Part 23
Such are thy views, DISCOVERY! The great world Rolls to thine eye revealed; to thee the Deep Submits its awful empire; Industry Awakes, and Commerce to the echoing marts From east to west unwearied pours her wealth. Man walks sublimer; and Humanity, Matured by social intercourse, more high, More animated, lifts her sovereign mien, And waves her golden sceptre. Yet the heart Asks trembling, is no evil found! Oh, turn, 10 Meek Charity, and drop a human tear For the sad fate of Afric's injured sons, And hide, for ever hide, the sight of chains, Anguish, and bondage! Yes, the heart of man Is sick, and Charity turns pale, to think How soon, for pure religion's holy beam, Dark crimes, that sullied the sweet day, pursued, Like vultures, the Discoverer's ocean tract, Screaming for blood, to fields of rich Peru, Or ravaged Mexico, while Gold more Gold! 20 The caverned mountains echoed, Gold more Gold! Then see the fell-eyed, prowling buccaneer, Grim as a libbard! He his jealous look Turns to the dagger at his belt, his hand By instinct grasps a bloody scymitar, And ghastly is his smile, as o'er the woods He sees the smoke of burning villages Ascend, and thinks ev'n now he counts his spoil. See thousands destined to the lurid mine, Never to see the sun again; all names 30 Of husband, sire, all tender charities Of love, deep buried with them in that grave, Where life is as a thing long passed; and hope No more its sickly ray, to cheer the gloom, Extends. Thou, too, dread Ocean, toss thine arms, Exulting, for the treasures and the gems That thy dark oozy realm emblaze; and call The pale procession of the dead, from caves Where late their bodies weltered, to attend 40 Thy kingly sceptre, and proclaim thy might! Lord of the Hurricane! bid all thy winds Swell, and destruction ride upon the surge, Where, after the red lightning flash that shows The labouring ship, all is at once deep night And long suspense, till the slow dawn of day Gleams on the scattered corses of the dead, That strew the sounding shore! Then think of him, Ye who rejoice with those you love, at eve, 50 When winds of winter shake the window-frame, And more endear your fire, oh, think of him, Who, saved alone from the destroying storm, Is cast on some deserted rock; who sees Sun after sun descend, and hopeless hears; At morn the long surge of the troubled main, That beats without his wretched cave; meantime He fears to wake the echoes with his voice, So dread the solitude! Let Greenland's snows 60 Then shine, and mark the melancholy train There left to perish, whilst the cold pale day Declines along the further ice, that binds The ship, and leaves in night the sinking scene. Sad winter closes on the deep; the smoke Of frost, that late amusive to the eye Rose o'er the coast, is passed, and all is now One torpid blank; the freezing particles Blown blistering, and the white bear seeks her cave. Ill-fated outcasts, when the morn again 70 Shall streak with feeble beam the frozen waste, Your air-bleached and unburied carcases Shall press the ground, and, as the stars fade off, Your stony eyes glare 'mid the desert snows! These triumphs boast, fell Demon of the Deep! Though never more the universal shriek Of all that perish thou shalt hear, as when The deep foundations of the guilty earth Were shaken at the voice of God, and man Ceased in his habitations; yet the sea 80 Thy might tempestuous still, and joyless rule, Confesses. Ah! what bloodless shadows throng Ev'n now, slow rising from their oozy beds, From Mete,[188] and those gates of burial That guard the ErythrÊan; from the vast Unfathomed caverns of the Western main Or stormy Orcades; whilst the sad shell Of poor Arion,[189] to the hollow blast Slow seems to pour its melancholy tones, And faintly vibrate, as the dead pass by. 90 I see the chiefs, who fell in distant lands, The prey of murderous savages, when yells, And shouts, and conch, resounded through the woods. Magellan and De Solis seem to lead The mournful train. Shade of Perouse! oh, say Where, in the tract of unknown seas, thy bones Th' insulting surge has swept? But who is he, Whose look, though pale and bloody, wears the trace Of pure philanthropy? The pitying sigh 100 Forbid not; he was dear to Britons, dear To every beating heart, far as the world Extends; and my faint faltering touch ev'n now Dies on the strings, when I pronounce thy name, Oh, lost, lamented, generous, hapless Cook! But cease the vain complaint; turn from the shores, Wet with his blood, Remembrance: cast thine eyes Upon the long seas, and the wider world, Displayed from his research. Smile, glowing Health! For now no more the wasted seaman sinks, 110 With haggard eye and feeble frame diseased; No more with tortured longings for the sight Of fields and hillocks green, madly he calls On Nature, when before his swimming eye The liquid long expanse of cheerless seas Seems all one flowery plain. Then frantic dreams Arise; his eye's distemper'd flash is seen From the sunk socket, as a demon there Sat mocking, till he plunges in the flood, And the dark wave goes o'er him. 120 Nor wilt thou, O Science! fail to deck the cold morai[190] Of him who wider o'er earth's hemisphere Thy views extended. On, from deep to deep, Thou shalt retrace the windings of his track; From the high North to where the field-ice binds The still Antarctic. Thence, from isle to isle, Thou shalt pursue his progress; and explore New-Holland's eastern shores,[191] where now the sons Of distant Britain, from her lap cast out, 130 Water the ground with tears of penitence, Perhaps, hereafter, in their destined time, Themselves to rise pre-eminent. Now speed, By Asia's eastern bounds, still to the North, Where the vast continents of either world Approach: Beyond, 'tis silent boundless ice, Impenetrable barrier, where all thought Is lost; where never yet the eagle flew, Nor roamed so far the white bear through the waste. But thou, dread POWER! whose voice from chaos called 140 The earth, who bad'st the Lord of light go forth, Ev'n as a giant, and the sounding seas Roll at thy fiat: may the dark deep clouds, That thy pavilion shroud from mortal sight, So pass away, as now the mystery, Obscure through rolling ages, is disclosed; How man, from one great Father sprung, his race Spread to that severed continent! Ev'n so, FATHER, in thy good time, shall all things stand Revealed to knowledge. 150 As the mind revolves The change of mighty empires, and the fate Of HIM whom Thou hast made, back through the dusk Of ages Contemplation turns her view: We mark, as from its infancy, the world Peopled again, from that mysterious shrine That rested on the top of Ararat, Highest of Asian mountains; spreading on, The Cushites from their mountain caves descend; Then before GOD the sons of Ammon stood 160 In their gigantic might, and first the seas Vanquished: But still from clime to clime the groan Of sacrifice, and Superstition's cry, Was heard; but when the Dayspring rose of heaven, Greece's hoar forests echoed, The great Pan Is dead! From Egypt, and the rugged shores Of Syrian Tyre, the gods of darkness fly; Bel is cast down, and Nebo, horrid king, Bows in imperial Babylon: But, ah! Too soon, the Star of Bethlehem, whose ray 170 The host of heaven hailed jubilant, and sang, Glory to God on high, and on earth peace, With long eclipse is veiled. Red Papacy Usurped the meek dominion of the Lord Of love and charity: vast as a fiend She rose, Heaven's light was darkened with her frown, And the earth murmured back her hymns of blood, As the meek martyr at the burning stake Stood, his last look uplifted to his GOD! 180 But she is now cast down, her empire reft. They who in darkness walked, and in the shade Of death, have seen a new and holy light, As in th' umbrageous forest, through whose boughs, Mossy and damp, for many a league, the morn With languid beam scarce pierces, here and there Touching some solitary trunk, the rest Dark waving in the noxious atmosphere: Through the thick-matted leaves the serpent winds His way, to find a spot of casual sun; 190 The gaunt hyÊna through the thicket glides At eve: then, too, the couched tiger's eye Flames in the dusk, and oft the gnashing jaws Of the fell crocodile are heard. At length, By man's superior energy and toil, The sunless brakes are cleared; the joyous morn Shines through the opening leaves; rich culture smiles Around; and howling to their distant wilds The savage inmates of the wood retire. Such is the scene of human life, till want 200 Bids man his strength put forth; then slowly spreads The cultured stream of mild humanity, And gentler virtues, and more noble aims Employ the active mind, till beauty beams Around, and Nature wears her richest robe, Adorned with lovelier graces. Then the charms Of woman, fairest of the works of Heaven, Whom the cold savage, in his sullen pride, Scorned as unworthy of his equal love, With more attractive influence wins the heart 210 Of her protector. Then the names of sire, Of home, of brother, and of children, grow More sacred, more endearing; whilst the eye, Lifted beyond this earthly scene, beholds A Father who looks down from heaven on all! O Britain, my loved country! dost thou rise Most high among the nations! Do thy fleets Ride o'er the surge of ocean, that subdued Rolls in long sweep beneath them! Dost thou wear Thy garb of gentler morals gracefully! 220 Is widest science thine, and the fair train Of lovelier arts! While commerce throngs thy ports With her ten thousand streamers, is the tract Of the undeviating ploughshare white That rips the reeking furrow, followed soon By plenty, bidding all the scene rejoice, Even like a cultured garden! Do the streams That steal along thy peaceful vales, reflect Temples, and Attic domes, and village towers! Is beauty thine, fairest of earthly things, 230 Woman; and doth she gain that liberal love And homage, which the meekness of her voice, The rapture of her smile, commanding most When she seems weakest, must demand from him, Her master; whose stern strength at once submits In manly, but endearing, confidence, Unlike his selfish tyranny who sits The sultan of his harem! Oh, then, think How great the blessing, and how high thy rank 240 Amid the civilised and social world! But hast thou no deep failings, that may turn Thy thoughts within thyself! Ask, for the sun That shines in heaven hath seen it, hath thy power Ne'er scattered sorrow over distant lands! Ask of the East, have never thy proud sails Borne plunder from dismembered provinces, Leaving the groans of miserable men Behind! And free thyself, and lifting high The charter of thy freedom, bought with blood, 250 Hast thou not stood, in patient apathy, A witness of the tortures and the chains That Afric's injured sons have known! Stand up; Yes, thou hast visited the caves, and cheered The gloomy haunts of sorrow; thou hast shed A beam of comfort and of righteousness On isles remote; hast bid the bread-fruit shade Th' Hesperian regions, and has softened much With bland amelioration, and with charms Of social sweetness, the hard lot of man. 260 But weighed in truth's firm balance, ask, if all Be even. Do not crimes of ranker growth Batten amid thy cities, whose loud din, From flashing and contending cars, ascends, Till morn! Enchanting, as if aught so sweet Ne'er faded, do thy daughters wear the weeds Of calm domestic peace and wedded love; Or turn, with beautiful disdain, to dash Gay pleasure's poisoned chalice from their lips Untasted! Hath not sullen atheism, 270 Weaving gay flowers of poesy, so sought To hide the darkness of his withered brow With faded and fantastic gallantry Of roses, thus to win the thoughtless smile Of youthful ignorance! Hast thou with awe Looked up to Him whose power is in the clouds, Who bids the storm rush, and it sweeps to earth The nations that offend, and they are gone, Like Tyre and Babylon! Well weigh thyself: Then shalt thou rise undaunted in the might 280 Of thy Protector, and the gathered hate Of hostile bands shall be but as the sand Blown on the everlasting pyramid. Hasten, O Love and Charity! your work, Ev'n now whilst it is day; far as the world Extends may your divinest influence Be felt, and more than felt, to teach mankind They all are brothers, and to drown the cries Of superstition, anarchy, or blood! Not yet the hour is come: on Ganges' banks 290 Still superstition hails the flame of death, Behold, gay dressed, as in her bridal tire, The self-devoted beauteous victim slow Ascend the pile where her dead husband lies: She kisses his cold cheeks, inclines her breast On his, and lights herself the fatal pile That shall consume them both! On Egypt's shore, Where Science rose, now Sloth and Ignorance Sleep like the huge Behemoth in the sun! 300 The turbaned Moor still stains with strangers' blood The inmost sands of Afric. But all these The light shall visit, and that vaster tract From Fuego to the furthest Labrador, Where roam the outcast Esquimaux, shall hear The voice of social fellowship; the chief Whose hatchet flashed amid the forest gloom, Who to his infants bore the bleeding scalp Of his fall'n foe, shall weep unwonted tears! Come, Faith; come, Hope; come, meek-eyed Charity! 310 Complete the lovely prospect: every land Shall lift up one hosannah; every tongue Proclaim thee FATHER, INFINITE, and WISE, And GOOD. The shores of palmy Senegal (Sad Afric's injured sons no more enslaved) Shall answer HALLELUJAH, for the LORD Of truth and mercy reigns;--reigns KING OF KINGS;-- HOSANNAH--KING OF KINGS--and LORD OF LORDS! So may His kingdom come, when all the earth, Uniting thus as in one hymn of praise, 320 Shall wait the end of all things. This great globe, His awful plan accomplished, then shall sink In flames, whilst through the clouds, that wrap the place Where it had rolled, and the sun shone, the voice Of the ARCHANGEL, and the TRUMP OF GOD, Amid heaven's darkness rolling fast away, Shall sound! Then shall the sea give up its dead;-- But man's immortal mind, all trials past That shook his feverish frame, amidst the scenes 330 Of peril and distemper, shall ascend Exulting to its destined seat of rest, And "justify His ways" from whom it sprung.
[188] Mete, in the Arabic, according to Bruce, signifies "the place of burial." The entrance of the Red Sea was so called, from the dangers of the navigation. See Bruce.
[189] Alluding to the pathetic poem of the _Shipwreck_, whose author, Falconer, described himself under the name of Arion, and who was afterwards lost in the "Aurora."
[190] "Morai" is a grave.
[191] Botany Bay.
THE MISSIONARY.
Amor patriÊ ratione potentior omni.
PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION.[192]
It is not necessary to relate the causes which induced me to publish this poem without a name.
The favour with which it has been received may make me less diffident in avowing it; and, as a second edition has been generally called for, I have endeavoured to make it, in every respect, less unworthy of the public eye.
I have availed myself of every sensible objection, the most material of which was the circumstance, that the Indian maid, described in the first book, had not a part assigned to her of sufficient interest in the subsequent events of the poem, and that the character of the Missionary was not sufficiently professional.
The single circumstance that a Spanish commander, with his army in South America, was destroyed by the Indians, in consequence of the treachery of his page, who was a native, and that only a priest was saved, is all that has been taken from history. The rest of this poem, the personages, father, daughter, wife, _et cet._ (with the exception of the names of Indian warriors) is imaginary. The time is two months. The first four books include as many days and nights. The rest of the time is occupied by the Spaniards' march, the assembly of warriors, _et cet._
The place in which the scene is laid, was selected because South America has of late years received additional interest, and because the ground was at once new, poetical, and picturesque.
From old-fashioned feelings, perhaps, I have admitted some aÎrial agents, or what is called machinery. It is true that the spirits cannot be said to accelerate or retard the events; but surely they may be allowed to show a sympathy with the fate of those, among whom poetical fancy has given them a prescriptive ideal existence. They may be further excused, as relieving the narrative, and adding to the imagery.
The causes which induced me to publish this poem without a name, induced me also to attempt it in a versification to which I have been least accustomed, which, to my ear, is most uncongenial, and which is, in itself, most difficult. I mention this, in order that, if some passages should be found less harmonious than they might have been, the candour of the reader may pardon them.
_Scene_--SOUTH AMERICA.
_Characters._--Valdivia, commander of the Spanish armies--Lautaro, his page, a native of Chili--Anselmo, the missionary--Indiana, his adopted daughter, wife of Lautaro--Zarinel, the wandering minstrel.
_Indians._--Attacapac, father of Lautaro--Olola, his daughter, sister of Lautaro--Caupolican, chief of the Indians--Indian warriors.
The chief event of the poem turns upon the conduct of Lautaro; but as the Missionary acts so distinguished a part, and as the whole of the moral depends upon him, it was thought better to retain the title which was originally given to the poem.
[192] Dedicated to the Marquis of Lansdowne.
THE MISSIONARY.
INTRODUCTION.
When o'er the Atlantic wild, rocked by the blast, Sad Lusitania's exiled sovereign passed, Reft of her pomp, from her paternal throne Cast forth, and wandering to a clime unknown, To seek a refuge on that distant shore, That once her country's legions dyed with gore;-- Sudden, methought, high towering o'er the flood, Hesperian world! thy mighty genius stood; Where spread, from cape to cape, from bay to bay, Serenely blue, the vast Pacific lay; 10 And the huge Cordilleras to the skies With all their burning summits seemed to rise. Then the stern spirit spoke, and to his voice The waves and woods replied:--Mountains, rejoice! Thou solitary sea, whose billows sweep The margin of my forests, dark and deep, Rejoice! the hour is come: the mortal blow, That smote the golden shrines of Mexico, In Europe is avenged; and thou, proud Spain, Now hostile hosts insult thy own domain; 20 Now Fate, vindictive, rolls, with refluent flood, Back on thy shores the tide of human blood, Think of my murdered millions! of the cries That once I heard from all my kingdoms rise; Of Famine's feeble plaint, of Slavery's tear;-- Think, too, if Valour, Freedom, Fame, be dear, How my Antarctic sons, undaunted, stood, Exacting groan for groan, and blood for blood; And shouted, (may the sounds be hailed by thee!) Tyrants, the virtuous and the brave are free! 30
CANTO FIRST.
ARGUMENT.
_One Day and Part of Night._
Valley in the Andes--Old Indian warrior--Loss of his son and daughter.