Book II

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; and with lifted torchScatter the darkness through the labyrinthsOf death, where rest her kings, without a name,And light the winding caves and pyramidsIn the long night of years! We might beholdEdom, in towery strength, majestic rise,And awe the ErithrÊan, to the plainsWhere Migdol frowned, and Baal-zephon stood,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!But 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.Let the songReveal, who first "went down to the great seaIn ships," and braved the stormy element.THE SONS OF CUSH. Still fearful of the FLOOD,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 rockTheir 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. Imperial THEBESStarts, 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,Her 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, for his arkNo more in night profoundOf ocean, fathomless and dark,Typhon 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 ErithrÊan launch'dTheir barks, and to the shores of ArabyFirst 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 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 stands--Be 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. 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 godsDevoted, 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 fumeOf 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-birdsDarkening, 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 coveTo 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:Then 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,As 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 deckWith new magnificence the rising domeOf Palestine's imperial lord.His wantsTo satisfy; "with comelier draperies"To clothe his shivering form; to bid his armBurst, like the Patagonian's, 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,Like the GREAT ELEMENT on 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 lightsThe 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 mournHer 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;And 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, an ATHENS springs,From the ∆gean shores, and airs are heard,As of no mortal melody, from islesThat strew the deep around! On to the STRAITSWhere tower the brazen pillars 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 ∆tna, 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! AghastThey 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 fumeInvolved. Perhaps the living Moloch 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,Goes 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!These 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 BÊtic rocks, and ramparts high,That CLOSE 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 shoresOf Cerne, and the green Hesperides,And long-renowned Atlantis, 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 cliffsOf 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 LebanonWaved 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,I 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 the LORD; 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 seaShall 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, O GOD,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 thinksHow 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 throneOf the bright SUN reveal; 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 sitsUpon 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,BELERUS holds."Nor 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 hazeAloft 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 voiceHeard '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.