BOOK THE SECOND.

[153]See Camoens' description of the dreadful Phantom at the Cape of Good Hope.[154]Part of the mountainous range of the vast Indian Caucasus, where the Ark rested.[155]Forster says the miserable creatures who visited the ship in the Straits of Magellan, seldom uttered any other word than "Passeray"—hence the name of Pecherais was given to them.[156]From Dariena to Nicaragua, the Spaniards slew 400,000 people with dogs, sword, fire, and divers tortures.—Purchas.[157]That tremendous Caff (according to the Indian superstition) inhabited by spirits, demons, and the griffin Simorg.[158]The caves of Elephanta and Salsette.[159]At the dedication of the temple of Vitzuliputzli,a.d.1486, 64,080 human victims were sacrificed in four days.

[153]See Camoens' description of the dreadful Phantom at the Cape of Good Hope.

[154]Part of the mountainous range of the vast Indian Caucasus, where the Ark rested.

[155]Forster says the miserable creatures who visited the ship in the Straits of Magellan, seldom uttered any other word than "Passeray"—hence the name of Pecherais was given to them.

[156]From Dariena to Nicaragua, the Spaniards slew 400,000 people with dogs, sword, fire, and divers tortures.—Purchas.

[157]That tremendous Caff (according to the Indian superstition) inhabited by spirits, demons, and the griffin Simorg.

[158]The caves of Elephanta and Salsette.

[159]At the dedication of the temple of Vitzuliputzli,a.d.1486, 64,080 human victims were sacrificed in four days.

Oh for a view, as from that cloudless heightWhere the great Patriarch gazed upon the world,His offspring's future seat, back on the valeOf years departed! We might then beholdThebes, from her sleep of ages, awful rise,Like an imperial shadow, from the Nile,To airy harpings;[160]and with lifted torchScatter the darkness through the labyrinthsOf death, where rest her kings, without a name,And light the winding caves and pyramids10In the long night of years! We might beholdEdom, in towery strength, majestic rise,And awe the Erithræan, to the plainsWhere Migdol frowned, and Baal-zephon stood,[161]Before whose naval shrine the Memphian hostAnd Pharaoh's pomp were shattered! As her fleetsFrom Ezion went seaward, to the soundOf shouts and brazen trumpets, we might say,How glorious, Edom, in thy ships art thou,And mighty as the rushing winds!20But nightIs on the mournful scene: a voice is heard,As of the dead, from hollow sepulchres,And echoing caverns of the Nile—So passThe shades of mortal glory! One pure rayFrom Sinai bursts (where God of old revealedHis glory, through the darkness terribleThat sat on the dread Mount), and we descryThy sons, O Noah! peopling wide the scene,From Shinar's plain to Egypt.30Let the songReveal, who first "went down to the great seaIn ships," and braved the stormy element.The Sons of Cush.[162]Still fearful of theflood,They on the marble range and cloudy heightsOf that vast mountain barrier,—which uprisesHigh o'er the Red Sea coast, and stretches onWith the sea-line of Afric's southern boundsTo Sofala,—delved in the granite massTheir dark abode, spreading from rock to rock40Their subterranean cities, whilst they heard,Secure, the rains of vexed Orion rush.Emboldened they descend, and now their fanesOn Egypt's champaign darken, whilst the noiseOf caravans is heard, and pyramidsIn the pale distance gleam. ImperialThebesStarts, like a giant, from the dust; as whenSome dread enchanter waves his wand, and towersAnd palaces far in the sandy wildsSpring up: and still, her sphinxes, huge and high,50Her marble wrecks colossal, seem to speakThe work of some great arm invisible,Surpassing human strength; while toiling Time,That sways his desolating scythe so vast,And weary havoc murmuring at his side,Smite them in vain. Heard ye the mystic songResounding from her caverns as of yore?Sing to Osiris,[163]for his arkNo more in night profoundOf ocean, fathomless and dark,60Typhon[164]has sunk! Aloud the sistrums ring—Osiris!—to our god Osiris sing!—And let the midnight shore to rites of joy resound!Thee, great restorer of the world, the songDarkly described, and that mysterious shrineThat bore thee o'er the desolate abyss,When the earth sank with all its noise!So taught,The borderers of the Erithræan launch'dTheir barks, and to the shores of Araby70First their brief voyage stretched, and thence returnedWith aromatic gums, or spicy wealthOf India. Prouder triumphs yet await,For lo! where Ophir's gold unburied shinesNew to the sun; but perilous the way,O'er Ariana's[165]spectred wilderness,Where ev'n the patient camel scarce enduresThe long, long solitude of rocks and sands,Parched, faint, and sinking, in his mid-day course.But see! upon the shore great Ammon[166]stands—80Be the deep opened! At his voice the deepIs opened; and the shading ships that rideWith statelier masts and ampler hulls the seas,Have passed the Straits, and left the rocks and GATESOf death.[167]Where Asia's cape the autumnal surgeThrows blackening back, beneath a hollow cove,Awhile the mariners their fearful coursePonder, ere yet they tempt the further deep;Then plunged into the sullen main, they castThe youthful victim, to the dismal gods90Devoted, whilst the smoke of sacrificeSlowly ascends:Hear, King of Ocean! hear,Dark phantom! whether in thy secret caveThou sittest, where the deeps are fathomless,Nor hear'st the waters hum, though all aboveIs uproar loud; or on the widest waste,Far from all land, mov'st in the noontide sun,With dread and lonely shadow; or on highDost ride upon the whirling spires, and fume100Of that enormous volume, that ascendsBlack to the skies, and with the thunder's roarBursts, while the waves far on are still: Oh, hear,Dread power, and save! lest hidden eddies whirlThe helpless vessels down,—down to the deepsOf night, where thou, O Father of the Storm,Dost sleep; or thy vast stature might appearHigh o'er the flashing waves, and (as thy beardStreamed to the cloudy winds) pass o'er their track,And they are seen no more; or monster-birds110Darkening, with pennons lank, the morn, might bearThe victims to some desert rock, and leaveTheir scattered bones to whiten in the winds!The Ocean-gods, with sacrifice appeased,Propitious smile; the thunder's roar has ceased,Smooth and in silence o'er the azure realmThe tall ships glide along; for the South-WestCheerly and steady blows, and the blue seasBeneath the shadow sparkle; on they speed,The long coast varies as they pass from cove120To sheltering cove, the long coast winds away;Till now emboldened by the unvarying gale,Still urging to the East, the sailors deemSome god inviting swells their willing sails,Or Destiny's fleet dragons through the surgeCut their mid-way, yoked to the beaked prowsUnseen!Night after night the heavens' still cope,That glows with stars, they watch, till morning bearsAirs of sweet fragrance o'er the yellow tide:130Then Malabar her green declivitiesHangs beauteous, beaming to the eye afarLike scenes of pictured bliss, the shadowy landOf soft enchantment. Now Salmala's peakShines high in air, and Ceylon's dark green woodsBeneath are spread; while, as the strangers windAlong the curving shores, sounds of delightAre heard; and birds of richest plumage, redAnd yellow, glance along the shades; or flyWith morning twitter, circling o'er the mast,140As singing welcome to the weary crew.Here rest, till westering gales again invite.Then o'er the line of level seas glide on,As the green deities of ocean guide,Till Ophir's distant hills spring from the main,And their long labours cease.Hence Asia slowHer length unwinds; and Siam and CeylonThrough wider channels pour their gems and goldTo swell the pomp of Egypt's kings, or deck150With new magnificence the rising dome[168]Of Palestine's imperial lord.His wantsTo satisfy; "with comelier draperies"To clothe his shivering form; to bid his armBurst, like the Patagonian's,[169]the vain cordsThat bound his untried strength; to nurse the flameOf wider heart-ennobling sympathies;—For this young Commerce roused the energiesOf man; else rolling back, stagnant and foul,160Like thegreat elementon which his shipsGo forth, without the currents, winds, and tidesThat swell it, as with awful life, and keepFrom rank putrescence the long-moving mass:And He, the sovereign Maker of the world,So to excite man's high activities,Bad various climes their various produce pour.On Asia's plain mark where the cotton-treeHangs elegant its golden gems; the dateSits purpling the soft lucid haze, that lights170The still, pale, sultry landscape; breathing sweetAlong old Ocean's billowy marge, the eveBears spicy fragrance far; the bread-fruit shadesThe southern isles; and gems, and richest ore,Lurk in the caverned mountains of the west.With ampler shade the northern oak upliftsHis strength, itself a forest, and descendsProud to the world of waves, to bear afarThe wealth collected, on the swelling tides,To every land:—Where nature seems to mourn180Her rugged outcast rocks, there EnterpriseLeaps up; he gazes, like a god, around;He sees on other plains rich harvests wave;He marks far off the diamond blaze; he burnsTo reach the glittering prize; he looks; he speaks;The pines of Lebanon fall at his voice;He rears the towering mast: o'er the long mainHe wanders, and becomes, himself though poor,The sovereign of the globe!So Sidon rose;190And Tyre, yet prouder o'er the subject waves,—When in his manlier might the Ammonian spreadBeyond Philistia to the Syrian sands,—Crowned on her rocky citadel, beheldThe treasures of all lands poured at her feet.Her daring prows the inland main disclosed;Freedom and Glory, Eloquence, and Arts,Follow their track, upspringing where they passed;Till, lo! another Thebes, anAthenssprings,From the Ægean shores, and airs are heard,200As of no mortal melody, from islesThat strew the deep around! On to theStraitsWhere tower the brazen pillars[170]to the clouds,Her vessels ride. But what a shivering dreadQuelled their bold hopes, when on their watch by nightThe mariners first saw the distant flamesOf Ætna, and its red portentous glareStreaking the midnight waste! 'Tis not thy lamp,Astarte, hung in the dun vault of night,To guide the wanderers of the main! Aghast210They eye the fiery cope, and wait the dawn.Huge pitchy clouds upshoot, and bursting firesFlash through the horrid volume as it mounts;Voices are heard, and thunders muttering deep.Haste, snatch the oars, fly o'er the glimmering surge—Fly far—already louder thunders roll,And more terrific flames arise! Oh, spare,Dread Power! for sure some deity abidesDeep in the central earth, amidst the reekOf sacrifice and blue sulphureous fume220Involved. Perhaps the living Moloch[171]thereRules in his horrid empire, amid flames,Thunders, and blackening volumes, that ascendAnd wrap his burning throne!So was their path,To those who first the cheerless ocean roamed,Darkened with dread and peril. Scylla here,And fell Charybdis, on their whirling gulphSit, like the sisters of Despair, and howl,As the devoted ship, dashed on the crags,230Goes down: and oft the neighbour shores are strewnWith bones of strangers sacrificed, whose barkHas foundered nigh, where the red watch-tower glaresThrough darkness. Hence mysterious dread, and talesOf Polyphemus and his monstrous rout;And warbling syrens on the fatal shoresOf soft Parthenope. Yet oft the soundOf sea-conch through the night from some rude rockIs heard, to warn the wandering passengerOf fiends that lurk for blood!240These dangers past,The sea puts on new beauties: Italy,Beneath the blue soft sky beaming afar,Opens her azure bays; Liguria's gulphIs past; the Bætic rocks, and ramparts high,Thatclose the world, appear. The dashing barkBursts through the fearful frith: Ah! all is nowOne boundless billowy waste; the huge-heaved waveBeneath the keel turns more intensely blue;And vaster rolls the surge, that sweeps the shores250Of Cerne, and the green Hesperides,And long-renowned Atlantis,[172]whether sunkNow to the bottom of the "monstrous world;"Or was it but a shadow of the mind,Vapoury and baseless, like the distant cloudsThat seem the promise of an unknown landTo the pale-eyed and wasted mariner,Cold on the rocking mast. The pilot plies,Now tossed upon Bayonna's mountain-surge,High to the north his way; when, lo! the cliffs260Of Albion, o'er the sea-line rising calmAnd white, and Marazion's woody mountLifting its dark romantic point between.So did thy ships to Earth's wide bounds proceed,O Tyre! and thou wert rich and beautifulIn that thy day of glory. Carthage rose,Thy daughter, and the rival of thy fame,Upon the sands of Lybia; princes wereThy merchants; on thy golden throne thy stateShone, like the orient sun. Dark Lebanon270Waved all his pines for thee; for thee the oaksOf Bashan towered in strength: thy galleys cut,Glittering, the sunny surge; thy mariners,On ivory benches, furled th' embroidered sails,That looms of Egypt wove, or to the oars,That measuring dipped, their choral sea-songs sung;The multitude of isles did shout for thee,And cast their emeralds at thy feet, and said—Queen of the Waters, who is like to thee!So wert thou glorious on the seas, and said'st,280I am a God, and there is none like me.But the dread voice prophetic is gone forth:—Howl, for the whirlwind of the desert comes!Howl ye again, for Tyre, her multitudeOf sins and dark abominations cryAgainst her, saith theLord; in the mid seasHer beauty shall be broken; I will bringHer pride to ashes; she shall be no more,The distant isles shall tremble at the soundWhen thou dost fall; the princes of the sea290Shall from their thrones come down, and cast awayTheir gorgeous robes; for thee they shall take upA bitter lamentation, and shall say—How art thou fallen, renowned city!thou,Who wert enthroned glorious on the seas,To rise no more!So visible, OGod,Is thy dread hand in all the earth! Where TyreIn gold and purple glittered o'er the scene,Now the poor fisher dries his net, nor thinks300How great, how rich, how glorious, once she rose!Meantime the furthest isle, cold and obscure,Whose painted natives roamed their woody wilds,From all the world cut off, that wondering markedHer stately sails approach, now in her turnRises a star of glory in the West—Albion, the wonder of the illumined world!See there a Newton wing the highest heavens;See there a Herschell's daring hand withdrawThe luminous pavilion, and the throne310Of the brightsunreveal; there hear the voiceOf holy truth amid her cloistered fane,As the clear anthem swells; see Taste adornHer palaces; and Painting's fervid touch,That bids the canvas breathe; hear angel-strains,When Handel, or melodious Purcell, poursHis sweetest harmonies; see PoesyOpen her vales romantic, and the scenesWhere Fancy, an enraptured votary, rovesAt eve; and hark! 'twas Shakspeare's voice! he sits320Upon a high and charmed rock alone,And, like the genius of the mountain, givesThe rapt song to the winds; whilst Pity weeps,Or Terror shudders at the changeful tones,As when his Ariel soothes the storm! Then pause,For the wild billows answer—LycidasIs dead, young Lycidas, dead ere his prime,Whelmed in the deep, beyond the Orcades,Or where the "vision of the guarded Mount,Belerusholds."330Nor skies, nor earth, confineThe march of England's glory; on she speeds—The unknown barriers of the utmost deepHer prow has burst, where the dread genius sleptFor ages undisturbed, save when he walkedAmid the darkness of the storm! Her fleetEven now along the East rides terrible,Where early-rising commerce cheered the scene!Heard ye the thunders of her vengeance roll,As Nelson, through the battle's dark-red haze340Aloft upon the burning prow directs,Where the dread hurricane, with sulphureous flash,Shall burst unquenchable, while from the graveOsiris ampler seems to rise? Where thou,O Tyre! didst awe the subject seas of yore,Acre even now, and ancient Carmel, hearsThe cry of conquest. 'Mid the fire and smokeOf the war-shaken citadel, with eyeOf temper'd flame, yet resolute command,His brave sword beaming, and his cheering voice350Heard 'mid the onset's cries, his dark-brown hairSpread on his fearless forehead, and his handPointing to Gallia's baffled chief, beholdThe British Hero stand! Why beats my heartWith kindred animation? The warm tearOf patriot triumph fills mine eye. I strikeA louder strain unconscious, while the harpSwells to the bold involuntary song.

Fly,Son of Terror, fly!Back o'er the burning desert he is fled!360In heaps the gory deadAnd livid in the trenches lie!His dazzling files no moreFlash on the Syrian sands,As when from Egypt's ravaged shore,Aloft their gleamy falchions swinging,Aloud their victor pæans singing,Their onward way the Gallic legions took.Despair, dismay, are on his altered look,Yet hate indignant lowers;370Whilst high on Acre's granite towersThe shade of English Richard seems to stand;And frowning far, in dusky rows,A thousand archers draw their bows!They join the triumph of the British band,And the rent watch-tower echoes to the cry,Heard o'er the rolling surge—They fly, they fly!

II.

Now the hostile fires decline,Now through the smoke's deep volumes shine;Now above the bastions gray380The clouds of battle roll away;Where, with calm, yet glowing mien,Britain's victorious youth is seen!He lifts his eye,His country's ensigns wave through smoke on high,Whilst the long-mingled shout is heard—They fly, they fly!

III.

HoaryCarmel, witness thou,And lift in conscious pride thy brow;As when upon thy cloudy plainBaal's prophetscried in vain!390They gashed their flesh, and leaped, and cried,From morn till lingering even-tide.Then sternElijahon his foesStrong in the might of Heaven arose!—OnCarmel'stop he stood,And while the blackening clouds and rainCame sounding from the Western main,Raised his right hand that dropped with impious blood.Ancient Kishonprouder swell,On whose banks they bowed, they fell,400The mighty ones of yore, when, pale with dread,IngloriousSiserafled!So let them perish, HolyLord,Who foroppressionlift the sword;But let all those who, armed for freedom, fight,"Be as the sun who goes forth in his might."

[160]Alluding to the harps found in the caverns of Thebes.[161]Migdol was a fortress which guarded the pass of Egypt; Baal-zephon, a sea idol, generally considered the guardian of the coast.[162]The Cushites inhabited the granite rocks stretching along the Red Sea.[163]When the Egyptians found the ark, their expression was, "Let us rejoice, we have found the lost Osiris," or Noah.[164]The deluge or devastating storm.[165]The desert of Ariana, where the army of Cyrus perished.[166]Ammon, according to Sir Isaac Newton, was the first artificer who built large ships, and passed the Straits.[167]The entrance into the Red Sea was called the Gate of Affliction.[168]Temple of Solomon.[169]Alluding to the story of Patagonians bursting their cords when taken.[170]Pillars of Hercules.[171]Moloch, whose rites of blood are well known, was worshipped along the coast of Syria.[172]The island described by Plato; by some supposed to be America.

[160]Alluding to the harps found in the caverns of Thebes.

[161]Migdol was a fortress which guarded the pass of Egypt; Baal-zephon, a sea idol, generally considered the guardian of the coast.

[162]The Cushites inhabited the granite rocks stretching along the Red Sea.

[163]When the Egyptians found the ark, their expression was, "Let us rejoice, we have found the lost Osiris," or Noah.

[164]The deluge or devastating storm.

[165]The desert of Ariana, where the army of Cyrus perished.

[166]Ammon, according to Sir Isaac Newton, was the first artificer who built large ships, and passed the Straits.

[167]The entrance into the Red Sea was called the Gate of Affliction.

[168]Temple of Solomon.

[169]Alluding to the story of Patagonians bursting their cords when taken.

[170]Pillars of Hercules.

[171]Moloch, whose rites of blood are well known, was worshipped along the coast of Syria.

[172]The island described by Plato; by some supposed to be America.

My heart has sighed in secret, when I thoughtThat the dark tide of time might one day close,England, o'er thee, as long since it has closedOn Egypt and on Tyre: that ages hence,From the Pacific's billowy loneliness,Whose tract thy daring search revealed, some isleMight rise in green-haired beauty eminent,And like a goddess, glittering from the deep,Hereafter sway the sceptre of domainFrom pole to pole; and such as now thou art,10PerhapsNew-Hollandbe. For who shall sayWhat theOmnipotent Eternal One,That made the world, hath purposed! Thoughts like these,Though visionary, rise; and sometimes moveA moment's sadness, when I think of thee,My country, of thy greatness, and thy name,Among the nations; and thy character,—Though some few spots be on thy flowing robe,—Of loveliest beauty: I have never passedThrough thy green hamlets on a summer's morn,20Nor heard thy sweet bells ring, nor seen the youthsAnd smiling maidens of thy villages,Gay in their Sunday tire, but I have said,With passing tenderness—Live, happy land,Where the poor peasant feels his shed, though small,An independence and a pride, that fillHis honest heart with joy—joy such as theyWho crowd the mart of men may never feel!Such, England, is thy boast. When I have heardThe roar of ocean bursting 'round thy rocks,30Or seen a thousand thronging masts aspire,Far as the eye could reach, from every portOf every nation, streaming with their flagsO'er the still mirror of the conscious Thames,—Yes, I have felt a proud emotion swellThat I was British-born; that I had livedA witness of thy glory, my most lovedAnd honoured country; and a silent prayerWould rise to Heaven, that Fame and Peace, and LoveAnd Liberty, might walk thy vales, and sing40Their holy hymns, while thy brave arm repelledHostility, even as thy guardian cliffsRepel the dash of that dread elementWhich calls me, lingering on the banks of Thames,On to my destined voyage, by the shoresOf Asia, and the wreck of cities old,Ere yet we burst into the wilder deepWith Gama; or the huge Atlantic wasteWith bold Columbus stem; or view the boundsOf field-ice, stretching to the southern pole,50With thee, benevolent, lamented Cook!Tyre be no more! said theAlmightyvoice:But thou too, Monarch of the world,[173]whose armRent the proud bulwarks of the golden queenOf cities, throned upon her subject seas,Art thou too fall'n?The whole earth is at rest:"They break forth into singing:" LebanonWaves all his hoary pines, and seems to say,No feller now comes here;Hellfrom beneath60Is moved to meet thy coming; it stirs upThedeadfor thee; thechief onesof the earth,Tyre and the nations, they all speak and say—Art thou become like us! Thy pomp brought downE'en to the dust! The noise of viols ceased,The worm spread under thee, the crawling wormTo cover thee! How art thou fall'n from heaven,Son of the morning! In thy heart thou saidst,I will ascend to Heaven; I will exaltMy throne above the stars of God! Die—die,70Blasphemer! As a carcase under foot,Defiled and trodden, so be thou cast out!Andshe, the great, the guilty Babel—sheWho smote the wasted cities, and the worldMade as a wilderness—she, in her turn,Sinks to the gulf oblivious at the voiceOfHimwho sits in judgment on her crimes!Who, o'er her palaces and buried towers,Shall bid the owl hoot, and the bittern scream;And on her pensile groves and pleasant shades80Pour the deep waters of forgetfulness.On that same night, when with a cry she fell,(Like her own mighty idol dashed to earth,)There was a strange eclipse, and long lamentsWere heard, and muttering thunders o'er the towersOf the high palace where his wassail loudBelshazzar kept, mocking theGod of heaven,And flushed with impious mirth; forBelhad leftWith sullen shriek his golden shrine, and sat,With many a gloomy apparition girt,90NisrochandNebochief, in the dim sphereOf moonedAstoreth, whose orb now rolledIn darkness:—They their earthly empire mourned;Meantime the host of Cyrus through the nightSilent advanced more nigh; and at that hour,In the torch-blazing hall of revelry,The fingers of a shadowy hand distinctCame forth, and unknown figures marked the wall,Searing the eye-balls of the starting king:Tyre is avenged; Babel is fall'n, is fall'n!100Bel and her gods are shattered!Prince, to theeCalled by the voice of God to executeHis will on earth, and raised to Persia's throne,Cyrus, all hearts pay homage. Touched with tintsMost clear by the historian's magic art,Thy features wear a gentleness and graceUnlike the stern cold aspect and the frownOf the dark chiefs of yore, the gloomy clanOf heroes, from humanity and love110Removed: To thee a brighter characterBelongs—high dignity, unbending truth—Yet Nature; not that lordly apathyWhich confidence and human sympathyRepresses, but a soul that bids all heartsSmiling approach. We almost burn in thoughtTo kiss the hand that loosed Panthea's chains,And bless him with a parent's, husband's tear,Who stood a guardian angel in distressTo the unfriended, and the beautiful,120Consigned a helpless slave. Thy portrait, touchedWith tints of softest light, thus wins all heartsTo love thee; but severer policy,Cyrus, pronounces otherwise: she hearsNo stir of commerce on the sullen margeOf waters that along thy empire's vergeBeat cheerless; no proud moles arise; no ships,Freighted with Indian wealth, glide o'er the mainFrom cape to cape. But on the desert sandsHurtles thy numerous host, seizing, in thought130Rapacious, the rich fields of Hindostan,As the poor savage fells the blooming treeTo gain its tempting fruit; but woe the while!For in the wilderness the noise is lostOf all thy archers;—they have ceased;—the windBlows o'er them, and the voice of judgment cries:So perish they who grasp with avariceAnother's blessed portion, and disdainThat interchange of mutual good, that crownsThe slow, sure toil of commerce.140It was thine,Immortal son of Macedon! to hangIn the high fane of maritime renownThe fairest trophies of thy fame, and shine,Thenonly like a god, when thy great mindSwayed in its master council the deep tideOf things, predestining th' eventful rollOf commerce, and uniting either world,Europe and Asia, in thy vast design.Twas when the victor, in his proud career,150O'er ravaged Hindostan, had now advancedBeyond Hydaspes; on the flowery banksOf Hyphasis, with banners thronged, his campWas spread. On high he bade the altars rise,The awful records to succeeding yearsOf his long march of glory, and to pointThe spot where, like the thunder rolled away,His army paused. Now shady eve came down;The trumpet sounded to the setting sun,That looked from his illumed pavilion, calm160Upon the scene of arms, as if, all still,And lovely as his parting light, the worldBeneath him spread; nor clangours, nor deep groans,Were heard, nor victory's shouts, nor sighs, nor shrieks,Were ever wafted from a bleeding land,After the havoc of a conqueror's sword.So calm the sun declined; when from the woods,That shone to his last beam, a Brahmin oldCame forth. His streaming beard shone in the ray,That slanted o'er his feeble frame; his front170Was furrowed. To the sun's last light he castA look of sorrow, then in silence bowedBefore the conqueror of the world. At onceAll, as in death, was still. The victor chiefTrembled, he knew not why; the trumpet ceasedIts clangor, and the crimson streamer wavedNo more in folds insulting to the LordOf the reposing world. The pallid frontOf the meek man seemed for a moment calm,Yet dark and thronging thoughts appeared to swell180His beating heart. He paused—and then abrupt:Victor, avaunt! he cried,Hence! and the banners of thy prideBear to the deep! Behold on highYon range of mountains mingled with the sky!It is the placeWhere the great Father of the human raceRested, when all the world and all its soundsCeased; and the ocean that surroundsThe earth, leaped from its dark abode190Beneath the mountains, and enormous flowed,The green earth deluging! List, soldier, list!And dread His might no mortal may resist.Great Bramah rested, hushed in sleep,When Hayagraiva[174]came,With mooned horns and eyes of flame,And bore the holy Vedas[175]to the deep.Far from the sun's rejoicing ray,Beneath the huge abyss, the buried treasures lay.Then foamed the billowy desert wide,200And all that breathed—they died,Sunk in the rolling waters: such the crimeAnd violence of earth. But he above,Great Vishnu, moved with pitying love,Preserved the pious king, whose ark sublimeFloated, in safety borne:For his stupendous horn,Blazing like gold, and many a roodExtended o'er the dismal flood,The precious freight sustained, till on the crest210Of Himakeel,[176]yon mountain high,That darkly mingles with the sky,Where many a griffin roams, the hallowed ark found rest.And Heaven decrees that hereShall cease thy slaughtering spear:Enough we bleed, enough we weep,Hence, victor, to the deep!Ev'n now along the tideI see thy ships triumphant ride:I see the world of trade emerge220From ocean's solitude! What fury firesMy breast! The flood, the flood retires,[177]And owns its future sovereign! UrgeThy destined way; what countless pennants stream!(Or is it but the shadow of a dream?)Ev'n now old Indus hailsThy daring prows in long array,That o'er the lone seas gliding,Around the sea-gods riding,Speed to Euphrates' shores their destined way.230Fill high the bowl of mirth!From west to east the earthProclaims thee Lord; shall the blue mainConfine thy reign?But tremble, tyrant; hark in many a ring,With language dreadAbove thy head,The dark Assoors[178]thy death-song sing.What mortal blowHath laid the king of nations low?240No hand: his own despair.—But shout, for the canvas shall swell to the air,Thy ships exploreUnknown Persia's winding shore,While the great dragon rolls his arms in vain.And see, uprising from the level main,A new and glorious city springs;—Hither speed thy woven wings,That glance along the azure tide;Asia and Europe own thy might;—250The willing seas of either world unite:Thy name shall consecrate the sands,And glittering to the sky the mart of nations stands.He spoke, and rushed into the thickest wood.With flashing eyes the impatient monarch cried—Yes, by the Lybian Ammon and the godsOf Greece, thou bid'st me on, the self-same trackMy spirit pointed; and, let death betide,My name shall live in glory!At his word260The pines descend; the thronging masts aspire;The novel sails swell beauteous o'er the curvesOfIndus; to the Moderators' song[179]The oars keep time, while bold Nearchus guidesAloft the gallies. On the foremost prowThe monarch from his golden goblet poursA full libation to the gods, and callsBy name the mighty rivers, through whose courseHe seeks the sea. To Lybian Ammon loudThe songs ascend; the trumpets bray; aloft270The streamers fly, whilst on the evening waveMajestic to the main the fleet descends.

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