Chapter 3

Night—Columbus on the Atlantic—the variation of the compass, &c.

Say who first pass’d the portals of the West, And the great Secret of the Deep possess’d; Who first the standard of his Faith unfurl’d On the dread confines of an unknown World; Sung ere his coming[a]—and by Heav’n design’d To lift the veil that cover’d half mankind![b]— ’Twas night. The Moon, o’er the wide wave, disclos’d Her awful face; and Nature’s self repos’d; When, slowly rising in the azure sky, Three white sails shone—but to no mortal eye. Entering a boundless sea. In slumber cast, The very ship-boy, on the dizzy mast, Half breath’d his orisons! Alone unchang’d, Calmly, beneath, the great Commander rang’d,[c] Thoughtful not sad; and, as the planet grew, His noble form, wrapt in his mantle blue, Athwart the deck a solemn shadow threw. “Thee hath it pleas’d—Thy will be done!” he said,[d] Then sought his cabin; and, their capas[1] spread, Around him lay the sleeping as the dead, When, by his lamp, to that mysterious Guide, On whose still counsels all his hopes relied, That Oracle to man in mercy giv’n, Whose voice is truth, whose wisdom is from heav’n,[e] Who over sands and seas directs the stray, And, as with God’s own finger, points the way, He turn’d; but what strange thoughts perplex’d his soul, When, lo, no more attracted to the Pole, The Compass, faithless as the circling vane, Flutter’d and fix’d, flutter’d and fix’d again; And still, as by some unseen Hand imprest, Explor’d, with trembling energy, the West![2] “Ah no!” he cried, and calm’d his anxious brow. “Ill, nor the signs of ill, ’tis thine to show. Thine but to lead me where I wish’d to go!” COLUMBUS err’d not.[f] In that awful hour, Sent forth to save, and girt with God-like power, And glorious as the regent of the sun,[3] An Angel came! He spoke, and it was done! He spoke, and, at his call, a mighty Wind,[g] Not like the fitful blast, with fury blind, But deep, majestic, in its destin’d course, Rush’d with unerring, unrelenting force, From the bright East. Tides duly ebb’d and flow’d; Stars rose and set; and new horizons glow’d; Yet still it blew! As with primeval sway, Still did its ample spirit, night and day, Move on the waters!—All, resign’d to Fate, Folded their arms and sat; and seem’d to wait[h] Some sudden change; and sought, in chill suspense, New spheres of being, and new modes of sense; As men departing, tho’ not doom’d to die, And midway on their passage to eternity.

[1] The capa is the Spanish cloak.

[2] Herrera, dec. I. lib. i. c. 9.

[3] Rev. xix. 17.