Dreary and brown the night comes down,Gloomy, without a star.On Palos town the night comes down;The day departs with a stormy frown;The sad sea moans afar.A convent-gate is near; 'tis late;Ting-ling! the bell they ring.They ring the bell, they ask for bread—"Just for my child," the father said.Kind hands the bread will bring.White was his hair, his mien was fair,His look was calm and great.The porter ran and called a friar;The friar made haste and told the prior;The prior came to the gate.He took them in, he gave them food;The traveller's dreams he heard;And fast the midnight moments flew,And fast the good man's wonder grew,And all his heart was stirred.The child the while, with soft, sweet smileForgetful of all sorrow,Lay soundly sleeping in his bed.The good man kissed him then, and said:"You leave us not to-morrow!"I pray you rest the convent's guest;The child shall be our own—A precious care, while you prepareYour business with the court, and bearYour message to the throne."And so his guest he comforted.O wise, good prior! to you,Who cheered the stranger's darkest days,And helped him on his way, what praiseAnd gratitude are due!John T. Trowbridge.
Dreary and brown the night comes down,Gloomy, without a star.On Palos town the night comes down;The day departs with a stormy frown;The sad sea moans afar.A convent-gate is near; 'tis late;Ting-ling! the bell they ring.They ring the bell, they ask for bread—"Just for my child," the father said.Kind hands the bread will bring.White was his hair, his mien was fair,His look was calm and great.The porter ran and called a friar;The friar made haste and told the prior;The prior came to the gate.He took them in, he gave them food;The traveller's dreams he heard;And fast the midnight moments flew,And fast the good man's wonder grew,And all his heart was stirred.The child the while, with soft, sweet smileForgetful of all sorrow,Lay soundly sleeping in his bed.The good man kissed him then, and said:"You leave us not to-morrow!"I pray you rest the convent's guest;The child shall be our own—A precious care, while you prepareYour business with the court, and bearYour message to the throne."And so his guest he comforted.O wise, good prior! to you,Who cheered the stranger's darkest days,And helped him on his way, what praiseAnd gratitude are due!John T. Trowbridge.
Dreary and brown the night comes down,Gloomy, without a star.On Palos town the night comes down;The day departs with a stormy frown;The sad sea moans afar.
A convent-gate is near; 'tis late;Ting-ling! the bell they ring.They ring the bell, they ask for bread—"Just for my child," the father said.Kind hands the bread will bring.
White was his hair, his mien was fair,His look was calm and great.The porter ran and called a friar;The friar made haste and told the prior;The prior came to the gate.
He took them in, he gave them food;The traveller's dreams he heard;And fast the midnight moments flew,And fast the good man's wonder grew,And all his heart was stirred.
The child the while, with soft, sweet smileForgetful of all sorrow,Lay soundly sleeping in his bed.The good man kissed him then, and said:"You leave us not to-morrow!
"I pray you rest the convent's guest;The child shall be our own—A precious care, while you prepareYour business with the court, and bearYour message to the throne."
And so his guest he comforted.O wise, good prior! to you,Who cheered the stranger's darkest days,And helped him on his way, what praiseAnd gratitude are due!
John T. Trowbridge.
Isabella and Ferdinand were with their army before Granada, and received Columbus well; but his demands for emoluments and honors in the event of success were pronounced absurd; the negotiations were broken off, and again Columbus started for France. The few converts to his theories were in despair, and one of them, Luis de Santangel, receiver of the ecclesiastical revenues of Aragon, obtained an audience of the Queen, and enkindled her patriotic spirit. When Ferdinand still hesitated, she exclaimed, "I undertake the enterprise for my own crown of Castile. I will pledge my jewels to raise the money that is needed!" Santangel assured her that he himself was ready to provide the money, and advanced seventeen thousand florins from the coffers of Aragon, so that Ferdinand really paid for the expedition, after all.
Isabella and Ferdinand were with their army before Granada, and received Columbus well; but his demands for emoluments and honors in the event of success were pronounced absurd; the negotiations were broken off, and again Columbus started for France. The few converts to his theories were in despair, and one of them, Luis de Santangel, receiver of the ecclesiastical revenues of Aragon, obtained an audience of the Queen, and enkindled her patriotic spirit. When Ferdinand still hesitated, she exclaimed, "I undertake the enterprise for my own crown of Castile. I will pledge my jewels to raise the money that is needed!" Santangel assured her that he himself was ready to provide the money, and advanced seventeen thousand florins from the coffers of Aragon, so that Ferdinand really paid for the expedition, after all.
THE FINAL STRUGGLE
From "The New World"
[January 6—April 17, 1492]
Yet had his sun not risen; from his lipsFell in swift fervid accents his desire,And Talavera's eyes of smouldering fireShone with a myriad doubts, a dark eclipseOf faith hung round him, and the longed-for shipsPloughed but the ocean of his star-lit dreams;Time had not tried his soul enough with whipsAnd scorns, for so the rigid Master deemsHe makes his servants fitFor the hard toils which knitThe perfect garment, firm and without seams,The world shall wear at last; his hurt brain teemsWith indignation and he turns awayUndaunted, and he girds him for the frayOnce more; but first he hears the words of his good friend,Marchena, strong with trust in the far-shining end.His wanderings reached at last the lonely doorOf calm La Rabida; there the silence cameGrateful upon his grief's consuming flame;The simple cloisters gave him peace once more,And the live ocean rolled up to the shoreIn ceaseless voice of promise; through the pinesThe sun looked down benignant, and the roarOf the far world of rivalries declinesInto an inward murmurWith each day growing firmer,Whose sense is conquest at the last; as shinesA lamp across a rocky path's confines,Making the outlet clear, Juan Perez' faithWho heard him and conceived his words no wraithOf fevered fancy but the very truth, was lightTo bring the Queen to know his purposes aright.O noble priest and friend! you reached the courtAnd turned the Queen from conquest's mid careerTo hearken; other triumphs glittered clearBefore her, and again from Huelva's portThe seeker came; he saw Granada's fortOpen its gates reluctant, and the King,El Zogoibi, bewail his bitter sortAnd loss which made the richTe DeumsringWhen on La Vela's towerThe cross bloomed like a flowerOf heaven's own growing; but the sudden spring,Loud with birds silent long that strove to sing,After the winter's weary voiceless reign,Was overcast with storms of cold disdain;Haughtily forth he fared and reached Granada's gatesWhen the clouds lifted and the persecuting fatesRelented from their fury; for the QueenListened unto the urgings manifoldOf Santangel, and counsel, wise and bold,Ofthe far-seeing Marchioness, whose keenDivinings pierced the misty ocean's screenAnd felt the deed must surely come to pass;So they recalled him, and his life's changed sceneGrew bright with blooms and smile of thickening grass;O royal woman thenYour hand received againThe keys of a great realm; in the clear glassOf actions yet to be whose fires amassInfinite stores of impulse toward the good,Your image permanent lies; forth from the woodOf beasts malicious and the unrelenting dreadYou showed the way, but sought not from the gloom to tread.The wind was fair, the ships lay in the bay,And the blue sky looked down upon the earth;Prophetic time laughed toward the nearing birthOf the strong child with whom should come a dayThat dulled all earlier hours. Forth on the wayWith holy blessings said, and bellied sails,And mounting joy that knows not let nor stay!Lo! the undaunted purpose never fails!O patient master, seer,For whom the far is near,The vision true, and the mere present palesIts lustre, what mild seas and blossomed valesAwaited you? haply a paradiseBut not the one which drew your swerveless eyes;Could you have known what lands were there beyond the main,You surelier would have turned to gladsomeness from pain.Louis James Block.
Yet had his sun not risen; from his lipsFell in swift fervid accents his desire,And Talavera's eyes of smouldering fireShone with a myriad doubts, a dark eclipseOf faith hung round him, and the longed-for shipsPloughed but the ocean of his star-lit dreams;Time had not tried his soul enough with whipsAnd scorns, for so the rigid Master deemsHe makes his servants fitFor the hard toils which knitThe perfect garment, firm and without seams,The world shall wear at last; his hurt brain teemsWith indignation and he turns awayUndaunted, and he girds him for the frayOnce more; but first he hears the words of his good friend,Marchena, strong with trust in the far-shining end.His wanderings reached at last the lonely doorOf calm La Rabida; there the silence cameGrateful upon his grief's consuming flame;The simple cloisters gave him peace once more,And the live ocean rolled up to the shoreIn ceaseless voice of promise; through the pinesThe sun looked down benignant, and the roarOf the far world of rivalries declinesInto an inward murmurWith each day growing firmer,Whose sense is conquest at the last; as shinesA lamp across a rocky path's confines,Making the outlet clear, Juan Perez' faithWho heard him and conceived his words no wraithOf fevered fancy but the very truth, was lightTo bring the Queen to know his purposes aright.O noble priest and friend! you reached the courtAnd turned the Queen from conquest's mid careerTo hearken; other triumphs glittered clearBefore her, and again from Huelva's portThe seeker came; he saw Granada's fortOpen its gates reluctant, and the King,El Zogoibi, bewail his bitter sortAnd loss which made the richTe DeumsringWhen on La Vela's towerThe cross bloomed like a flowerOf heaven's own growing; but the sudden spring,Loud with birds silent long that strove to sing,After the winter's weary voiceless reign,Was overcast with storms of cold disdain;Haughtily forth he fared and reached Granada's gatesWhen the clouds lifted and the persecuting fatesRelented from their fury; for the QueenListened unto the urgings manifoldOf Santangel, and counsel, wise and bold,Ofthe far-seeing Marchioness, whose keenDivinings pierced the misty ocean's screenAnd felt the deed must surely come to pass;So they recalled him, and his life's changed sceneGrew bright with blooms and smile of thickening grass;O royal woman thenYour hand received againThe keys of a great realm; in the clear glassOf actions yet to be whose fires amassInfinite stores of impulse toward the good,Your image permanent lies; forth from the woodOf beasts malicious and the unrelenting dreadYou showed the way, but sought not from the gloom to tread.The wind was fair, the ships lay in the bay,And the blue sky looked down upon the earth;Prophetic time laughed toward the nearing birthOf the strong child with whom should come a dayThat dulled all earlier hours. Forth on the wayWith holy blessings said, and bellied sails,And mounting joy that knows not let nor stay!Lo! the undaunted purpose never fails!O patient master, seer,For whom the far is near,The vision true, and the mere present palesIts lustre, what mild seas and blossomed valesAwaited you? haply a paradiseBut not the one which drew your swerveless eyes;Could you have known what lands were there beyond the main,You surelier would have turned to gladsomeness from pain.Louis James Block.
Yet had his sun not risen; from his lipsFell in swift fervid accents his desire,And Talavera's eyes of smouldering fireShone with a myriad doubts, a dark eclipseOf faith hung round him, and the longed-for shipsPloughed but the ocean of his star-lit dreams;Time had not tried his soul enough with whipsAnd scorns, for so the rigid Master deemsHe makes his servants fitFor the hard toils which knitThe perfect garment, firm and without seams,The world shall wear at last; his hurt brain teemsWith indignation and he turns awayUndaunted, and he girds him for the frayOnce more; but first he hears the words of his good friend,Marchena, strong with trust in the far-shining end.
His wanderings reached at last the lonely doorOf calm La Rabida; there the silence cameGrateful upon his grief's consuming flame;The simple cloisters gave him peace once more,And the live ocean rolled up to the shoreIn ceaseless voice of promise; through the pinesThe sun looked down benignant, and the roarOf the far world of rivalries declinesInto an inward murmurWith each day growing firmer,Whose sense is conquest at the last; as shinesA lamp across a rocky path's confines,Making the outlet clear, Juan Perez' faithWho heard him and conceived his words no wraithOf fevered fancy but the very truth, was lightTo bring the Queen to know his purposes aright.
O noble priest and friend! you reached the courtAnd turned the Queen from conquest's mid careerTo hearken; other triumphs glittered clearBefore her, and again from Huelva's portThe seeker came; he saw Granada's fortOpen its gates reluctant, and the King,El Zogoibi, bewail his bitter sortAnd loss which made the richTe DeumsringWhen on La Vela's towerThe cross bloomed like a flowerOf heaven's own growing; but the sudden spring,Loud with birds silent long that strove to sing,After the winter's weary voiceless reign,Was overcast with storms of cold disdain;Haughtily forth he fared and reached Granada's gatesWhen the clouds lifted and the persecuting fates
Relented from their fury; for the QueenListened unto the urgings manifoldOf Santangel, and counsel, wise and bold,Ofthe far-seeing Marchioness, whose keenDivinings pierced the misty ocean's screenAnd felt the deed must surely come to pass;So they recalled him, and his life's changed sceneGrew bright with blooms and smile of thickening grass;O royal woman thenYour hand received againThe keys of a great realm; in the clear glassOf actions yet to be whose fires amassInfinite stores of impulse toward the good,Your image permanent lies; forth from the woodOf beasts malicious and the unrelenting dreadYou showed the way, but sought not from the gloom to tread.
The wind was fair, the ships lay in the bay,And the blue sky looked down upon the earth;Prophetic time laughed toward the nearing birthOf the strong child with whom should come a dayThat dulled all earlier hours. Forth on the wayWith holy blessings said, and bellied sails,And mounting joy that knows not let nor stay!Lo! the undaunted purpose never fails!O patient master, seer,For whom the far is near,The vision true, and the mere present palesIts lustre, what mild seas and blossomed valesAwaited you? haply a paradiseBut not the one which drew your swerveless eyes;Could you have known what lands were there beyond the main,You surelier would have turned to gladsomeness from pain.
Louis James Block.
With the greatest difficulty, Columbus managed to secure three little vessels, the Santa Maria, the Pinta, and the Niña, and to enlist about a hundred and twenty men for the enterprise. Early in the morning of Friday, August 3, 1492, this tiny fleet sailed out from Palos and turned their prows to the west.
With the greatest difficulty, Columbus managed to secure three little vessels, the Santa Maria, the Pinta, and the Niña, and to enlist about a hundred and twenty men for the enterprise. Early in the morning of Friday, August 3, 1492, this tiny fleet sailed out from Palos and turned their prows to the west.
STEER, BOLD MARINER, ON!
[August 3, 1492]
Steer, bold mariner, on! albeit witlings deride thee,And the steersman drop idly his hand at the helm.Ever and ever to westward! there must the coast be discovered,If it but lie distinct, luminous lie in thy mind.Trust to the God that leads thee, and follow the sea that is silent;Did it not yet exist, now would it rise from the flood.Nature with Genius stands united in league everlasting;What is promised by one, surely the other performs.Friedrich von Schiller.
Steer, bold mariner, on! albeit witlings deride thee,And the steersman drop idly his hand at the helm.Ever and ever to westward! there must the coast be discovered,If it but lie distinct, luminous lie in thy mind.Trust to the God that leads thee, and follow the sea that is silent;Did it not yet exist, now would it rise from the flood.Nature with Genius stands united in league everlasting;What is promised by one, surely the other performs.Friedrich von Schiller.
Steer, bold mariner, on! albeit witlings deride thee,And the steersman drop idly his hand at the helm.Ever and ever to westward! there must the coast be discovered,If it but lie distinct, luminous lie in thy mind.Trust to the God that leads thee, and follow the sea that is silent;Did it not yet exist, now would it rise from the flood.Nature with Genius stands united in league everlasting;What is promised by one, surely the other performs.
Friedrich von Schiller.
The fleet reached the Canaries without misadventure, but when the shores of Ferro sank from sight, the sailors gave themselves up for lost. Their terror increased day by day; the compass behaved strangely, the boats became entangled in vast meadows of floating seaweed; and finally the trade-winds wafted them so steadily westward that they became convinced they could never return. By October 4 there were ominous signs of mutiny, and finally, on the 11th, affairs reached a crisis.
The fleet reached the Canaries without misadventure, but when the shores of Ferro sank from sight, the sailors gave themselves up for lost. Their terror increased day by day; the compass behaved strangely, the boats became entangled in vast meadows of floating seaweed; and finally the trade-winds wafted them so steadily westward that they became convinced they could never return. By October 4 there were ominous signs of mutiny, and finally, on the 11th, affairs reached a crisis.
THE TRIUMPH[2]
From "Psalm of the West"
[Dawn, October 12, 1492]
Santa Maria, well thou tremblest down the wave,Thy Pinta far abow, thy Niña nigh astern:Columbus stands in the night alone, and, passing grave,Yearns o'er the sea as tones o'er under-silence yearn.Heartens his heart as friend befriends his friend less brave,Makes burn the faiths that cool, and cools the doubts that burn:—"'Twixt this and dawn, three hours my soul will smiteWith prickly seconds, or less tolerablyWith dull-blade minutes flatwise slapping me.Wait, Heart! Time moves.—Thou lithe young Western Night,Just-crownèd king, slow riding to thy right,Would God that I might straddle mutinyCalm as thou sitt'st yon never-managed sea,Balk'st with his balking, fliest with his flight,Giv'st supple to his rearings and his falls,Nor dropp'st one coronal star above thy browWhilst ever dayward thou art steadfast drawn!Yea, would I rode these mad contentious brawlsNo damage taking from their If and How,Nor no result save galloping to my Dawn!"My Dawn? my Dawn? How if it never break?How if this West by other Wests is pieced,And these by vacant Wests on Wests increased—One Pain of Space, with hollow ache on acheThrobbing and ceasing not for Christ's own sake?—Big perilous theorem, hard for king and priest:Pursue the West but long enough, 'tis East!Oh, if this watery world no turning take!Oh, if for all my logic, all my dreams,Provings of that which is by that which seems,Fears, hopes, chills, heats, hastes, patiences, droughts, tears,Wife-grievings, slights on love, embezzled years,Hates, treaties, scorns, upliftings, loss and gain,—This earth, no sphere, be all one sickening plane!"Or, haply, how if this contrarious West,That me by turns hath starved, by turns hath fed,Embraced, disgraced, beat back, solicited,Have no fixed heart of Law within his breast,Or with some different rhythm doth e'er contestNature in the East? Why, 'tis but three weeks fledI saw my Judas needle shake his headAnd flout the Pole that, East, he Lord confessed!God! if this West should own some other Pole,And with his tangled ways perplex my soulUntil the maze grow mortal, and I dieWhere distraught Nature clean hath gone astray,On earth some other wit than Time's at play,Some other God than mine above the sky!"Now speaks mine other heart with cheerier seeming:Ho, Admiral! o'er-defalking to thy crewAgainst thyself, thyself far overfewTo front yon multitudes of rebel scheming?Come, ye wild twenty years of heavenly dreaming!Come, ye wild weeks since first this canvas drewOut of vexed Palos ere the dawn was blue,O'er milky waves about the bows full-creaming!Come set me round with many faithful spearsOf confident remembrance—how I crushedCat-lived rebellions, pitfalled treasons, hushedScared husbands' heart-break cries on distant wives,Made cowards blush at whining for their lives,Watered my parching souls, and dried their tears."Ere we Gomera cleared, a coward cried,Turn, turn: here be three caravels ahead,From Portugal, to take us: we are dead!—Hold Westward, pilot,calmly I replied.So when the last land down the horizon died,Go back, go back!they prayed:our hearts are lead.—Friends, we are bound into the West, I said.Then passed the wreck of a mast upon our side.See(so they wept)God's Warning! Admiral, turn!—Steersman, I said,hold straight into the West.Then down the night we saw the meteor burn.So do the very heavens in fire protest:Good Admiral, put about! O Spain, dear Spain!—Hold straight into the West, I said again."Next drive we o'er the slimy-weeded sea.Lo! here beneath(another coward cries)The cursèd land of sunk Atlantis lies!This slime will suck us down—turn while thou'rt free!—But no!I said,Freedom bears West for me!Yet when the long-time stagnant winds arise,And day by day the keel to westward flies,My Good my people's Ill doth come to be:Ever the winds into the West do blow;Never a ship, once turned, might homeward go;Meanwhile we speed into the lonesome main.For Christ's sake, parley, Admiral! Turn, beforeWe sail outside all bounds of help from pain!—Our help is in the West, I said once more."So when there came a mighty cry ofLand!And we clomb up and saw, and shouted strongSalve Regina!all the ropes along,But knew at morn how that a counterfeit bandOf level clouds had aped a silver strand;So when we heard the orchard-bird's small song,And all the people cried,A hellish throngTo tempt us onward by the Devil planned,Yea, all from hell—keen heron, fresh green weeds,Pelican, tunny-fish, fair tapering reeds,Lie-telling lands that ever shine and dieIn clouds of nothing round the empty sky.Tired Admiral, get thee from this hell, and rest!—Steersman,I said,hold straight into the West."I marvel how mine eye, ranging the Night,From its big circling ever absentlyReturns, thou large low Star, to fix on thee.Maria!Star? No star: a Light, a Light!Wouldst leap ashore, Heart? Yonder burns—a Light.Pedro Gutierrez, wake! come up to me.I prithee stand and gaze about the sea:What seest?Admiral, like as land—a Light!Well!Sanchez of Segovia, come and try:What seest?Admiral, naught but sea and sky!Well! butIsaw It. Wait! the Pinta's gun!Why, look, 'tis dawn, the land is clear: 'tis done!Two dawns do break at once from Time's full hand—God's, East—mine, West: good friends, behold my Land!"Sidney Lanier.
Santa Maria, well thou tremblest down the wave,Thy Pinta far abow, thy Niña nigh astern:Columbus stands in the night alone, and, passing grave,Yearns o'er the sea as tones o'er under-silence yearn.Heartens his heart as friend befriends his friend less brave,Makes burn the faiths that cool, and cools the doubts that burn:—"'Twixt this and dawn, three hours my soul will smiteWith prickly seconds, or less tolerablyWith dull-blade minutes flatwise slapping me.Wait, Heart! Time moves.—Thou lithe young Western Night,Just-crownèd king, slow riding to thy right,Would God that I might straddle mutinyCalm as thou sitt'st yon never-managed sea,Balk'st with his balking, fliest with his flight,Giv'st supple to his rearings and his falls,Nor dropp'st one coronal star above thy browWhilst ever dayward thou art steadfast drawn!Yea, would I rode these mad contentious brawlsNo damage taking from their If and How,Nor no result save galloping to my Dawn!"My Dawn? my Dawn? How if it never break?How if this West by other Wests is pieced,And these by vacant Wests on Wests increased—One Pain of Space, with hollow ache on acheThrobbing and ceasing not for Christ's own sake?—Big perilous theorem, hard for king and priest:Pursue the West but long enough, 'tis East!Oh, if this watery world no turning take!Oh, if for all my logic, all my dreams,Provings of that which is by that which seems,Fears, hopes, chills, heats, hastes, patiences, droughts, tears,Wife-grievings, slights on love, embezzled years,Hates, treaties, scorns, upliftings, loss and gain,—This earth, no sphere, be all one sickening plane!"Or, haply, how if this contrarious West,That me by turns hath starved, by turns hath fed,Embraced, disgraced, beat back, solicited,Have no fixed heart of Law within his breast,Or with some different rhythm doth e'er contestNature in the East? Why, 'tis but three weeks fledI saw my Judas needle shake his headAnd flout the Pole that, East, he Lord confessed!God! if this West should own some other Pole,And with his tangled ways perplex my soulUntil the maze grow mortal, and I dieWhere distraught Nature clean hath gone astray,On earth some other wit than Time's at play,Some other God than mine above the sky!"Now speaks mine other heart with cheerier seeming:Ho, Admiral! o'er-defalking to thy crewAgainst thyself, thyself far overfewTo front yon multitudes of rebel scheming?Come, ye wild twenty years of heavenly dreaming!Come, ye wild weeks since first this canvas drewOut of vexed Palos ere the dawn was blue,O'er milky waves about the bows full-creaming!Come set me round with many faithful spearsOf confident remembrance—how I crushedCat-lived rebellions, pitfalled treasons, hushedScared husbands' heart-break cries on distant wives,Made cowards blush at whining for their lives,Watered my parching souls, and dried their tears."Ere we Gomera cleared, a coward cried,Turn, turn: here be three caravels ahead,From Portugal, to take us: we are dead!—Hold Westward, pilot,calmly I replied.So when the last land down the horizon died,Go back, go back!they prayed:our hearts are lead.—Friends, we are bound into the West, I said.Then passed the wreck of a mast upon our side.See(so they wept)God's Warning! Admiral, turn!—Steersman, I said,hold straight into the West.Then down the night we saw the meteor burn.So do the very heavens in fire protest:Good Admiral, put about! O Spain, dear Spain!—Hold straight into the West, I said again."Next drive we o'er the slimy-weeded sea.Lo! here beneath(another coward cries)The cursèd land of sunk Atlantis lies!This slime will suck us down—turn while thou'rt free!—But no!I said,Freedom bears West for me!Yet when the long-time stagnant winds arise,And day by day the keel to westward flies,My Good my people's Ill doth come to be:Ever the winds into the West do blow;Never a ship, once turned, might homeward go;Meanwhile we speed into the lonesome main.For Christ's sake, parley, Admiral! Turn, beforeWe sail outside all bounds of help from pain!—Our help is in the West, I said once more."So when there came a mighty cry ofLand!And we clomb up and saw, and shouted strongSalve Regina!all the ropes along,But knew at morn how that a counterfeit bandOf level clouds had aped a silver strand;So when we heard the orchard-bird's small song,And all the people cried,A hellish throngTo tempt us onward by the Devil planned,Yea, all from hell—keen heron, fresh green weeds,Pelican, tunny-fish, fair tapering reeds,Lie-telling lands that ever shine and dieIn clouds of nothing round the empty sky.Tired Admiral, get thee from this hell, and rest!—Steersman,I said,hold straight into the West."I marvel how mine eye, ranging the Night,From its big circling ever absentlyReturns, thou large low Star, to fix on thee.Maria!Star? No star: a Light, a Light!Wouldst leap ashore, Heart? Yonder burns—a Light.Pedro Gutierrez, wake! come up to me.I prithee stand and gaze about the sea:What seest?Admiral, like as land—a Light!Well!Sanchez of Segovia, come and try:What seest?Admiral, naught but sea and sky!Well! butIsaw It. Wait! the Pinta's gun!Why, look, 'tis dawn, the land is clear: 'tis done!Two dawns do break at once from Time's full hand—God's, East—mine, West: good friends, behold my Land!"Sidney Lanier.
Santa Maria, well thou tremblest down the wave,Thy Pinta far abow, thy Niña nigh astern:Columbus stands in the night alone, and, passing grave,Yearns o'er the sea as tones o'er under-silence yearn.Heartens his heart as friend befriends his friend less brave,Makes burn the faiths that cool, and cools the doubts that burn:—
"'Twixt this and dawn, three hours my soul will smiteWith prickly seconds, or less tolerablyWith dull-blade minutes flatwise slapping me.Wait, Heart! Time moves.—Thou lithe young Western Night,Just-crownèd king, slow riding to thy right,Would God that I might straddle mutinyCalm as thou sitt'st yon never-managed sea,Balk'st with his balking, fliest with his flight,Giv'st supple to his rearings and his falls,Nor dropp'st one coronal star above thy browWhilst ever dayward thou art steadfast drawn!Yea, would I rode these mad contentious brawlsNo damage taking from their If and How,Nor no result save galloping to my Dawn!
"My Dawn? my Dawn? How if it never break?How if this West by other Wests is pieced,And these by vacant Wests on Wests increased—One Pain of Space, with hollow ache on acheThrobbing and ceasing not for Christ's own sake?—Big perilous theorem, hard for king and priest:Pursue the West but long enough, 'tis East!Oh, if this watery world no turning take!Oh, if for all my logic, all my dreams,Provings of that which is by that which seems,Fears, hopes, chills, heats, hastes, patiences, droughts, tears,Wife-grievings, slights on love, embezzled years,Hates, treaties, scorns, upliftings, loss and gain,—This earth, no sphere, be all one sickening plane!
"Or, haply, how if this contrarious West,That me by turns hath starved, by turns hath fed,Embraced, disgraced, beat back, solicited,Have no fixed heart of Law within his breast,Or with some different rhythm doth e'er contestNature in the East? Why, 'tis but three weeks fledI saw my Judas needle shake his headAnd flout the Pole that, East, he Lord confessed!God! if this West should own some other Pole,And with his tangled ways perplex my soulUntil the maze grow mortal, and I dieWhere distraught Nature clean hath gone astray,On earth some other wit than Time's at play,Some other God than mine above the sky!
"Now speaks mine other heart with cheerier seeming:Ho, Admiral! o'er-defalking to thy crewAgainst thyself, thyself far overfewTo front yon multitudes of rebel scheming?Come, ye wild twenty years of heavenly dreaming!Come, ye wild weeks since first this canvas drewOut of vexed Palos ere the dawn was blue,O'er milky waves about the bows full-creaming!Come set me round with many faithful spearsOf confident remembrance—how I crushedCat-lived rebellions, pitfalled treasons, hushedScared husbands' heart-break cries on distant wives,Made cowards blush at whining for their lives,Watered my parching souls, and dried their tears.
"Ere we Gomera cleared, a coward cried,Turn, turn: here be three caravels ahead,From Portugal, to take us: we are dead!—Hold Westward, pilot,calmly I replied.So when the last land down the horizon died,Go back, go back!they prayed:our hearts are lead.—Friends, we are bound into the West, I said.Then passed the wreck of a mast upon our side.See(so they wept)God's Warning! Admiral, turn!—Steersman, I said,hold straight into the West.Then down the night we saw the meteor burn.So do the very heavens in fire protest:Good Admiral, put about! O Spain, dear Spain!—Hold straight into the West, I said again.
"Next drive we o'er the slimy-weeded sea.Lo! here beneath(another coward cries)The cursèd land of sunk Atlantis lies!This slime will suck us down—turn while thou'rt free!—But no!I said,Freedom bears West for me!Yet when the long-time stagnant winds arise,And day by day the keel to westward flies,My Good my people's Ill doth come to be:Ever the winds into the West do blow;Never a ship, once turned, might homeward go;Meanwhile we speed into the lonesome main.For Christ's sake, parley, Admiral! Turn, beforeWe sail outside all bounds of help from pain!—Our help is in the West, I said once more.
"So when there came a mighty cry ofLand!And we clomb up and saw, and shouted strongSalve Regina!all the ropes along,But knew at morn how that a counterfeit bandOf level clouds had aped a silver strand;So when we heard the orchard-bird's small song,And all the people cried,A hellish throngTo tempt us onward by the Devil planned,Yea, all from hell—keen heron, fresh green weeds,Pelican, tunny-fish, fair tapering reeds,Lie-telling lands that ever shine and dieIn clouds of nothing round the empty sky.Tired Admiral, get thee from this hell, and rest!—Steersman,I said,hold straight into the West.
"I marvel how mine eye, ranging the Night,From its big circling ever absentlyReturns, thou large low Star, to fix on thee.Maria!Star? No star: a Light, a Light!Wouldst leap ashore, Heart? Yonder burns—a Light.Pedro Gutierrez, wake! come up to me.I prithee stand and gaze about the sea:What seest?Admiral, like as land—a Light!Well!Sanchez of Segovia, come and try:What seest?Admiral, naught but sea and sky!Well! butIsaw It. Wait! the Pinta's gun!Why, look, 'tis dawn, the land is clear: 'tis done!Two dawns do break at once from Time's full hand—God's, East—mine, West: good friends, behold my Land!"
Sidney Lanier.
At daybreak of Friday, October 12 (N. S. October 22), the boats were lowered and Columbus, with a large part of his company, went ashore, wild with exultation. They found that they were on a small island, and Columbus named it San Salvador. It was one of the Bahamas, but which one is not certainly known.
At daybreak of Friday, October 12 (N. S. October 22), the boats were lowered and Columbus, with a large part of his company, went ashore, wild with exultation. They found that they were on a small island, and Columbus named it San Salvador. It was one of the Bahamas, but which one is not certainly known.
COLUMBUS
Behind him lay the gray Azores,Behind the Gates of Hercules;Before him not the ghost of shores,Before him only shoreless seas.The good mate said: "Now must we pray,For lo! the very stars are gone.Brave Admiral, speak, what shall I say?""Why, say 'Sail on! sail on! and on!'""My men grow mutinous day by day;My men grow ghastly wan, and weak."The stout mate thought of home; a sprayOf salt wave washed his swarthy cheek."What shall I say, brave Admiral, say,If we sight naught but seas at dawn?""Why, you shall say at break of day,'Sail on! sail on! sail on! and on!'"They sailed and sailed, as winds might blow,Until at last the blanched mate said:"Why, now not even God would knowShould I and all my men fall dead.These very winds forget their way,For God from these dread seas is gone.Now speak, brave Admiral, speak and say"—He said: "Sail on! sail on! and on!"They sailed. They sailed. Then spake the mate:"This mad sea shows his teeth to-night.He lifts his lip, he lies in wait,With lifted teeth, as if to bite!Brave Admiral, say but one good word:What shall we do when hope is gone?"The words leapt like a leaping sword:"Sail on! sail on! sail on! and on!"Then, pale and worn, he kept his deck,And peered through darkness. Ah, that nightOf all dark nights! And then a speck—A light! a light! a light! a light!It grew, a starlit flag unfurled!It grew to be Time's burst of dawn.He gained a world; he gave that worldIts grandest lesson: "On! sail on!"Joaquin Miller.
Behind him lay the gray Azores,Behind the Gates of Hercules;Before him not the ghost of shores,Before him only shoreless seas.The good mate said: "Now must we pray,For lo! the very stars are gone.Brave Admiral, speak, what shall I say?""Why, say 'Sail on! sail on! and on!'""My men grow mutinous day by day;My men grow ghastly wan, and weak."The stout mate thought of home; a sprayOf salt wave washed his swarthy cheek."What shall I say, brave Admiral, say,If we sight naught but seas at dawn?""Why, you shall say at break of day,'Sail on! sail on! sail on! and on!'"They sailed and sailed, as winds might blow,Until at last the blanched mate said:"Why, now not even God would knowShould I and all my men fall dead.These very winds forget their way,For God from these dread seas is gone.Now speak, brave Admiral, speak and say"—He said: "Sail on! sail on! and on!"They sailed. They sailed. Then spake the mate:"This mad sea shows his teeth to-night.He lifts his lip, he lies in wait,With lifted teeth, as if to bite!Brave Admiral, say but one good word:What shall we do when hope is gone?"The words leapt like a leaping sword:"Sail on! sail on! sail on! and on!"Then, pale and worn, he kept his deck,And peered through darkness. Ah, that nightOf all dark nights! And then a speck—A light! a light! a light! a light!It grew, a starlit flag unfurled!It grew to be Time's burst of dawn.He gained a world; he gave that worldIts grandest lesson: "On! sail on!"Joaquin Miller.
Behind him lay the gray Azores,Behind the Gates of Hercules;Before him not the ghost of shores,Before him only shoreless seas.The good mate said: "Now must we pray,For lo! the very stars are gone.Brave Admiral, speak, what shall I say?""Why, say 'Sail on! sail on! and on!'"
"My men grow mutinous day by day;My men grow ghastly wan, and weak."The stout mate thought of home; a sprayOf salt wave washed his swarthy cheek."What shall I say, brave Admiral, say,If we sight naught but seas at dawn?""Why, you shall say at break of day,'Sail on! sail on! sail on! and on!'"
They sailed and sailed, as winds might blow,Until at last the blanched mate said:"Why, now not even God would knowShould I and all my men fall dead.These very winds forget their way,For God from these dread seas is gone.Now speak, brave Admiral, speak and say"—He said: "Sail on! sail on! and on!"
They sailed. They sailed. Then spake the mate:"This mad sea shows his teeth to-night.He lifts his lip, he lies in wait,With lifted teeth, as if to bite!Brave Admiral, say but one good word:What shall we do when hope is gone?"The words leapt like a leaping sword:"Sail on! sail on! sail on! and on!"
Then, pale and worn, he kept his deck,And peered through darkness. Ah, that nightOf all dark nights! And then a speck—A light! a light! a light! a light!It grew, a starlit flag unfurled!It grew to be Time's burst of dawn.He gained a world; he gave that worldIts grandest lesson: "On! sail on!"
Joaquin Miller.
Columbus reached Spain again on March 15, 1493, and at once sent word of his arrival to Ferdinand and Isabella, who were at Barcelona. He was summoned to appear before them and was received with triumphal honors. The King and Queen arose at his approach, directed him to seat himself in their presence, and listened with intense interest to his story of the voyage. When he had finished, they sank to their knees, as did all present, and thanked God for this mark of his favor.
Columbus reached Spain again on March 15, 1493, and at once sent word of his arrival to Ferdinand and Isabella, who were at Barcelona. He was summoned to appear before them and was received with triumphal honors. The King and Queen arose at his approach, directed him to seat himself in their presence, and listened with intense interest to his story of the voyage. When he had finished, they sank to their knees, as did all present, and thanked God for this mark of his favor.
THE THANKSGIVING FOR AMERICA
[Barcelona, April, 1493]
I'Twas night upon the Darro.The risen moon above the silvery towerOf Comares shone, the silver sun of night,And poured its lustrous splendors through the hallsOf the Alhambra.The air was breathless,Yet filled with ceaseless songs of nightingales,And odors sweet of falling orange blooms;The misty lamps were burning odorous oil;The uncurtained balconies were full of life,And laugh and song, and airy castanetsAnd gay guitars.Afar Sierras rose,Domes, towers, and pinnacles, over royal heights,Whose crowns were gemmed with stars.The Generaliffe,The summer palace of old Moorish kingsIn vanished years, stood sentinel afar,A pile of shade, as brighter grew the moon,Impearling fountain sprays, and shimmeringOn seas of citron orchards cool and green,And terraces embowered with vernal vinesAnd breathing flowers.In shadowy arcadesWere loitering priests, and here and thereA water-carrier passed with tinkling bells.There came a peal of hornsThat woke Granada, city of delights,From its long moonlight reverie. Again:—The suave lute ceased to play, the castanet;The water-bearer stopped, and ceased his songThe wandering troubadour.Then rent the airAnother joyous peal, and oped the gatesAnd entered there a train of cavaliers,Their helmets glittering in the low red moon,The streets and balconiesAll danced with wondering life. The train moved on,And filled the air again the horns melodious,And loud the heralds shouted:—"Thy name, O Fernando, through all earth shall be sounded,Columbus has triumphed, his foes are confounded!"A silence followed.Could such tidings be? Men heard and whispered,Eyes glanced to eyes, feet uncertain moved,Never on mortal ears had fallen wordsLike these. And was the earth a star?On marched the cavaliers,And pealed again the horns, and again criedThe heralds:—"Thy name, Isabella, through all earth shall be sounded,Columbus has triumphed, his foes are confounded!"All hearts were thrilled."Isabella!" That name breathed faith and hopeAnd lofty aim. Emotion swayed the crowds:Tears flowed, and acclamations rose, and rushedThe wondering multitudes toward the plaza."Isabella! Isabella!" it filledThe air—that one word "Isabella!"And now'Tis noon of night. The moon hangs near the earth—A golden moon in golden air; the peaksLike silver tents of shadowy sentinelsGlint 'gainst the sky. The plaza gleams and surgesLike a sea. The joyful horns peal forth again,And falls a hush, and cry the heralds:—"Thy name, Isabella, shall be praised by all the living;Haste, haste to Barcelona, and join the Great Thanksgiving!"What nights had seen Granada!Yet never one like this! The moon went downAnd fell the wings of shadow, yet the streetsStill swarmed with people hurrying on and on.IIMorn came,With bursts of nightingales and quivering fires.The cavaliers rode forth toward Barcelona.The city followed, throbbing with delight.The happy troubadour, the muleteer,The craftsmen all, the boy and girl, and e'enThe mother—'twas a soft spring morn;The fairest skies of earth those April mornsIn Andalusia. Long was the journey,But the land was flowers and the nights were not,And birds sang all the hours, and breezes coolFanned all the ways along the sea.The roads were filledWith hurrying multitudes. For well 'twas knownThat he, the conqueror, viceroy of the isles,Was riding from Seville to meet the king.And what were conquerors before to him whose eyeHad seen the world a star, and found the star a world?Once he had walkedThe self-same ways, roofless and poor and sad,A beggar at old convent doors, and heardThe very children jeer him in the streets,And ate his crust and made his roofless bedUpon the flowers beside his boy, and prayed,And found in trust a pillow radiantWith dreams immortal. Now?IIIThat was a glorious dayThat dawned on Barcelona. Banners filledThe thronging towers, the old bells rung, and blastsOf lordly trumpets seemed to reach the skyCerulean. All Spain had gathered there,And waited there his coming; Castilian knights,Gay cavaliers, hidalgos young, and e'en the oldPuissant grandees of far Aragon,With glittering mail, and waving plumes, and allThe peasant multitude with banneretsAnd charms and flowers.Beneath pavilionsOf brocades of gold, the Court had met.The dual crowns of Leon old and proud CastileThere waited him, the peasant mariner.The trumpets waitedNear the open gates; the minstrels young and fairUpon the tapestried and arrased walls,And everywhere from all the happy provincesThe wandering troubadours.Afar was heardA cry, a long acclaim. Afar was seenA proud and stately steed with nodding plumes,Bridled with gold, whose rider stately rode,And still afar a long and sinuous trainOf silvery cavaliers. A shout arose,And all the city, all the vales and hills,With silver trumpets rung.He came, the Genoese,With reverent look and calm and lofty mien,And saw the wondering eyes and heard the criesAnd trumpet peals, as one who followed stillSome Guide unseen.Before his steedCrowned Indians marched with lowly faces,And wondered at the new world that they saw;Gay parrots shouted from their gold-bound arms,And from their crests swept airy plumes.The sunShone full in splendor on the scene, and hereThe old and new world met. But—IVHark! the heralds!How they thrill all hearts and fill all eyes with tears!The very air seems throbbing with delight;Hark! hark! they cry, in chorus all they cry:—"Á Castilla y á Leon, á Castilla y á Leon,Nuevo mundo dio Colon!"Every heart now beats with his,The stately rider on whose calm face shinesA heaven-born inspiration. Still the shout:"Nuevo mundo dio Colon!" how it rings!From wall to wall, from knights and cavaliers,And from the multitudinous throngs,A mighty chorus of the vales and hills!"Á Castilla y á Leon!"And now the golden steedDraws near the throne; the crowds move back, and riseThe reverent crowns of Leon and Castile;And stands before the tear-filled eyes of allThe multitudes the form of Isabella.Semiramis? Zenobia? What were theyTo her, as met her eyes again the eyes of himInto whose hands her love a year beforeEmptied its jewels!He told his tale:The untried deep, the green Sargasso Sea,The varying compass, the affrighted crews,The hymn they sung on every doubtful eve,The sweet hymn to the Virgin. How there cameThe land birds singing, and the drifting weeds,How broke the morn on fair San Salvador,How theTe Deumon that isle was sung,And how the cross was lifted in the nameOf Leon and Castile. And then he turnedHis face towards Heaven, "O Queen! O Queen!There kingdoms wait the triumphs of the cross!"VThen Isabella rose,With face illumined: then overcome with joyShe sank upon her knees, and king and courtAnd nobles rose and knelt beside her,And followed them the sobbing multitude;Then came a burst of joy, a chorus grand,And mighty antiphon—"We praise thee, Lord, and, Lord, acknowledge thee,And give thee glory!—Holy, Holy, Holy!"Loud and long it swelled and thrilled the air,That first Thanksgiving for the new-found world!VIThe twilight roses bloomedIn the far skies o'er Barcelona.The gentle Indians came and stood beforeThe throne, and smiled the queen, and said:"I see my gems again." The shadow fell,And trilled all night beneath the moon and starsThe happy nightingales.Hezekiah Butterworth.
I'Twas night upon the Darro.The risen moon above the silvery towerOf Comares shone, the silver sun of night,And poured its lustrous splendors through the hallsOf the Alhambra.The air was breathless,Yet filled with ceaseless songs of nightingales,And odors sweet of falling orange blooms;The misty lamps were burning odorous oil;The uncurtained balconies were full of life,And laugh and song, and airy castanetsAnd gay guitars.Afar Sierras rose,Domes, towers, and pinnacles, over royal heights,Whose crowns were gemmed with stars.The Generaliffe,The summer palace of old Moorish kingsIn vanished years, stood sentinel afar,A pile of shade, as brighter grew the moon,Impearling fountain sprays, and shimmeringOn seas of citron orchards cool and green,And terraces embowered with vernal vinesAnd breathing flowers.In shadowy arcadesWere loitering priests, and here and thereA water-carrier passed with tinkling bells.There came a peal of hornsThat woke Granada, city of delights,From its long moonlight reverie. Again:—The suave lute ceased to play, the castanet;The water-bearer stopped, and ceased his songThe wandering troubadour.Then rent the airAnother joyous peal, and oped the gatesAnd entered there a train of cavaliers,Their helmets glittering in the low red moon,The streets and balconiesAll danced with wondering life. The train moved on,And filled the air again the horns melodious,And loud the heralds shouted:—"Thy name, O Fernando, through all earth shall be sounded,Columbus has triumphed, his foes are confounded!"A silence followed.Could such tidings be? Men heard and whispered,Eyes glanced to eyes, feet uncertain moved,Never on mortal ears had fallen wordsLike these. And was the earth a star?On marched the cavaliers,And pealed again the horns, and again criedThe heralds:—"Thy name, Isabella, through all earth shall be sounded,Columbus has triumphed, his foes are confounded!"All hearts were thrilled."Isabella!" That name breathed faith and hopeAnd lofty aim. Emotion swayed the crowds:Tears flowed, and acclamations rose, and rushedThe wondering multitudes toward the plaza."Isabella! Isabella!" it filledThe air—that one word "Isabella!"And now'Tis noon of night. The moon hangs near the earth—A golden moon in golden air; the peaksLike silver tents of shadowy sentinelsGlint 'gainst the sky. The plaza gleams and surgesLike a sea. The joyful horns peal forth again,And falls a hush, and cry the heralds:—"Thy name, Isabella, shall be praised by all the living;Haste, haste to Barcelona, and join the Great Thanksgiving!"What nights had seen Granada!Yet never one like this! The moon went downAnd fell the wings of shadow, yet the streetsStill swarmed with people hurrying on and on.IIMorn came,With bursts of nightingales and quivering fires.The cavaliers rode forth toward Barcelona.The city followed, throbbing with delight.The happy troubadour, the muleteer,The craftsmen all, the boy and girl, and e'enThe mother—'twas a soft spring morn;The fairest skies of earth those April mornsIn Andalusia. Long was the journey,But the land was flowers and the nights were not,And birds sang all the hours, and breezes coolFanned all the ways along the sea.The roads were filledWith hurrying multitudes. For well 'twas knownThat he, the conqueror, viceroy of the isles,Was riding from Seville to meet the king.And what were conquerors before to him whose eyeHad seen the world a star, and found the star a world?Once he had walkedThe self-same ways, roofless and poor and sad,A beggar at old convent doors, and heardThe very children jeer him in the streets,And ate his crust and made his roofless bedUpon the flowers beside his boy, and prayed,And found in trust a pillow radiantWith dreams immortal. Now?IIIThat was a glorious dayThat dawned on Barcelona. Banners filledThe thronging towers, the old bells rung, and blastsOf lordly trumpets seemed to reach the skyCerulean. All Spain had gathered there,And waited there his coming; Castilian knights,Gay cavaliers, hidalgos young, and e'en the oldPuissant grandees of far Aragon,With glittering mail, and waving plumes, and allThe peasant multitude with banneretsAnd charms and flowers.Beneath pavilionsOf brocades of gold, the Court had met.The dual crowns of Leon old and proud CastileThere waited him, the peasant mariner.The trumpets waitedNear the open gates; the minstrels young and fairUpon the tapestried and arrased walls,And everywhere from all the happy provincesThe wandering troubadours.Afar was heardA cry, a long acclaim. Afar was seenA proud and stately steed with nodding plumes,Bridled with gold, whose rider stately rode,And still afar a long and sinuous trainOf silvery cavaliers. A shout arose,And all the city, all the vales and hills,With silver trumpets rung.He came, the Genoese,With reverent look and calm and lofty mien,And saw the wondering eyes and heard the criesAnd trumpet peals, as one who followed stillSome Guide unseen.Before his steedCrowned Indians marched with lowly faces,And wondered at the new world that they saw;Gay parrots shouted from their gold-bound arms,And from their crests swept airy plumes.The sunShone full in splendor on the scene, and hereThe old and new world met. But—IVHark! the heralds!How they thrill all hearts and fill all eyes with tears!The very air seems throbbing with delight;Hark! hark! they cry, in chorus all they cry:—"Á Castilla y á Leon, á Castilla y á Leon,Nuevo mundo dio Colon!"Every heart now beats with his,The stately rider on whose calm face shinesA heaven-born inspiration. Still the shout:"Nuevo mundo dio Colon!" how it rings!From wall to wall, from knights and cavaliers,And from the multitudinous throngs,A mighty chorus of the vales and hills!"Á Castilla y á Leon!"And now the golden steedDraws near the throne; the crowds move back, and riseThe reverent crowns of Leon and Castile;And stands before the tear-filled eyes of allThe multitudes the form of Isabella.Semiramis? Zenobia? What were theyTo her, as met her eyes again the eyes of himInto whose hands her love a year beforeEmptied its jewels!He told his tale:The untried deep, the green Sargasso Sea,The varying compass, the affrighted crews,The hymn they sung on every doubtful eve,The sweet hymn to the Virgin. How there cameThe land birds singing, and the drifting weeds,How broke the morn on fair San Salvador,How theTe Deumon that isle was sung,And how the cross was lifted in the nameOf Leon and Castile. And then he turnedHis face towards Heaven, "O Queen! O Queen!There kingdoms wait the triumphs of the cross!"VThen Isabella rose,With face illumined: then overcome with joyShe sank upon her knees, and king and courtAnd nobles rose and knelt beside her,And followed them the sobbing multitude;Then came a burst of joy, a chorus grand,And mighty antiphon—"We praise thee, Lord, and, Lord, acknowledge thee,And give thee glory!—Holy, Holy, Holy!"Loud and long it swelled and thrilled the air,That first Thanksgiving for the new-found world!VIThe twilight roses bloomedIn the far skies o'er Barcelona.The gentle Indians came and stood beforeThe throne, and smiled the queen, and said:"I see my gems again." The shadow fell,And trilled all night beneath the moon and starsThe happy nightingales.Hezekiah Butterworth.
I'Twas night upon the Darro.The risen moon above the silvery towerOf Comares shone, the silver sun of night,And poured its lustrous splendors through the hallsOf the Alhambra.The air was breathless,Yet filled with ceaseless songs of nightingales,And odors sweet of falling orange blooms;The misty lamps were burning odorous oil;The uncurtained balconies were full of life,And laugh and song, and airy castanetsAnd gay guitars.Afar Sierras rose,Domes, towers, and pinnacles, over royal heights,Whose crowns were gemmed with stars.The Generaliffe,The summer palace of old Moorish kingsIn vanished years, stood sentinel afar,A pile of shade, as brighter grew the moon,Impearling fountain sprays, and shimmeringOn seas of citron orchards cool and green,And terraces embowered with vernal vinesAnd breathing flowers.In shadowy arcadesWere loitering priests, and here and thereA water-carrier passed with tinkling bells.There came a peal of hornsThat woke Granada, city of delights,From its long moonlight reverie. Again:—The suave lute ceased to play, the castanet;The water-bearer stopped, and ceased his songThe wandering troubadour.Then rent the airAnother joyous peal, and oped the gatesAnd entered there a train of cavaliers,Their helmets glittering in the low red moon,The streets and balconiesAll danced with wondering life. The train moved on,And filled the air again the horns melodious,And loud the heralds shouted:—
"Thy name, O Fernando, through all earth shall be sounded,Columbus has triumphed, his foes are confounded!"
A silence followed.Could such tidings be? Men heard and whispered,Eyes glanced to eyes, feet uncertain moved,Never on mortal ears had fallen wordsLike these. And was the earth a star?On marched the cavaliers,And pealed again the horns, and again criedThe heralds:—
"Thy name, Isabella, through all earth shall be sounded,Columbus has triumphed, his foes are confounded!"
All hearts were thrilled."Isabella!" That name breathed faith and hopeAnd lofty aim. Emotion swayed the crowds:Tears flowed, and acclamations rose, and rushedThe wondering multitudes toward the plaza."Isabella! Isabella!" it filledThe air—that one word "Isabella!"And now'Tis noon of night. The moon hangs near the earth—A golden moon in golden air; the peaksLike silver tents of shadowy sentinelsGlint 'gainst the sky. The plaza gleams and surgesLike a sea. The joyful horns peal forth again,And falls a hush, and cry the heralds:—
"Thy name, Isabella, shall be praised by all the living;Haste, haste to Barcelona, and join the Great Thanksgiving!"
What nights had seen Granada!Yet never one like this! The moon went downAnd fell the wings of shadow, yet the streetsStill swarmed with people hurrying on and on.
IIMorn came,With bursts of nightingales and quivering fires.The cavaliers rode forth toward Barcelona.The city followed, throbbing with delight.The happy troubadour, the muleteer,The craftsmen all, the boy and girl, and e'enThe mother—'twas a soft spring morn;The fairest skies of earth those April mornsIn Andalusia. Long was the journey,But the land was flowers and the nights were not,And birds sang all the hours, and breezes coolFanned all the ways along the sea.The roads were filledWith hurrying multitudes. For well 'twas knownThat he, the conqueror, viceroy of the isles,Was riding from Seville to meet the king.And what were conquerors before to him whose eyeHad seen the world a star, and found the star a world?Once he had walkedThe self-same ways, roofless and poor and sad,A beggar at old convent doors, and heardThe very children jeer him in the streets,And ate his crust and made his roofless bedUpon the flowers beside his boy, and prayed,And found in trust a pillow radiantWith dreams immortal. Now?
IIIThat was a glorious dayThat dawned on Barcelona. Banners filledThe thronging towers, the old bells rung, and blastsOf lordly trumpets seemed to reach the skyCerulean. All Spain had gathered there,And waited there his coming; Castilian knights,Gay cavaliers, hidalgos young, and e'en the oldPuissant grandees of far Aragon,With glittering mail, and waving plumes, and allThe peasant multitude with banneretsAnd charms and flowers.Beneath pavilionsOf brocades of gold, the Court had met.The dual crowns of Leon old and proud CastileThere waited him, the peasant mariner.The trumpets waitedNear the open gates; the minstrels young and fairUpon the tapestried and arrased walls,And everywhere from all the happy provincesThe wandering troubadours.Afar was heardA cry, a long acclaim. Afar was seenA proud and stately steed with nodding plumes,Bridled with gold, whose rider stately rode,And still afar a long and sinuous trainOf silvery cavaliers. A shout arose,And all the city, all the vales and hills,With silver trumpets rung.He came, the Genoese,With reverent look and calm and lofty mien,And saw the wondering eyes and heard the criesAnd trumpet peals, as one who followed stillSome Guide unseen.Before his steedCrowned Indians marched with lowly faces,And wondered at the new world that they saw;Gay parrots shouted from their gold-bound arms,And from their crests swept airy plumes.The sunShone full in splendor on the scene, and hereThe old and new world met. But—
IVHark! the heralds!How they thrill all hearts and fill all eyes with tears!The very air seems throbbing with delight;Hark! hark! they cry, in chorus all they cry:—
"Á Castilla y á Leon, á Castilla y á Leon,Nuevo mundo dio Colon!"
Every heart now beats with his,The stately rider on whose calm face shinesA heaven-born inspiration. Still the shout:"Nuevo mundo dio Colon!" how it rings!From wall to wall, from knights and cavaliers,And from the multitudinous throngs,A mighty chorus of the vales and hills!"Á Castilla y á Leon!"And now the golden steedDraws near the throne; the crowds move back, and riseThe reverent crowns of Leon and Castile;And stands before the tear-filled eyes of allThe multitudes the form of Isabella.Semiramis? Zenobia? What were theyTo her, as met her eyes again the eyes of himInto whose hands her love a year beforeEmptied its jewels!He told his tale:The untried deep, the green Sargasso Sea,The varying compass, the affrighted crews,The hymn they sung on every doubtful eve,The sweet hymn to the Virgin. How there cameThe land birds singing, and the drifting weeds,How broke the morn on fair San Salvador,How theTe Deumon that isle was sung,And how the cross was lifted in the nameOf Leon and Castile. And then he turnedHis face towards Heaven, "O Queen! O Queen!There kingdoms wait the triumphs of the cross!"
VThen Isabella rose,With face illumined: then overcome with joyShe sank upon her knees, and king and courtAnd nobles rose and knelt beside her,And followed them the sobbing multitude;Then came a burst of joy, a chorus grand,And mighty antiphon—
"We praise thee, Lord, and, Lord, acknowledge thee,And give thee glory!—Holy, Holy, Holy!"
Loud and long it swelled and thrilled the air,That first Thanksgiving for the new-found world!
VIThe twilight roses bloomedIn the far skies o'er Barcelona.The gentle Indians came and stood beforeThe throne, and smiled the queen, and said:"I see my gems again." The shadow fell,And trilled all night beneath the moon and starsThe happy nightingales.
Hezekiah Butterworth.
Royal favor is capricious and Columbus had his full share of enemies at court. These, in the end, succeeded in gaining the King's ear; Columbus was arrested in San Domingo and sent back to Spain in chains. Isabella ordered them struck off, and promised him that he should be reimbursed for his losses and restored to all his dignities; but the promise was never kept.
Royal favor is capricious and Columbus had his full share of enemies at court. These, in the end, succeeded in gaining the King's ear; Columbus was arrested in San Domingo and sent back to Spain in chains. Isabella ordered them struck off, and promised him that he should be reimbursed for his losses and restored to all his dignities; but the promise was never kept.
COLUMBUS IN CHAINS
[August, 1500]
Are these the honors they reserve for me,Chains for the man who 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,Honor'd, caress'd like some first peer of Spain?Was it that I might fall most suddenlyFrom honor'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 braveTo forfeit ease and that domestic blissWhich is the lot of happy ignorance,Less glorious aims, and dull humility?—Whoe'er thou art that shalt aspire to honor,And on the strength and vigor of the mindVainly depending, court a monarch's favor,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.Philip Freneau.
Are these the honors they reserve for me,Chains for the man who 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,Honor'd, caress'd like some first peer of Spain?Was it that I might fall most suddenlyFrom honor'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 braveTo forfeit ease and that domestic blissWhich is the lot of happy ignorance,Less glorious aims, and dull humility?—Whoe'er thou art that shalt aspire to honor,And on the strength and vigor of the mindVainly depending, court a monarch's favor,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.Philip Freneau.
Are these the honors they reserve for me,Chains for the man who 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,Honor'd, caress'd like some first peer of Spain?Was it that I might fall most suddenlyFrom honor'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 braveTo forfeit ease and that domestic blissWhich is the lot of happy ignorance,Less glorious aims, and dull humility?—Whoe'er thou art that shalt aspire to honor,And on the strength and vigor of the mindVainly depending, court a monarch's favor,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.
Philip Freneau.
On November 7, 1504, Columbus landed in Spain after a fourth voyage to America, during which he had endured sufferings and privations almost beyond description. He was a broken man, and the last blow was the death of Isabella, nineteen days after he reached Seville. Her death left him without patron or protector, and the last eighteen months of his life were spent in sickness and poverty. He died at Valladolid, May 20, 1506.
On November 7, 1504, Columbus landed in Spain after a fourth voyage to America, during which he had endured sufferings and privations almost beyond description. He was a broken man, and the last blow was the death of Isabella, nineteen days after he reached Seville. Her death left him without patron or protector, and the last eighteen months of his life were spent in sickness and poverty. He died at Valladolid, May 20, 1506.
COLUMBUS DYING
[May 20, 1506]
Hark! do I hear again the roarOf the tides by the Indies sweeping down?Or is it the surge from the viewless shoreThat swells to bear me to my crown?Life is hollow and cold and drearWith smiles that darken and hopes that flee;And, far from its winds that faint and veer,I am ready to sail the vaster sea!Lord, Thou knowest I love Thee best;And that scorning peril and toil and pain,I held my way to the mystic West,Glory for Thee and Thy Church to gain.And Thou didst lead me, only Thou,Cheering my heart in cloud and calm,Till the dawn my glad, victorious prowGreeted Thine isles of bloom and balm.And then, O gracious, glorious Lord,I saw Thy face, and all heaven came nighAnd my soul was lost in that rich reward,And ravished with hope of the bliss on high,So, I can meet the sovereign's frown—My dear Queen gone—with a large disdain;For the time will come when his chief renownWill be that I sailed from his realm of Spain.I have found new Lands—a World, maybe,Whose splendor will yet the Old outshine;And life and death are alike to me,For earth will honor, and heaven is mineIs mine!—What songs of sweet accord!What billows that nearer, gentler roll!Is mine!—Into Thy hands, O Lord,Into Thy hands I give my soul!Edna Dean Proctor.
Hark! do I hear again the roarOf the tides by the Indies sweeping down?Or is it the surge from the viewless shoreThat swells to bear me to my crown?Life is hollow and cold and drearWith smiles that darken and hopes that flee;And, far from its winds that faint and veer,I am ready to sail the vaster sea!Lord, Thou knowest I love Thee best;And that scorning peril and toil and pain,I held my way to the mystic West,Glory for Thee and Thy Church to gain.And Thou didst lead me, only Thou,Cheering my heart in cloud and calm,Till the dawn my glad, victorious prowGreeted Thine isles of bloom and balm.And then, O gracious, glorious Lord,I saw Thy face, and all heaven came nighAnd my soul was lost in that rich reward,And ravished with hope of the bliss on high,So, I can meet the sovereign's frown—My dear Queen gone—with a large disdain;For the time will come when his chief renownWill be that I sailed from his realm of Spain.I have found new Lands—a World, maybe,Whose splendor will yet the Old outshine;And life and death are alike to me,For earth will honor, and heaven is mineIs mine!—What songs of sweet accord!What billows that nearer, gentler roll!Is mine!—Into Thy hands, O Lord,Into Thy hands I give my soul!Edna Dean Proctor.
Hark! do I hear again the roarOf the tides by the Indies sweeping down?Or is it the surge from the viewless shoreThat swells to bear me to my crown?Life is hollow and cold and drearWith smiles that darken and hopes that flee;And, far from its winds that faint and veer,I am ready to sail the vaster sea!
Lord, Thou knowest I love Thee best;And that scorning peril and toil and pain,I held my way to the mystic West,Glory for Thee and Thy Church to gain.And Thou didst lead me, only Thou,Cheering my heart in cloud and calm,Till the dawn my glad, victorious prowGreeted Thine isles of bloom and balm.
And then, O gracious, glorious Lord,I saw Thy face, and all heaven came nighAnd my soul was lost in that rich reward,And ravished with hope of the bliss on high,So, I can meet the sovereign's frown—My dear Queen gone—with a large disdain;For the time will come when his chief renownWill be that I sailed from his realm of Spain.
I have found new Lands—a World, maybe,Whose splendor will yet the Old outshine;And life and death are alike to me,For earth will honor, and heaven is mineIs mine!—What songs of sweet accord!What billows that nearer, gentler roll!Is mine!—Into Thy hands, O Lord,Into Thy hands I give my soul!
Edna Dean Proctor.
COLUMBUS
Give me white paper!This which you use is black and rough with smearsOf sweat and grime and fraud and blood and tears,Crossed with the story of men's sins and fears,Of battle and of famine all these years,When all God's children had forgot their birth,And drudged and fought and died like beasts of earth."Give me white paper!"One storm-trained seaman listened to the word;What no man saw he saw; he heard what no man heard.In answer he compelled the seaTo eager man to tellThe secret she had kept so well!Left blood and guilt and tyranny behind,—Sailing still West the hidden shore to find;For all mankind that unstained scroll unfurled,Where God might write anew the story of the World.Edward Everett Hale.
Give me white paper!This which you use is black and rough with smearsOf sweat and grime and fraud and blood and tears,Crossed with the story of men's sins and fears,Of battle and of famine all these years,When all God's children had forgot their birth,And drudged and fought and died like beasts of earth."Give me white paper!"One storm-trained seaman listened to the word;What no man saw he saw; he heard what no man heard.In answer he compelled the seaTo eager man to tellThe secret she had kept so well!Left blood and guilt and tyranny behind,—Sailing still West the hidden shore to find;For all mankind that unstained scroll unfurled,Where God might write anew the story of the World.Edward Everett Hale.
Give me white paper!This which you use is black and rough with smearsOf sweat and grime and fraud and blood and tears,Crossed with the story of men's sins and fears,Of battle and of famine all these years,When all God's children had forgot their birth,And drudged and fought and died like beasts of earth.
"Give me white paper!"One storm-trained seaman listened to the word;What no man saw he saw; he heard what no man heard.In answer he compelled the seaTo eager man to tellThe secret she had kept so well!Left blood and guilt and tyranny behind,—Sailing still West the hidden shore to find;For all mankind that unstained scroll unfurled,Where God might write anew the story of the World.
Edward Everett Hale.
COLUMBUS AND THE MAYFLOWER
O little fleet! that on thy quest divineSailedst from Palos one bright autumn morn,Say, has old Ocean's bosom ever borneA freight of faith and hope to match with thine?Say, too, has Heaven's high favor given againSuch consummation of desire as shoneAbout Columbus when he rested onThe new-found world and married it to Spain?Answer,—thou refuge of the freeman's need,—Thou for whose destinies no kings looked out,Nor sages to resolve some mighty doubt,—Thou simple Mayflower of the salt-sea mead!When thou wert wafted to that distant shore,Gay flowers, bright birds, rich odors met thee not,Stern Nature hailed thee to a sterner lot,—God gave free earth and air, and gave no more.Thus to men cast in that heroic mouldCame empire such as Spaniard never knew,Such empire as beseems the just and true;And at the last, almost unsought, came gold.But He who rules both calm and stormy days,Can guard that people's heart, that nation's health,Safe on the perilous heights of power and wealth,As in the straitness of the ancient ways.Lord Houghton.
O little fleet! that on thy quest divineSailedst from Palos one bright autumn morn,Say, has old Ocean's bosom ever borneA freight of faith and hope to match with thine?Say, too, has Heaven's high favor given againSuch consummation of desire as shoneAbout Columbus when he rested onThe new-found world and married it to Spain?Answer,—thou refuge of the freeman's need,—Thou for whose destinies no kings looked out,Nor sages to resolve some mighty doubt,—Thou simple Mayflower of the salt-sea mead!When thou wert wafted to that distant shore,Gay flowers, bright birds, rich odors met thee not,Stern Nature hailed thee to a sterner lot,—God gave free earth and air, and gave no more.Thus to men cast in that heroic mouldCame empire such as Spaniard never knew,Such empire as beseems the just and true;And at the last, almost unsought, came gold.But He who rules both calm and stormy days,Can guard that people's heart, that nation's health,Safe on the perilous heights of power and wealth,As in the straitness of the ancient ways.Lord Houghton.
O little fleet! that on thy quest divineSailedst from Palos one bright autumn morn,Say, has old Ocean's bosom ever borneA freight of faith and hope to match with thine?
Say, too, has Heaven's high favor given againSuch consummation of desire as shoneAbout Columbus when he rested onThe new-found world and married it to Spain?
Answer,—thou refuge of the freeman's need,—Thou for whose destinies no kings looked out,Nor sages to resolve some mighty doubt,—Thou simple Mayflower of the salt-sea mead!
When thou wert wafted to that distant shore,Gay flowers, bright birds, rich odors met thee not,Stern Nature hailed thee to a sterner lot,—God gave free earth and air, and gave no more.
Thus to men cast in that heroic mouldCame empire such as Spaniard never knew,Such empire as beseems the just and true;And at the last, almost unsought, came gold.
But He who rules both calm and stormy days,Can guard that people's heart, that nation's health,Safe on the perilous heights of power and wealth,As in the straitness of the ancient ways.
Lord Houghton.
IN THE WAKE OF COLUMBUS
The news of Columbus's discoveries soon spread through western Europe, and in May, 1497, John Cabot sailed from Bristol, England, in the Matthew, and discovered what he supposed to be the Chinese coast on June 24. The thrifty Henry VII gave him the sum of £10 as a reward for this achievement. Cabot was the first European since the vikings to set foot on the North American continent.
The news of Columbus's discoveries soon spread through western Europe, and in May, 1497, John Cabot sailed from Bristol, England, in the Matthew, and discovered what he supposed to be the Chinese coast on June 24. The thrifty Henry VII gave him the sum of £10 as a reward for this achievement. Cabot was the first European since the vikings to set foot on the North American continent.
THE FIRST VOYAGE OF JOHN CABOT
[1497]