Book V

Such are thy views, DISCOVERY! The great worldRolls to thine eye revealed; to thee the DeepSubmits its awful empire; IndustryAwakes, and Commerce to the echoing martsFrom 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 heartAsks trembling, is no evil found! Oh, turn,Meek Charity, and drop a human tearFor the sad fate of Afric's injured sons,And hide, for ever hide, the sight of chains,Anguish, and bondage! Yes, the heart of manIs sick, and Charity turns pale, to thinkHow 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!The caverned mountains echoed, Gold more Gold!Then see the fell-eyed, prowling buccaneer,Grim as a libbard! He his jealous lookTurns to the dagger at his belt, his handBy instinct grasps a bloody scymitar,And ghastly is his smile, as o'er the woodsHe sees the smoke of burning villagesAscend, and thinks ev'n now he counts his spoil.See thousands destined to the lurid mine,Never to see the sun again; all namesOf husband, sire, all tender charitiesOf love, deep buried with them in that grave,Where life is as a thing long passed; and hopeNo more its sickly ray, to cheer the gloom,Extends.Thou, too, dread Ocean, toss thine arms,Exulting, for the treasures and the gemsThat thy dark oozy realm emblaze; and callThe pale procession of the dead, from cavesWhere late their bodies weltered, to attendThy kingly sceptre, and proclaim thy might!Lord of the Hurricane! bid all thy windsSwell, and destruction ride upon the surge,Where, after the red lightning flash that showsThe labouring ship, all is at once deep nightAnd long suspense, till the slow dawn of dayGleams 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,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 seesSun after sun descend, and hopeless hears;At morn the long surge of the troubled main,That beats without his wretched cave; meantimeHe fears to wake the echoes with his voice,So dread the solitude!Let Greenland's snowsThen shine, and mark the melancholy trainThere left to perish, whilst the cold pale dayDeclines along the further ice, that bindsThe ship, and leaves in night the sinking scene.Sad winter closes on the deep; the smokeOf frost, that late amusive to the eyeRose o'er the coast, is passed, and all is nowOne torpid blank; the freezing particlesBlown blistering, and the white bear seeks her cave.Ill-fated outcasts, when the morn againShall streak with feeble beam the frozen waste,Your air-bleached and unburied carcasesShall 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 shriekOf all that perish thou shalt hear, as whenThe deep foundations of the guilty earthWere shaken at the voice of God, and manCeased in his habitations; yet the seaThy might tempestuous still, and joyless rule,Confesses. Ah! what bloodless shadows throngEv'n now, slow rising from their oozy beds,From Mete, and those gates of burialThat guard the ErythrÊan; from the vastUnfathomed caverns of the Western mainOr stormy Orcades; whilst the sad shellOf poor Arion, to the hollow blastSlow seems to pour its melancholy tones,And faintly vibrate, as the dead pass by.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 leadThe mournful train. Shade of Perouse! oh, sayWhere, in the tract of unknown seas, thy bonesTh' insulting surge has swept?But who is he,Whose look, though pale and bloody, wears the traceOf pure philanthropy? The pitying sighForbid not; he was dear to Britons, dearTo every beating heart, far as the worldExtends; and my faint faltering touch ev'n nowDies 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 eyesUpon the long seas, and the wider world,Displayed from his research. Smile, glowing Health!For now no more the wasted seaman sinks,With haggard eye and feeble frame diseased;No more with tortured longings for the sightOf fields and hillocks green, madly he callsOn Nature, when before his swimming eyeThe liquid long expanse of cheerless seasSeems all one flowery plain. Then frantic dreamsArise; his eye's distemper'd flash is seenFrom the sunk socket, as a demon thereSat mocking, till he plunges in the flood,And the dark wave goes o'er him.Nor wilt thou,O Science! fail to deck the cold moraiOf him who wider o'er earth's hemisphereThy views extended. On, from deep to deep,Thou shalt retrace the windings of his track;From the high North to where the field-ice bindsThe still Antarctic. Thence, from isle to isle,Thou shalt pursue his progress; and exploreNew-Holland's eastern shores, where now the sonsOf distant Britain, from her lap cast out,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 worldApproach: Beyond, 'tis silent boundless ice,Impenetrable barrier, where all thoughtIs 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 calledThe earth, who bad'st the Lord of light go forth,Ev'n as a giant, and the sounding seasRoll 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 raceSpread to that severed continent! Ev'n so,FATHER, in thy good time, shall all things standRevealed to knowledge.As the mind revolvesThe change of mighty empires, and the fateOf HIM whom Thou hast made, back through the duskOf ages Contemplation turns her view:We mark, as from its infancy, the worldPeopled again, from that mysterious shrineThat 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 stoodIn their gigantic might, and first the seasVanquished: But still from clime to clime the groanOf sacrifice, and Superstition's cry,Was heard; but when the Dayspring rose of heaven,Greece's hoar forests echoed, The great PanIs dead! From Egypt, and the rugged shoresOf 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 rayThe host of heaven hailed jubilant, and sang,Glory to God on high, and on earth peace,With long eclipse is veiled.Red PapacyUsurped the meek dominion of the LordOf love and charity: vast as a fiendShe 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 stakeStood, his last look uplifted to his GOD!But she is now cast down, her empire reft.They who in darkness walked, and in the shadeOf death, have seen a new and holy light,As in th' umbrageous forest, through whose boughs,Mossy and damp, for many a league, the mornWith languid beam scarce pierces, here and thereTouching some solitary trunk, the restDark waving in the noxious atmosphere:Through the thick-matted leaves the serpent windsHis way, to find a spot of casual sun;The gaunt hyÊna through the thicket glidesAt eve: then, too, the couched tiger's eyeFlames in the dusk, and oft the gnashing jawsOf the fell crocodile are heard. At length,By man's superior energy and toil,The sunless brakes are cleared; the joyous mornShines through the opening leaves; rich culture smilesAround; and howling to their distant wildsThe savage inmates of the wood retire.Such is the scene of human life, till wantBids man his strength put forth; then slowly spreadsThe cultured stream of mild humanity,And gentler virtues, and more noble aimsEmploy the active mind, till beauty beamsAround, and Nature wears her richest robe,Adorned with lovelier graces. Then the charmsOf 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 heartOf her protector. Then the names of sire,Of home, of brother, and of children, growMore sacred, more endearing; whilst the eye,Lifted beyond this earthly scene, beholdsA Father who looks down from heaven on all!O Britain, my loved country! dost thou riseMost high among the nations! Do thy fleetsRide o'er the surge of ocean, that subduedRolls in long sweep beneath them! Dost thou wearThy garb of gentler morals gracefully!Is widest science thine, and the fair trainOf lovelier arts! While commerce throngs thy portsWith her ten thousand streamers, is the tractOf the undeviating ploughshare whiteThat rips the reeking furrow, followed soonBy plenty, bidding all the scene rejoice,Even like a cultured garden! Do the streamsThat steal along thy peaceful vales, reflectTemples, and Attic domes, and village towers!Is beauty thine, fairest of earthly things,Woman; and doth she gain that liberal loveAnd homage, which the meekness of her voice,The rapture of her smile, commanding mostWhen she seems weakest, must demand from him,Her master; whose stern strength at once submitsIn manly, but endearing, confidence,Unlike his selfish tyranny who sitsThe sultan of his harem!Oh, then, thinkHow great the blessing, and how high thy rankAmid the civilised and social world!But hast thou no deep failings, that may turnThy thoughts within thyself! Ask, for the sunThat shines in heaven hath seen it, hath thy powerNe'er scattered sorrow over distant lands!Ask of the East, have never thy proud sailsBorne plunder from dismembered provinces,Leaving the groans of miserable menBehind! And free thyself, and lifting highThe charter of thy freedom, bought with blood,Hast thou not stood, in patient apathy,A witness of the tortures and the chainsThat Afric's injured sons have known! Stand up;Yes, thou hast visited the caves, and cheeredThe gloomy haunts of sorrow; thou hast shedA beam of comfort and of righteousnessOn isles remote; hast bid the bread-fruit shadeTh' Hesperian regions, and has softened muchWith bland amelioration, and with charmsOf social sweetness, the hard lot of man.But weighed in truth's firm balance, ask, if allBe even. Do not crimes of ranker growthBatten amid thy cities, whose loud din,From flashing and contending cars, ascends,Till morn! Enchanting, as if aught so sweetNe'er faded, do thy daughters wear the weedsOf calm domestic peace and wedded love;Or turn, with beautiful disdain, to dashGay pleasure's poisoned chalice from their lipsUntasted! Hath not sullen atheism,Weaving gay flowers of poesy, so soughtTo hide the darkness of his withered browWith faded and fantastic gallantryOf roses, thus to win the thoughtless smileOf youthful ignorance! Hast thou with aweLooked up to Him whose power is in the clouds,Who bids the storm rush, and it sweeps to earthThe nations that offend, and they are gone,Like Tyre and Babylon! Well weigh thyself:Then shalt thou rise undaunted in the mightOf thy Protector, and the gathered hateOf hostile bands shall be but as the sandBlown on the everlasting pyramid.Hasten, O Love and Charity! your work,Ev'n now whilst it is day; far as the worldExtends may your divinest influenceBe felt, and more than felt, to teach mankindThey all are brothers, and to drown the criesOf superstition, anarchy, or blood!Not yet the hour is come: on Ganges' banksStill superstition hails the flame of death,Behold, gay dressed, as in her bridal tire,The self-devoted beauteous victim slowAscend the pile where her dead husband lies:She kisses his cold cheeks, inclines her breastOn his, and lights herself the fatal pileThat shall consume them both!On Egypt's shore,Where Science rose, now Sloth and IgnoranceSleep like the huge Behemoth in the sun!The turbaned Moor still stains with strangers' bloodThe inmost sands of Afric. But all theseThe light shall visit, and that vaster tractFrom Fuego to the furthest Labrador,Where roam the outcast Esquimaux, shall hearThe voice of social fellowship; the chiefWhose hatchet flashed amid the forest gloom,Who to his infants bore the bleeding scalpOf his fall'n foe, shall weep unwonted tears!Come, Faith; come, Hope; come, meek-eyed Charity!Complete the lovely prospect: every landShall lift up one hosannah; every tongueProclaim 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 LORDOf 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,Shall wait the end of all things. This great globe,His awful plan accomplished, then shall sinkIn flames, whilst through the clouds, that wrap the placeWhere it had rolled, and the sun shone, the voiceOf 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 pastThat shook his feverish frame, amidst the scenesOf peril and distemper, shall ascendExulting to its destined seat of rest,And "justify His ways" from whom it sprung.

Alluding to the pathetic poem of the Shipwreck, whose author,Falconer, described himself under the name of Arion, and who wasafterwards lost in the "Aurora."