shut as it seemed from all the world, and lost<br>In boundless seas, to trace a name, to mark<br>The emblems of their holy faith, from all <br>Drew tears; while every voice faintly pronounced,<br>Anna! But thou, loved harp! whose strings have rung<br>To louder tones, oh! let my hand, awhile,<br>The wires more softly touch, whilst I rehearse<br>Her name and fate, who in this desert deep,<br>Far from the world, from friends, and kindred, found<br>Her long and last abode; there where no eye<br>Might shed a tear on her remains; no heart<br>Sigh in remembrance of her fate:--<br>She left <br>The Severn's side, and fled with him she loved<br>O'er the wide main; for he had told her tales<br>Of happiness in distant lands, where care<br>Comes not; and pointing to the golden clouds<br>That shone above the waves, when evening came,<br>Whispered--Oh, are there not sweet scenes of peace,<br>Far from the murmurs of this cloudy mart,--<br>Where gold alone bears sway,--scenes of delight,<br>Where love may lay his head upon the lap<br>Of innocence, and smile at all the toil <br>Of the low-thoughted throng, that place in wealth<br>Their only bliss! Yes, there are scenes like these.<br>Leave the vain chidings of the world behind,<br>Country, and hollow friends, and fly with me<br>Where love and peace in distant vales invite.<br>What wouldst thou here! Oh, shall thy beauteous look<br>Of maiden innocence, thy smile of youth, thine eyes<br>Of tenderness and soft subdued desire,<br>Thy form, thy limbs--oh, madness!--be the prey<br>Of a decrepit spoiler, and for gold?-- <br>Perish his treasure with him. Haste with me;<br>We shall find out some sylvan nook, and then,<br>If thou shouldst sometimes think upon these hills,<br>When they are distant far, and drop a tear,<br>Yes--I will kiss it from thy cheek, and clasp<br>Thy angel beauties closer to my breast;<br>And whilst the winds blow o'er us, and the sun<br>Sinks beautifully down, and thy soft cheek<br>Reclines on mine, I will infold thee thus,<br>And proudly cry, My friend--my love--my wife! <br>So tempted he, and soon her heart approved,<br>Nay wooed, the blissful dream; and oft at eve,<br>When the moon shone upon the wandering stream,<br>She paced the castle's battlements, that threw<br>Beneath their solemn shadow, and, resigned<br>To fancy and to tears, thought it most sweet<br>To wander o'er the world with him she loved.<br>Nor was his birth ignoble, for he shone<br>'Mid England's gallant youth in Edward's reign:<br>With countenance erect, and honest eye <br>Commanding (yet suffused in tenderness<br>At times), and smiles that like the lightning played<br>On his brown cheek,--so gently stern he stood,<br>Accomplished, generous, gentle, brave, sincere,--<br>Robert a Machin. But the sullen pride<br>Of haughty D'Arfet scorned all other claim<br>To his high heritage, save what the pomp<br>Of amplest wealth and loftier lineage gave.<br>Reckless of human tenderness, that seeks<br>One loved, one honoured object, wealth alone <br>He worshipped; and for this he could consign<br>His only child, his aged hope, to loathed<br>Embraces, and a life of tears! Nor here<br>His hard ambition ended; for he sought,<br>By secret whispers of conspiracies,<br>His sovereign to abuse, bidding him lift<br>His arm avenging, and upon a youth<br>Of promise close the dark forgotten gates<br>Of living sepulture, and in the gloom<br>Inhume the slowly-wasting victim. <br>So<br>He purposed, but in vain; the ardent youth<br>Rescued her--her whom more than life he loved,<br>Ev'n when the horrid day of sacrifice<br>Drew nigh. He pointed to the distant bark,<br>And while he kissed a stealing tear that fell<br>On her pale cheek, as trusting she reclined<br>Her head upon his breast, with ardour cried--<br>Be mine, be only mine! the hour invites;<br>Be mine, be only mine! So won, she cast <br>A look of last affection on the towers<br>Where she had passed her infant days, that now<br>Shone to the setting sun. I follow thee,<br>Her faint voice said; and lo! where in the air<br>A sail hangs tremulous, and soon her feet<br>Ascend the vessel's side: The vessel glides<br>Down the smooth current, as the twilight fades,<br>Till soon the woods of Severn, and the spot<br>Where D'Arfet's solitary turrets rose,<br>Is lost; a tear starts to her eye, she thinks <br>Of him whose gray head to the earth shall bend,<br>When he speaks nothing--but be all, like death,<br>Forgotten. Gently blows the placid breeze,<br>And oh! that now some fairy pinnace light<br>Might flit across the wave (by no seen power<br>Directed, save when Love upon the prow<br>Gathered or spread with tender hand the sail),<br>That now some fairy pinnace, o'er the surge<br>Silent, as in a summer's dream, might waft<br>The passengers upon the conscious flood <br>To regions bright of undisturbed joy!<br>But hark!<br>The wind is in the shrouds;--the cordage sings<br>With fitful violence;--the blast now swells,<br>Now sinks. Dread gloom invests the further wave,<br>Whose foaming toss alone is seen, beneath<br>The veering bowsprit.<br>Oh, retire to rest,<br>Maiden, whose tender heart would beat, whose cheek<br>Turn pale to see another thus exposed! <br>Hark! the deep thunder louder peals--Oh, save!--<br>The high mast crashes; but the faithful arm<br>Of love is o'er thee, and thy anxious eye,<br>Soon as the gray of morning peeps, shall view<br>Green Erin's hills aspiring!<br>The sad morn<br>Comes forth; but terror on the sunless wave<br>Still, like a sea-fiend, sits, and darkly smiles<br>Beneath the flash that through the struggling clouds<br>Bursts frequent, half revealing his scathed front, <br>Above the rocking of the waste that rolls<br>Boundless around.<br>No word through the long day<br>She spoke;--another slowly came;--no word<br>The beauteous drooping mourner spoke. The sun<br>Twelve times had sunk beneath the sullen surge,<br>And cheerless rose again:--Ah, where are now<br>Thy havens, France! But yet--resign not yet--<br>Ye lost seafarers--oh, resign not yet<br>All hope--the storm is passed; the drenched sail <br>Shines in the passing beam! Look up, and say--<br>Heaven, thou hast heard our prayers!<br>And lo! scarce seen,<br>A distant dusky spot appears;--they reach<br>An unknown shore, and green and flowery vales,<br>And azure hills, and silver-gushing streams,<br>Shine forth; a Paradise, which Heaven alone,<br>Who saw the silent anguish of despair,<br>Could raise in the waste wilderness of waves.<br>They gain the haven; through untrodden scenes, <br>Perhaps untrodden by the foot of man<br>Since first the earth arose, they wind. The voice<br>Of Nature hails them here with music, sweet,<br>As waving woods retired, or falling streams,<br>Can make; most soothing to the weary heart,<br>Doubly to those who, struggling with their fate,<br>And wearied long with watchings and with grief,<br>Seek but a place of safety. All things here<br>Whisper repose and peace; the very birds<br>That 'mid the golden fruitage glance their plumes, <br>The songsters of the lonely valley, sing--<br>Welcome from scenes of sorrow, live with us.<br>The wild wood opens, and a shady glen<br>Appears, embowered with mantling laurels high,<br>That sloping shade the flowery valley's side;<br>A lucid stream, with gentle murmur, strays<br>Beneath the umbrageous multitude of leaves,<br>Till gaining, with soft lapse, the nether plain,<br>It glances light along its yellow bed;--<br>The shaggy inmates of the forest lick <br>The feet of their new guests, and gazing stand.<br>A beauteous tree upshoots amid the glade<br>Its trembling top; and there upon the bank<br>They rest them, while each heart o'erflows with joy.<br>Now evening, breathing richer odours sweet,<br>Came down: a softer sound the circling seas,<br>The ancient woods resounded, while the dove,<br>Her murmurs interposing, tenderness<br>Awaked, yet more endearing, in the hearts<br>Of those who, severed wide from human kind, <br>Woman and man, by vows sincere betrothed,<br>Heard but the voice of Nature. The still moon<br>Arose--they saw it not--cheek was to cheek<br>Inclined, and unawares a stealing tear<br>Witnessed how blissful was that hour, that seemed<br>Not of the hours that time could count. A kiss<br>Stole on the listening silence; ne'er till now<br>Here heard; they trembled, ev'n as if the Power<br>That made the world, that planted the first pair<br>In Paradise, amid the garden walked:-- <br>This since the fairest garden that the world<br>Has witnessed, by the fabling sons of Greece<br>Hesperian named, who feigned the watchful guard<br>Of the scaled Dragon, and the Golden Fruit.<br>Such was this sylvan Paradise; and here<br>The loveliest pair, from a hard world remote,<br>Upon each other's neck reclined; their breath<br>Alone was heard, when the dove ceased on high<br>Her plaint; and tenderly their faithful arms<br>Infolded each the other. <br>Thou, dim cloud,<br>That from the search of men these beauteous vales<br>Hast closed, oh, doubly veil them! But alas,<br>How short the dream of human transport! Here,<br>In vain they built the leafy bower of love,<br>Or culled the sweetest flowers and fairest fruit.<br>The hours unheeded stole! but ah, not long--<br>Again the hollow tempest of the night<br>Sounds through the leaves; the inmost woods resound;<br>Slow comes the dawn, but neither ship nor sail <br>Along the rocking of the windy waste<br>Is seen: the dash of the dark-heaving wave<br>Alone is heard. Start from your bed of bliss,<br>Poor victims! never more shall ye behold<br>Your native vales again; and thou, sweet child!<br>Who, listening to the voice of love, hast left<br>Thy friends, thy country,--oh, may the wan hue<br>Of pining memory, the sunk cheek, the eye<br>Where tenderness yet dwells, atone (if love<br>Atonement need, by cruelty and wrong <br>Beset), atone ev'n now thy rash resolves!<br>Ah, fruitless hope! Day after day, thy bloom<br>Fades, and the tender lustre of thy eye<br>Is dimmed: thy form, amid creation, seems<br>The only drooping thing.<br>Thy look was soft,<br>And yet most animated, and thy step<br>Light as the roe's upon the mountains. Now,<br>Thou sittest hopeless, pale, beneath the tree<br>That fanned its joyous leaves above thy head, <br>Where love had decked the blooming bower, and strewn<br>The sweets of summer: DEATH is on thy cheek,<br>And thy chill hand the pressure scarce returns<br>Of him, who, agonised and hopeless, hangs<br>With tears and trembling o'er thee. Spare the sight,--<br>She faints--she dies!--<br>He laid her in the earth,<br>Himself scarce living, and upon her tomb<br>Beneath the beauteous tree where they reclined,<br>Placed the last tribute of his earthly love. </div><div style="margin:10px 0">INSCRIPTION FOR THE GRAVE OF ANNA D'ARFET.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O'er my poor ANNA'S lowly grave<br>No dirge shall sound, no knell shall ring;<br>But angels, as the high pines wave,<br>Their half-heard 'Miserere' sing.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">No flowers of transient bloom at eve<br>The maidens on the turf shall strew;<br>Nor sigh, as the sad spot they leave,<br>Sweets to the sweet! a long adieu!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But in this wilderness profound,<br>O'er her the dove shall build her nest; <br>And ocean swell with softer sound<br>A requiem to her dreams of rest!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ah! when shall I as quiet be,<br>When not a friend, or human eye,<br>Shall mark beneath the mossy tree<br>The spot where we forgotten lie!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">To kiss her name on the cold stone,<br>Is all that now on earth I crave;<br>For in this world I am alone--<br>Oh, lay me with her in the grave! </div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>ROBERT A MACHIN</div><div style="margin:10px 0">He placed the rude inscription on her stone,<br>Which he with faltering hands had graved, and soon<br>Himself beside it sunk--yet ere he died,<br>Faintly he spoke: If ever ye shall hear,<br>Companions of my few and evil days,<br>Again the convent's vesper bells, oh! think<br>Of me; and if in after-times the search<br>Of men should reach this far removed spot,<br>Let sad remembrance raise an humble shrine,<br>And virgin choirs chaunt duly o'er our grave: <br>Peace, peace! His arm upon the mournful stone<br>He dropped; his eyes, ere yet in death they closed,<br>Turned to the name, till he could see no more<br>ANNA. His pale survivors, earth to earth,<br>Weeping consigned his poor remains, and placed<br>Beneath the sod where all he loved was laid.<br>Then shaping a rude vessel from the woods,<br>They sought their country o'er the waves, and left<br>Those scenes once more to deepest solitude.<br>The beauteous ponciana hung its head <br>O'er the gray stone; but never human eye<br>Had mark'd the spot, or gazed upon the grave<br>Of the unfortunate, but for the voice<br>Of ENTERPRISE, that spoke, from Sagre's towers,<br>Through ocean's perils, storms, and unknown wastes--<br>Speed we to Asia!<br>Here, Discovery, pause!--<br>Then from the tomb of him who first was cast<br>Upon this Heaven-appointed isle, thy gaze<br>Uplift, and far beyond the Cape of Storms <br>Pursue De Gama's tract. Mark the rich shores<br>Of Madagascar, till the purple East<br>Shines in luxuriant beauty wide disclosed.<br>But cease thy song, presumptuous Muse!--a bard,<br>In tones whose patriot sound shall never die,<br>Has struck his deep shell, and the glorious theme<br>Recorded.<br>Say, what lofty meed awaits<br>The triumph of his victor conch, that swells<br>Its music on the yellow Tagus' side, <br>As when Arion, with his glittering harp<br>And golden hair, scarce sullied from the main,<br>Bids all the high rocks listen to his voice<br>Again! Alas, I see an aged form,<br>An old man worn by penury, his hair<br>Blown white upon his haggard cheek, his hand<br>Emaciated, yet the strings with thrilling touch<br>Soliciting; but the vain crowds pass by:<br>His very countrymen, whose fame his song<br>Has raised to heaven, in stately apathy <br>Wrapped up, and nursed in pride's fastidious lap,<br>Regard not. As he plays, a sable man<br>Looks up, but fears to speak, and when the song<br>Has ceased, kisses his master's feeble hand.<br>Is that cold wasted hand, that haggard look,<br>Thine, Camoens? Oh, shame upon the world!<br>And is there none, none to sustain thee found,<br>But he, himself unfriended, who so far<br>Has followed, severed from his native isles,<br>To scenes of gorgeous cities, o'er the sea, <br>Thee and thy broken fortunes!<br>GOD of worlds!<br>Oh, whilst I hail the triumph and high boast<br>Of social life, let me not wrong the sense<br>Of kindness, planted in the human heart<br>By man's great Maker, therefore I record<br>Antonio's faithful, gentle, generous love<br>To his heartbroken master, that might teach,<br>High as it bears itself, a polished world<br>More charity. <br>DISCOVERY, turn thine eyes!<br>COLUMBUS' toiling ship is on the deep,<br>Stemming the mid Atlantic.<br>Waste and wild<br>The view! On the same sunshine o'er the waves<br>The murmuring mariners, with languid eye,<br>Ev'n till the heart is sick, gaze day by day!<br>At midnight in the wind sad voices sound!<br>When the slow morning o'er the offing dawns,<br>Heartless they view the same drear weltering waste <br>Of seas: and when the sun again goes down<br>Silent, hope dies within them, and they think<br>Of parting friendship's last despairing look!<br>See too, dread prodigy, the needle veers<br>Her trembling point--will Heaven forsake them too!<br>But lift thy sunk eye, and thy bloodless look,<br>Despondence! Milder airs at morning breathe:--<br>Below the slowly-parting prow the sea<br>Is dark with weeds; and birds of land are seen<br>To wing the desert tract, as hasting on <br>To the green valleys of their distant home.<br>Yet morn succeeds to morn--and nought around<br>Is seen, but dark weeds floating many a league,<br>The sun's sole orb, and the pale hollowness<br>Of heaven's high arch streaked with the early clouds.<br>Watchman, what from the giddy mast?<br>A shade<br>Appears on the horizon's hazy line.<br>Land! land! aloud is echoed; but the spot<br>Fades as the shouting crew delighted gaze-- <br>It fades, and there is nothing--nothing now<br>But the blue sky, the clouds, and surging seas!<br>As one who, in the desert, faint with thirst,<br>Upon the trackless and forsaken sands<br>Sinks dying; him the burning haze deceives,<br>As mocking his last torments, while it seems,<br>To his distempered vision, like th' expanse<br>Of lucid waters cool: so falsely smiles<br>Th' illusive land upon the water's edge,<br>To the long-straining eye showing what seems <br>Its headlands and its distant trending shores;--<br>But all is false, and like the pensive dream<br>Of poor imagination, 'mid the waves<br>Of troubled life, decked with unreal hues,<br>And ending soon in emptiness and tears.<br>'Tis midnight, and the thoughtful chief, retired<br>From the vexed crowd, in his still cabin hears<br>The surge that rolls below; he lifts his eyes,<br>And casts a silent anxious look without.<br>It is a light--great God--it is a light! <br>It moves upon the shore!--Land--there is land!<br>He spoke in secret, and a tear of joy<br>Stole down his cheek, when on his knees he fell.<br>Thou, who hast been his guardian in wastes<br>Of the hoar deep, accept his tears, his prayers;<br>While thus he fondly hopes the purer light<br>Of thy great truths on the benighted world<br>Shall beam!<br>The lingering night is past;--the sun<br>Shines out, while now the red-cross streamers wave <br>High up the gently-surging bay. From all<br>Shouts, songs, and rapturous thanksgiving loud,<br>Burst forth: Another world, entranced they cry,<br>Another living world!--Awe-struck and mute<br>The gazing natives stand, and drop their spears,<br>In homage to the gods!<br>So from the deep<br>They hail emerging; sight more awful far<br>Than ever yet the wondering voyager<br>Greeted;--the prospect of a new-found world, <br>Now from the night of dark uncertainty<br>At once revealed in living light!<br>How beats<br>The heart! What thronging thoughts awake! Whence sprung<br>The roaming nations? From that ancient race<br>That peopled Asia--Noah's sons? How, then,<br>Passed they the long and lone expanse between<br>Of stormy ocean, from the elder earth<br>Cut off, and lost, for unknown ages, lost<br>In the vast deep? But whilst the awful view <br>Stands in thy sight revealed, Spirit, awake<br>To prouder energies! Even now, in thought,<br>I see thee opening bold Magellan's tract!<br>The straits are passed! Thou, as the seas expand,<br>Pausest a moment, when beneath thine eye<br>Blue, vast, and rocking, through its boundless rule,<br>The long Pacific stretches. Nor here cease<br>Thy search, but with De Quiros to the South<br>Still urge thy way, if yet some continent<br>Stretch to its dusky pole, with nations spread, <br>Forests, and hills, and streams.<br>So be thy search<br>With ampler views rewarded, till, at length,<br>Lo, the round world is compassed! Then return<br>Back to the bosom of the tranquil Thames,<br>And hail Britannia's victor ship, that now<br>From many a storm restored, winds its slow way<br>Silently up the current, and so finds,<br>Like to a time-worn pilgrim of the world,<br>Rest, in that haven where all tempests cease.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=William+Lisle+Bowles">William Lisle Bowles</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=538663" data-title="The Spirit Of Discovery By Sea - Book The Fourth de William Lisle Bowles" data-description="Stand on the gleaming Pharos, and aloud Shout, Commerce, to the kingdoms of the earth; Shout, for thy golden portals are set wide, And all thy streamers o'er the surge, aloft, In pomp triumphant wave. The weary way That pale Nearchus passed, from ..."></div> </div> </div>

solid border dashed border dotted border double border groove border ridge border inset border outset border no border blue green red purple cyan gold silver black