The Poems of Philip Freneau Volume I Part 19

As o'er his charts Columbus ran, Such disproportion he survey'd, He thought he saw in art's mean plan Blunders that Nature never made; The land in one poor corner placed, And all beside, a swelling waste!-- "It can't be so," Columbus said;

"This world on paper idly drawn,[49]

"O'er one small tract so often gone "The pencil tires; in this void s.p.a.ce "Allow'd to find no resting place.

"But copying Nature's bold design, "If true to her, no fault is mine; "Perhaps in these moist regions dwell "Forms wrought like man, and lov'd as well.

"Yet to the west what lengthen'd seas!

"Are no gay islands found in these, "No sylvan worlds that Nature meant "To balance Asia's vast extent?

"As late a mimic globe I made "(Imploring Fancy to my aid) "O'er these wild seas a shade I threw, "And a new world my pencil drew.

"But westward plac'd, and far away "In the deep seas this country lay "Beyond all climes already known, "In Neptune's bosom plac'd alone.

"Who knows but he that hung this ball "In the clear void, and governs all, "On those dread scenes, remote from view, "Has trac'd his great idea too.

"What can these idle charts avail-- "O'er real seas I mean to sail; "If fortune aids the grand design, "Worlds yet unthought of shall be mine.

"But how shall I this country find!

"Gay, painted picture of the mind!

"Religion[B] holds my project vain, "And owns no worlds beyond the main.

[B] The Inquisition made it criminal to a.s.sert the existence of the Antipodes.--_Freneau's note._

"'Midst yonder hills long time has stay'd[50]

"In sylvan cells a wondrous maid, "Who things to come can truly tell, "Dread mistress of the magic spell.

"Whate'er the depths of time can shew "All pa.s.s before her in review, "And all events her eyes survey, "'Till time and nature both decay.

"I'll to her cave, enquiring there "What mighty things the fates prepare; "Whether my hopes and plans are vain, "Or I must give new worlds to Spain."

PICTURE II.[51]

The Cell of an Inchantress

_Inchantress_

Who dares attempt this gloomy grove Where never shepherd dream'd of love, And birds of night are only found, And poisonous weeds bestrew the ground: Hence, stranger, take some other road, Nor dare prophane my dark abode; The winds are high, the moon is low-- Would you enter?--no, no, no:--

_Columbus_

Sorceress of mighty power![A]

Hither at the midnight hour Over hill and dale I've come, Leaving ease and sleep at home: With daring aims my bosom glows; Long a stranger to repose, I have come to learn from you Whether phantoms I pursue, Or if, as reason would persuade, New worlds are on the ocean laid-- Tell me, wonder-working maid, Tell me, dire inchantress, tell, Mistress of the magic spell!

[A] The fifteenth century was, like many of the preceding, an age of superst.i.tion, cruelty, and ignorance. When this circ.u.mstance, therefore, is brought into view, the mixture of truth and fiction will not appear altogether absurd or unnatural. At any rate, it has ever been tolerated in this species of poetry.--_Freneau's note._

_Inchantress_

The staring owl her note has sung; With gaping snakes my cave is hung; Of maiden hair my bed is made, Two winding sheets above it laid; With bones of men my shelves are pil'd, And toads are for my supper boil'd; Three ghosts attend to fill my cup, And four to serve my pottage up; The crow is waiting to say grace:-- Wouldst thou in such a dismal place The secrets of thy fortune trace?

_Columbus_

Though death and all his dreary crew Were to be open'd on my view, I would not from this threshold fly 'Till you had made a full reply.

Open wide this iron gate, I must read the book of fate: Tell me, if beyond the main Islands are reserv'd for Spain; Tell me, if beyond the sea Worlds are to be found by me: Bid your spirits disappear, Phantoms of delusive fear, These are visions I despise, Shadows and uncertainties.

_Inchantress_

Must I, then, yield to your request!

Columbus, why disturb my rest!-- For this the ungrateful shall combine, And hard misfortune shall be thine;-- For this the base reward remains Of cold neglect and galling chains![B]

In a poor solitude forgot, Reproach and want shall be the lot Of him that gives new worlds to Spain, And westward spreads her golden reign.

Before you came to vex my bower I slept away the evening hour, Or watch'd the rising of the moon, With hissing vipers keeping tune, Or galloping along the glade Took pleasure in the lunar shade, And gather'd herbs, or made a prize Of horses' tails and adders' eyes: Now open flies the iron gate, Advance, and read the book of fate!

On thy design what woes attend!

The nations at the ocean's end, No longer destin'd to be free, Shall owe distress and death to thee!

The seats of innocence and love Shall soon the scenes of horror prove: But why disturb these Indian climes, The pictures of more happy times!

Has avarice, with unfeeling breast, Has cruelty thy soul possess'd?

May ruin on thy boldness wait!-- Advance, and read the book of fate.

When vulture, fed but once a week, And ravens three together shriek, And skeleton for vengeance cries, Then shall the fatal curtain rise!

Two lamps in yonder vaulted room, Suspended o'er a brazen tomb, Shall lend their glimmerings, as you pa.s.s, To find your fortune in that gla.s.s Whose wondrous virtue is, to show Whate'er the inquirer wants to know.

[B] In 1498 he was superseded in his command at Hispaniola and sent home in irons. Soon after finis.h.i.+ng his fourth voyage, finding himself neglected by the Court of Spain after all his services, he retired to Valladolid, in Old Castile, where he died on the 20th of May. A. D. 1506.--_Freneau's note._

PICTURE III.

The Mirror

_Columbus_

Strange things I see, bright mirror, in thy breast:-- There Perseverance stands, and n.o.bly scorns The gabbling tongue of busy calumny; Proud Erudition in a scholar's garb Derides my plans and grins a jeering smile.

Hypocrisy, clad in a doctor's gown, A western continent deems heresy: The princes, kings, and n.o.bles of the land Smile at my projects, and report me mad: One royal woman only stands my friend, Bright Isabell, the lady of our hearts, Whom avarice prompts to aid my purposes, And love of toys--weak female vanity!-- She gains her point!--three slender barques I see (Or else the witch's gla.s.s deceives mine eye) Rigg'd trim, and furnish'd out with stores and men, Fitted for tedious journeys o'er the main: Columbus--ha!--their motions he directs; Their captains come, and ask advice from him, Holding him for the soul of resolution.

Now, now we launch from Palos! prosperous gales Impel the canvas: now the far fam'd streight Is pa.s.s'd, the pillars of the son of Jove, Long held the limits of the paths of men: Ah! what a waste of ocean here begins, And lonely waves, so black and comfortless!

Light flies each bounding galley o'er the main; Now Lancerota gathers on our view, And Teneriffe her clouded summit rears: Awhile we linger at these islands fair That seem the utmost boundaries of the world, Then westward aiming on the unfathom'd deep Sorrowing, with heavy hearts we urge our way.

Now all is discontent--such oceans pa.s.s'd, No land appearing yet, dejects the most; Yet, fertile in expedients, I alone The mask of mild content am forc'd to wear: A thousand signs I see, or feign to see, Of sh.o.r.es at hand, and bottoms underneath, And not a bird that wanders o'er the main, And not a cloud that traverses the sky But brings me something to support their hopes: All fails at last!--so frequently deceiv'd They growl with anger--mad to look at death They gnash their teeth, and will be led no more; On me their vengeance turns: they look at me As their conductor to the realms of ruin: Plot after plot discover'd, not reveng'd, They join against their chief in mutiny: They urge to plunge him in the boiling deep As one, the only one that would pursue Imaginary worlds through boundless seas:-- The scene is chang'd--Fine islands greet mine eye, Cover'd with trees, and beasts, and yellow men; Eternal summer through the vallies smiles And fragrant gales o'er golden meadows play!-- Inchantress, 'tis enough!--now veil your gla.s.s-- The curtain falls--and I must homeward pa.s.s.

PICTURE IV.

Columbus addresses King Ferdinand

Prince and the pride of Spain! while meaner crowns, Pleas'd with the shadow of monarchial sway, Exact obedience from some paltry tract Scarce worth the pain and toil of governing, Be thine the generous care to send thy fame Beyond the knowledge, or the guess of man.

This gulphy deep (that bounds our western reign So long by civil feuds and wars disgrac'd) Must be the pa.s.sage to some other sh.o.r.e Where nations dwell, children of early time, Basking in the warm suns.h.i.+ne of the south, Who some false deity, no doubt, adore, Owning no virtue in the potent cross: What honour, sire, to plant your standards there,[A]

And souls recover to our holy faith That now in paths of dark perdition stray Warp'd to his wors.h.i.+p by the evil one!

Think not that Europe and the Asian waste, Or Africa, where barren sands abound, Are the sole gems in Neptune's bosom laid: Think not the world a vast extended plain: See yond' bright orbs, that through the ether move, All globular; this earth a globe like them Walks her own rounds, attended by the moon, Bright comrade, but with borrowed l.u.s.tre bright.

If all the surface of this mighty round Be one wide ocean of unfathom'd depth Bounding the little s.p.a.ce already known, Nature must have forgot her wonted wit 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 sh.o.r.es, 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 s.h.i.+ps and some gallant hearts, will hope to bring From distant climes, news worthy of a king.