<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=538665" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Spirit Of Discovery By Sea - Book The Third</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">My heart has sighed in secret, when I thought<br>That the dark tide of time might one day close,<br>England, o'er thee, as long since it has closed<br>On Egypt and on Tyre: that ages hence,<br>From the Pacific's billowy loneliness,<br>Whose tract thy daring search revealed, some isle<br>Might rise in green-haired beauty eminent,<br>And like a goddess, glittering from the deep,<br>Hereafter sway the sceptre of domain<br>From pole to pole; and such as now thou art, <br>Perhaps NEW-HOLLAND be. For who shall say<br>What the OMNIPOTENT ETERNAL ONE,<br>That made the world, hath purposed! Thoughts like these,<br>Though visionary, rise; and sometimes move<br>A moment's sadness, when I think of thee,<br>My country, of thy greatness, and thy name,<br>Among the nations; and thy character,--<br>Though some few spots be on thy flowing robe,--<br>Of loveliest beauty: I have never passed<br>Through thy green hamlets on a summer's morn, <br>Nor heard thy sweet bells ring, nor seen the youths<br>And smiling maidens of thy villages,<br>Gay in their Sunday tire, but I have said,<br>With passing tenderness--Live, happy land,<br>Where the poor peasant feels his shed, though small,<br>An independence and a pride, that fill<br>His honest heart with joy--joy such as they<br>Who crowd the mart of men may never feel!<br>Such, England, is thy boast. When I have heard<br>The roar of ocean bursting 'round thy rocks, <br>Or seen a thousand thronging masts aspire,<br>Far as the eye could reach, from every port<br>Of every nation, streaming with their flags<br>O'er the still mirror of the conscious Thames,--<br>Yes, I have felt a proud emotion swell<br>That I was British-born; that I had lived<br>A witness of thy glory, my most loved<br>And honoured country; and a silent prayer<br>Would rise to Heaven, that Fame and Peace, and Love<br>And Liberty, might walk thy vales, and sing <br>Their holy hymns, while thy brave arm repelled<br>Hostility, even as thy guardian cliffs<br>Repel the dash of that dread element<br>Which calls me, lingering on the banks of Thames,<br>On to my destined voyage, by the shores<br>Of Asia, and the wreck of cities old,<br>Ere yet we burst into the wilder deep<br>With Gama; or the huge Atlantic waste<br>With bold Columbus stem; or view the bounds<br>Of field-ice, stretching to the southern pole, <br>With thee, benevolent, lamented Cook!<br>Tyre be no more! said the ALMIGHTY voice:<br>But thou too, Monarch of the world, whose arm<br>Rent the proud bulwarks of the golden queen<br>Of cities, throned upon her subject seas,<br>ART THOU TOO FALL'N?<br>The whole earth is at rest:<br>'They break forth into singing:' Lebanon<br>Waves all his hoary pines, and seems to say,<br>No feller now comes here; HELL from beneath <br>Is moved to meet thy coming; it stirs up<br>The DEAD for thee; the CHIEF ONES of the earth,<br>Tyre and the nations, they all speak and say--<br>Art thou become like us! Thy pomp brought down<br>E'en to the dust! The noise of viols ceased,<br>The worm spread under thee, the crawling worm<br>To cover thee! How art thou fall'n from heaven,<br>Son of the morning! In thy heart thou saidst,<br>I will ascend to Heaven; I will exalt<br>My throne above the stars of God! Die--die, <br>Blasphemer! As a carcase under foot,<br>Defiled and trodden, so be thou cast out!<br>And SHE, the great, the guilty Babel--SHE<br>Who smote the wasted cities, and the world<br>Made as a wilderness--SHE, in her turn,<br>Sinks to the gulf oblivious at the voice<br>Of HIM who sits in judgment on her crimes!<br>Who, o'er her palaces and buried towers,<br>Shall bid the owl hoot, and the bittern scream;<br>And on her pensile groves and pleasant shades <br>Pour the deep waters of forgetfulness.<br>On that same night, when with a cry she fell,<br>(Like her own mighty idol dashed to earth,)<br>There was a strange eclipse, and long laments<br>Were heard, and muttering thunders o'er the towers<br>Of the high palace where his wassail loud<br>Belshazzar kept, mocking the GOD OF HEAVEN,<br>And flushed with impious mirth; for BEL had left<br>With sullen shriek his golden shrine, and sat,<br>With many a gloomy apparition girt, <br>NISROCH and NEBO chief, in the dim sphere<br>Of mooned ASTORETH, whose orb now rolled<br>In darkness:--They their earthly empire mourned;<br>Meantime the host of Cyrus through the night<br>Silent advanced more nigh; and at that hour,<br>In the torch-blazing hall of revelry,<br>The fingers of a shadowy hand distinct<br>Came forth, and unknown figures marked the wall,<br>Searing the eye-balls of the starting king:<br>Tyre is avenged; Babel is fall'n, is fall'n! <br>Bel and her gods are shattered!<br>PRINCE, to thee<br>Called by the voice of God to execute<br>His will on earth, and raised to Persia's throne,<br>CYRUS, all hearts pay homage. Touched with tints<br>Most clear by the historian's magic art,<br>Thy features wear a gentleness and grace<br>Unlike the stern cold aspect and the frown<br>Of the dark chiefs of yore, the gloomy clan<br>Of heroes, from humanity and love <br>Removed: To thee a brighter character<br>Belongs--high dignity, unbending truth--<br>Yet Nature; not that lordly apathy<br>Which confidence and human sympathy<br>Represses, but a soul that bids all hearts<br>Smiling approach. We almost burn in thought<br>To kiss the hand that loosed Panthea's chains,<br>And bless him with a parent's, husband's tear,<br>Who stood a guardian angel in distress<br>To the unfriended, and the beautiful, <br>Consigned a helpless slave. Thy portrait, touched<br>With tints of softest light, thus wins all hearts<br>To love thee; but severer policy,<br>Cyrus, pronounces otherwise: she hears<br>No stir of commerce on the sullen marge<br>Of waters that along thy empire's verge<br>Beat cheerless; no proud moles arise; no ships,<br>Freighted with Indian wealth, glide o'er the main<br>From cape to cape. But on the desert sands<br>Hurtles thy numerous host, seizing, in thought <br>Rapacious, the rich fields of Hindostan,<br>As the poor savage fells the blooming tree<br>To gain its tempting fruit; but woe the while!<br>For in the wilderness the noise is lost<br>Of all thy archers;--they have ceased;--the wind<br>Blows o'er them, and the voice of judgment cries:<br>So perish they who grasp with avarice<br>Another's blessed portion, and disdain<br>That interchange of mutual good, that crowns<br>The slow, sure toil of commerce. <br>It was thine,<br>Immortal son of Macedon! to hang<br>In the high fane of maritime renown<br>The fairest trophies of thy fame, and shine,<br>THEN only like a god, when thy great mind<br>Swayed in its master council the deep tide<br>Of things, predestining th' eventful roll<br>Of commerce, and uniting either world,<br>Europe and Asia, in thy vast design.<br>Twas when the victor, in his proud career, <br>O'er ravaged Hindostan, had now advanced<br>Beyond Hydaspes; on the flowery banks<br>Of Hyphasis, with banners thronged, his camp<br>Was spread. On high he bade the altars rise,<br>The awful records to succeeding years<br>Of his long march of glory, and to point<br>The spot where, like the thunder rolled away,<br>His army paused. Now shady eve came down;<br>The trumpet sounded to the setting sun,<br>That looked from his illumed pavilion, calm <br>Upon the scene of arms, as if, all still,<br>And lovely as his parting light, the world<br>Beneath him spread; nor clangours, nor deep groans,<br>Were heard, nor victory's shouts, nor sighs, nor shrieks,<br>Were ever wafted from a bleeding land,<br>After the havoc of a conqueror's sword.<br>So calm the sun declined; when from the woods,<br>That shone to his last beam, a Brahmin old<br>Came forth. His streaming beard shone in the ray,<br>That slanted o'er his feeble frame; his front <br>Was furrowed. To the sun's last light he cast<br>A look of sorrow, then in silence bowed<br>Before the conqueror of the world. At once<br>All, as in death, was still. The victor chief<br>Trembled, he knew not why; the trumpet ceased<br>Its clangor, and the crimson streamer waved<br>No more in folds insulting to the Lord<br>Of the reposing world. The pallid front<br>Of the meek man seemed for a moment calm,<br>Yet dark and thronging thoughts appeared to swell <br>His beating heart. He paused--and then abrupt:<br>Victor, avaunt! he cried,<br>Hence! and the banners of thy pride<br>Bear to the deep! Behold on high<br>Yon range of mountains mingled with the sky!<br>It is the place<br>Where the great Father of the human race<br>Rested, when all the world and all its sounds<br>Ceased; and the ocean that surrounds<br>The earth, leaped from its dark abode <br>Beneath the mountains, and enormous flowed,<br>The green earth deluging! List, soldier, list!<br>And dread His might no mortal may resist.<br>Great Bramah rested, hushed in sleep,<br>When Hayagraiva came,<br>With mooned horns and eyes of flame,<br>And bore the holy Vedas to the deep.<br>Far from the sun's rejoicing ray,<br>Beneath the huge abyss, the buried treasures lay.<br>Then foamed the billowy desert wide, <br>And all that breathed--they died,<br>Sunk in the rolling waters: such the crime<br>And violence of earth. But he above,<br>Great Vishnu, moved with pitying love,<br>Preserved the pious king, whose ark sublime<br>Floated, in safety borne:<br>For his stupendous horn,<br>Blazing like gold, and many a rood<br>Extended o'er the dismal flood,<br>The precious freight sustained, till on the crest <br>Of Himakeel, yon mountain high,<br>That darkly mingles with the sky,<br>Where many a griffin roams, the hallowed ark found rest.<br>And Heaven decrees that here<br>Shall cease thy slaughtering spear:<br>Enough we bleed, enough we weep,<br>Hence, victor, to the deep!<br>Ev'n now along the tide<br>I see thy ships triumphant ride:<br>I see the world of trade emerge <br>From ocean's solitude! What fury fires<br>My breast! The flood, the flood retires,<br>And owns its future sovereign! Urge<br>Thy destined way; what countless pennants stream!<br>(Or is it but the shadow of a dream?)<br>Ev'n now old Indus hails<br>Thy daring prows in long array,<br>That o'er the lone seas gliding,<br>Around the sea-gods riding,<br>Speed to Euphrates' shores their destined way. <br>Fill high the bowl of mirth!<br>From west to east the earth<br>Proclaims thee Lord; shall the blue main<br>Confine thy reign?<br>But tremble, tyrant; hark in many a ring,<br>With language dread<br>Above thy head,<br>The dark Assoors thy death-song sing.<br>What mortal blow<br>Hath laid the king of nations low? <br>No hand: his own despair.--<br>But shout, for the canvas shall swell to the air,<br>Thy ships explore<br>Unknown Persia's winding shore,<br>While the great dragon rolls his arms in vain.<br>And see, uprising from the level main,<br>A new and glorious city springs;--<br>Hither speed thy woven wings,<br>That glance along the azure tide;<br>Asia and Europe own thy might;-- <br>The willing seas of either world unite:<br>Thy name shall consecrate the sands,<br>And glittering to the sky the mart of nations stands.<br>He spoke, and rushed into the thickest wood.<br>With flashing eyes the impatient monarch cried--<br>Yes, by the Lybian Ammon and the gods<br>Of Greece, thou bid'st me on, the self-same track<br>My spirit pointed; and, let death betide,<br>My name shall live in glory!<br>At his word <br>The pines descend; the thronging masts aspire;<br>The novel sails swell beauteous o'er the curves<br>Of INDUS; to the Moderators' song<br>The oars keep time, while bold Nearchus guides<br>Aloft the gallies. On the foremost prow<br>The monarch from his golden goblet pours<br>A full libation to the gods, and calls<br>By name the mighty rivers, through whose course<br>He seeks the sea. To Lybian Ammon loud<br>The songs ascend; the trumpets bray; aloft <br>The streamers fly, whilst on the evening wave<br>Majestic to the main the fleet descends.</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=538665" data-title="The Spirit Of Discovery By Sea - Book The Third de William Lisle Bowles" data-description="My heart has sighed in secret, when I thought That the dark tide of time might one day close, England, o'er thee, as long since it has closed On Egypt and on Tyre: that ages hence, From the Pacific's billowy loneliness, Whose tract thy daring sear..."></div> </div> </div>

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