Book VI

With heart sincere the royal pagan joy'd,And hospitable rites each hour employ'd,For much the king the Lusian band admir'd,And, much their friendship and their aid desir'd;Each hour the gay festivity prolongs,Melindian dances, and Arabian songs;Each hour in mirthful transport steals away,By night the banquet, and the chase by day;And now, the bosom of the deep invites,And all the pride of Neptune's festive rites;Their silken banners waving o'er the tide,A jovial band, the painted galleys ride;The net and angle various hands employ,And Moorish timbrels sound the notes of joy.Such was the pomp, when Egypt's beauteous queenBade all the pride of naval show convene,In pleasure's downy bosom, to beguileHer love-sick warrior: o'er the breast of Nile,Dazzling with gold, the purple ensigns flow'd,And to the lute the gilded barges row'd;While from the wave, of many a shining hue,The anglers' lines the panting fishes drew.

Now, from the West the sounding breezes blow,And far the hoary flood was yet to plough:The fountain and the field bestow'd their store,And friendly pilots from the friendly shore,Train'd in the Indian deep, were now aboard,When GAMA, parting from Melinda's lord,The holy vows of lasting peace renew'd,For, still the king for lasting friendship sued;That Lusus' heroes in his port supplied,And tasted rest, he own'd his dearest pride,And vow'd, that ever while the seas they roam,The Lusian fleets should find a bounteous home,And, ever from the gen'rous shore receiveWhate'er his port, whate'er his land could give.Nor less his joy the grateful chief declar'd;And now, to seize the valued hours prepar'd.Full to the wind the swelling sails he gave,And, his red prows divide the foamy wave:Full to the rising sun the pilot steers,And, far from shore through middle ocean bears.The vaulted sky now widens o'er their heads,Where first the infant morn his radiance sheds.And now, with transport sparkling in his eyes,Keen to behold the Indian mountains rise,High on the decks each Lusian hero smiles,And, proudly in his thoughts reviews his toils.When the stern demon, burning with disdain,Beheld the fleet triumphant plough the main:The powers of heav'n, and heav'n's dread lord he knew,Resolv'd in Lisbon glorious to renewThe Roman honours--raging with despairFrom high Olympus' brow he cleaves the air,On earth new hopes of vengeance to devise,And sue that aid denied him in the skies;Blaspheming Heav'n, he pierc'd the dread abodeOf ocean's lord, and sought the ocean's god.Deep, where the bases of the hills extend,And earth's huge ribs of rock enormous bend,Where, roaring through the caverns, roll the wavesResponsive as the aërial tempest raves,The ocean's monarch, by the Nereid train,And wat'ry gods encircled, holds his reign.Wide o'er the deep, which line could ne'er explore,Shining with hoary sand of silver ore,Extends the level, where the palace rearsIts crystal towers, and emulates the spheres;So, starry bright, the lofty turrets blaze,And, vie in lustre with the diamond's rays.Adorn'd with pillars, and with roofs of gold,The golden gates their massy leaves unfold:Inwrought with pearl the lordly pillars shine,The sculptur'd walls confess a hand divine.Here, various colours in confusion lost,Old Chaos' face and troubled image boast.Here, rising from the mass, distinct and clear,Apart, the four fair elements appear.High o'er the rest ascends the blaze of fire,Nor, fed by matter did the rays aspire,But, glow'd ætherial, as the living flame,Which, stol'n from heav'n, inspir'd the vital frame.Next, all-embracing air was spread around,Thin as the light, incapable of wound;The subtle power the burning south pervades,And penetrates the depth of polar shades.Here, mother Earth, with mountains crown'd, is seen,Her trees in blossom, and her lawns in green;The lowing beeves adorn the clover vales,The fleecy dams bespread the sloping dales;Here, land from land the silver streams divide;The sportive fishes through the crystal tide,Bedropt with gold their shining sides display:And here, old Ocean rolls his billows gray:Beneath the moon's pale orb his current flows,And, round the earth, his giant arms he throws.Another scene display'd the dread alarmsOf war in heav'n, and mighty Jove in arms;Here, Titan's race their swelling nerves distendLike knotted oaks, and from their bases rendAnd tower the mountains to the thund'ring sky,While round their heads the forky lightnings fly;Beneath huge Etna vanquish'd Typhon lies,And vomits smoke and fire against the darken'd skies.Here, seems the pictur'd wall possess'd of life:Two gods contending in the noble strife,The choicest boon to humankind to give,Their toils to lighten, or their wants relieve:While Pallas here appears to wave her hand,The peaceful olive's silver boughs expand:Here, while the ocean's god indignant frown'd,And rais'd his trident from the wounded ground,As yet entangled in the earth, appearsThe warrior horse; his ample chest he rears,His wide red nostrils smoke, his eye-balls glare,And his fore-hoofs, high pawing, smite the air.

Though wide, and various, o'er the sculptur'd stoneThe feats of gods, and godlike heroes shone;On speed the vengeful demon views no more:Forward he rushes through the golden door,Where ocean's king, enclos'd with nymphs divine,In regal state receives the king of wine:"O Neptune!" instant as he came, he cries,"Here let my presence wake no cold surprise.A friend I come, your friendship to imploreAgainst the Fates unjust, and Fortune's power;Beneath whose shafts the great Celestials bow,Yet ere I more, if more you wish to know,The wat'ry gods in awful senate call,For all should hear the wrong that touches all."Neptune alarm'd, with instant speed commandsFrom ev'ry shore to call the wat'ry bands:Triton, who boasts his high Neptunian race,Sprung from the god by Salacé's embrace,Attendant on his sire the trumpet sounds,Or, through the yielding waves, his herald, bounds:Huge is his bulk, deform'd, and dark his hue;His bushy beard, and hairs that never knewThe smoothing comb, of seaweed rank and long, }Around his breast and shoulders dangling hung, }And, on the matted locks black mussels clung; }A shell of purple on his head he bore,Around his loins no tangling garb he wore,But all was cover'd with the slimy brood,The snaily offspring of the unctuous flood;And now, obedient to his dreadful sire,High o'er the wave his brawny arms aspire;To his black mouth his crooked shell applied,The blast rebellows o'er the ocean wide:Wide o'er their shores, where'er their waters flow,The wat'ry powers the awful summons know;And instant, darting to the palace hall,Attend the founder of the Dardan wall;Old Father Ocean, with his num'rous raceOf daughters and of sons, was first in place.Nereus and Doris, from whose nuptials sprungThe lovely Nereid train, for ever young,Who people ev'ry sea on ev'ry strand,Appear'd, attended with their filial band;And changeful Proteus, whose prophetic mindThe secret cause of Bacchus' rage divin'd,Attending, left the flocks, his scaly charge,To graze the bitter, weedy foam at large.In charms of power the raging waves to tame,The lovely spouse of ocean's sov'reign came.From Heaven and Vesta sprung the birth divine,Her snowy limbs bright through the vestments shine.Here, with the dolphin, who persuasive ledHer modest steps to Neptune's spousal bed,Fair Amphitrité mov'd, more sweet, more gayThan vernal fragrance, and the flowers of May;Together with her sister-spouse she came,The same their wedded lord, their love the same;The same the brightness of their sparkling eyes,Bright as the sun, and azure as the skies.She, who, the rage of Athamas to shun,Plung'd in the billows with her infant son;A goddess now, a god the smiling boy,Together sped; and Glaucus lost to joy,Curs'd in his love by vengeful Circé's hate,Attending, wept his Scylla's hapless fate.

And now, assembled in the hall divine,The ocean gods in solemn council join;The goddesses on pearl embroid'ry sat,The gods, on sparkling crystal chairs of state,And, proudly honour'd, on the regal throne,Beside the ocean's lord, Thyoneus shone.High from the roof the living amber glows,High from the roof the stream of glory flows,And, richer fragrance far around exhalesThan that which breathes on fair Arabia's gales.

Attention now, in list'ning silence waits:The power, whose bosom rag'd against the Fates,Rising, casts round his vengeful eyes, while rageSpread o'er his brows the wrinkled seams of age."O thou," he cries, "whose birthright sov'reign sway,From pole to pole, the raging waves obey;Of human race 'tis thine to fix the bounds,And fence the nations with thy wat'ry mounds:And thou, dread power, O Father Ocean, hear,Thou, whose wide arms embrace the world's wide sphere,'Tis thine the haughtiest victor to restrain,And bind each nation in its own domain:And you, ye gods, to whom the seas are giv'n,Your just partition with the gods of heav'n;You who, of old unpunish'd never boreThe daring trespass of a foreign oar;You who beheld, when Earth's dread offspring stroveTo scale the vaulted sky, the seat of Jove:Indignant Jove deep to the nether worldThe rebel band in blazing thunders hurl'd.Alas! the great monition lost on you,Supine you slumber, while a roving crew,With impious search, explore the wat'ry way,And, unresisted, through your empire stray:To seize the sacred treasures of the main,Their fearless prows your ancient laws disdain:Where, far from mortal sight his hoary headOld Ocean hides, their daring sails they spread,And their glad shouts are echo'd where the roarOf mounting billows only howl'd before.In wonder, silent, ready Boreas seesYour passive languor, and neglectful ease;Ready, with force auxiliar, to restrainThe bold intruders on your awful reign;Prepar'd to burst his tempests, as of old,When his black whirlwinds o'er the ocean roll'd,And rent the Mynian sails, whose impious prideFirst brav'd their fury, and your power defied.Nor deem that, fraudful, I my hope deny;My darken'd glory sped me from the sky.How high my honours on the Indian shore!How soon these honours must avail no more!Unless these rovers, who with doubled shameTo stain my conquests, bear my vassal's name,Unless they perish on the billowy way.Then rouse, ye gods, and vindicate your sway.The powers of heaven, in vengeful anguish, seeThe tyrant of the skies, and Fate's decree;The dread decree, that to the Lusian trainConsigns, betrays your empire of the main:Say, shall your wrong alarm the high abodes?Are men exalted to the rank of gods?O'er you exalted, while in careless easeYou yield the wrested trident of the seas,Usurp'd your monarchy, your honours stain'd,Your birthright ravish'd, and your waves profan'd!Alike the daring wrong to me, to you,And, shall my lips in vain your vengeance sue!This, this to sue from high Olympus bore----"More he attempts, but rage permits no more.Fierce, bursting wrath the wat'ry gods inspires,And, their red eye-balls burn with livid fires:Heaving and panting struggles evr'y breast,With the fierce billows of hot ire oppress'd.Twice from his seat divining Proteus rose,And twice he shook, enrag'd, his sedgy brows:In vain; the mandate was already giv'n,From Neptune sent, to loose the winds of heav'n:In vain; though prophecy his lips inspir'd,The ocean's queen his silent lips requir'd.Nor less the storm of headlong rage denies,Or counsel to debate, or thought to rise.And now, the God of Tempests swift unbindsFrom their dark caves the various rushing winds:High o'er the storm the power impetuous rides,His howling voice the roaring tempest guides;Right to the dauntless fleet their rage he pours,And, first their headlong outrage tears the shores:A deeper night involves the darken'd air,And livid flashes through the mountains glare:Uprooted oaks, with all their leafy pride,Roll thund'ring down the groaning mountain's side;And men and herds in clam'rous uproar run,The rocking towers and crashing woods to shun.

While, thus, the council of the wat'ry stateEnrag'd, decreed the Lusian heroes' fate,The weary fleet before the gentle galeWith joyful hope display'd the steady sail;Thro' the smooth deep they plough'd the length'ning way;Beneath the wave the purple car of dayTo sable night the eastern sky resign'd,And, o'er the decks cold breath'd the midnight wind.All but the watch in warm pavilions slept,The second watch the wonted vigils kept:Supine their limbs, the mast supports the head,And the broad yard-sail o'er their shoulders spreadA grateful cover from the chilly gale,And sleep's soft dews their heavy eyes assail.Languid against the languid power they strive,And, sweet discourse preserves their thoughts alive.When Leonardo, whose enamour'd thoughtIn every dream the plighted fair one sought--"The dews of sleep what better to removeThan the soft, woful, pleasing tales of love?""Ill-timed, alas!" the brave VELOSO cries,"The tales of love, that melt the heart and eyes.The dear enchantments of the fair I know,The fearful transport, and the rapturous woe:But, with our state ill suits the grief or joy;Let war, let gallant war our thoughts employ:With dangers threaten'd, let the tale inspireThe scorn of danger, and the hero's fire."His mates with joy the brave VELOSO hear,And, on the youth the speaker's toil confer.The brave VELOSO takes the word with joy,"And truth," he cries, "shall these slow hours decoy.The warlike tale adorns our nation's fame,The twelve of England give the noble theme.

"When Pedro's gallant heir, the valiant John,Gave war's full splendour to the Lusian throne,In haughty England, where the winter spreadsHis snowy mantle o'er the shining meads,The seeds of strife the fierce Erynnis sows;The baleful strife from court dissension rose.With ev'ry charm adorn'd, and ev'ry grace,That spreads its magic o'er the female face,Twelve ladies shin'd the courtly train among,The first, the fairest of the courtly throng;But, Envy's breath revil'd their injur'd name,And stain'd the honour of their virgin fame.Twelve youthful barons own'd the foul report,The charge at first, perhaps, a tale of sport.Ah, base the sport that lightly dares defameThe sacred honour of a lady's name!What knighthood asks the proud accusers yield,And, dare the damsels' champions to the field.'There let the cause, as honour wills, be tried,And, let the lance and ruthless sword decide.'The lovely dames implore the courtly train,With tears implore them, but implore in vain.So fam'd, so dreaded tower'd each boastful knight,The damsels' lovers shunn'd the proffer'd fight.Of arm unable to repel the strong,The heart's each feeling conscious of the wrong,When, robb'd of all the female breast holds dear,Ah Heaven, how bitter flows the female tear!To Lancaster's bold duke the damsels sue;Adown their cheeks, now paler than the hueOf snowdrops trembling to the chilly gale,The slow-pac'd crystal tears their wrongs bewail.When down the beauteous face the dew-drop flows,What manly bosom can its force oppose!His hoary curls th' indignant hero shakes,And, all his youthful rage restor'd, awakes:'Though loth,' he cries, 'to plunge my bold compeersIn civil discord, yet, appease your tears:From Lusitania'--for, on Lusian groundBrave Lancaster had strode with laurel crown'd;Had mark'd how bold the Lusian heroes shone,What time he claim'd the proud Castilian throne,How matchless pour'd the tempest of their might,When, thund'ring at his side, they rul'd the fight:Nor less their ardent passion for the fair,Gen'rous and brave, he view'd with wond'ring care,When, crown'd with roses, to the nuptial bedThe warlike John his lovely daughter led--'From Lusitania's clime,' the hero cries,'The gallant champions of your fame shall rise.Their hearts will burn (for well their hearts I know)To pour your vengeance on the guilty foe.Let courtly phrase the heroes' worth admire,And, for your injur'd names, that worth require:Let all the soft endearments of the fair,And words that weep your wrongs, your wrongs declare.Myself the heralds to the chiefs will send,And to the king, my valiant son, commend.'He spoke; and twelve of Lusian race he namesAll noble youths, the champions of the dames.The dames, by lot, their gallant champions choose,And each her hero's name, exulting, views.Each in a various letter hails her chief,And, earnest for his aid, relates her grief:Each to the king her courtly homage sends,And valiant Lancaster their cause commends.Soon as to Tagus' shores the heralds came,Swift through the palace pours the sprightly flameOf high-soul'd chivalry; the monarch glowsFirst on the listed field to dare the foes;But regal state withheld. Alike their fires,Each courtly noble to the toil aspires:High on his helm, the envy of his peers,Each chosen knight the plume of combat wears.In that proud port, half circled by the wave,Which Portugallia to the nation gave,A deathless name, a speedy sloop receivesThe sculptur'd bucklers, and the clasping greaves,The swords of Ebro, spears of lofty size,And breast-plates, flaming with a thousand dyes,Helmets high plum'd, and, pawing for the fight,Bold steeds, whose harness shone with silv'ry lightDazzling the day. And now, the rising galeInvites the heroes, and demands the sail,When brave Magricio thus his peers address'd,'Oh, friends in arms, of equal powers confess'd,Long have I hop'd through foreign climes to stray,Where other streams than Douro wind their way;To note what various shares of bliss and woeFrom various laws and various customs flow;Nor deem that, artful, I the fight decline;England shall know the combat shall be mine.By land I speed, and, should dark fate prevent,(For death alone shall blight my firm intent),Small may the sorrow for my absence be,For yours were conquest, though unshar'd by me.Yet, something more than human warms my breast,And sudden whispers, In our fortunes blest,Nor envious chance, nor rocks, nor whelmy tide,Shall our glad meeting at the list divide.'

"He said; and now, the rites of parting friendsSufficed, through Leon and Castile he bends.On many a field, enrapt, the hero stood,And the proud scenes of Lusian conquest view'd.Navarre he pass'd, and pass'd the dreary wild,Where rocks on rocks o'er yawning glens are pil'd;The wolf's dread range, where, to the ev'ning skiesIn clouds involv'd, the cold Pyrenians rise.Through Gallia's flow'ry vales, and wheaten plainsHe strays, and Belgia now his steps detains.There, as forgetful of his vow'd intent,In various cares the fleeting days he spent:His peers, the while, direct to England's strand,Plough the chill northern wave; and now, at land,Adorn'd in armour, and embroid'ry gay,To lordly London hold the crowded way:Bold Lancaster receives the knights with joy;The feast, and warlike song each hour employ.The beauteous dames, attending, wake their fire,With tears enrage them, and with smiles inspire.And now, with doubtful blushes rose the day,Decreed the rites of wounded fame to pay.The English monarch gives the listed bounds,And, fix'd in rank, with shining spears surrounds.Before their dames the gallant knights advance,(Each like a Mars), and shake the beamy lance:The dames, adorn'd in silk and gold, displayA thousand colours glitt'ring to the day:Alone in tears, and doleful mourning, came,Unhonour'd by her knight, Magricio's dame.'Fear not our prowess,' cry the bold eleven,'In numbers, not in might, we stand uneven.More could we spare, secure of dauntless might,When for the injur'd female name we fight.'

"Beneath a canopy of regal state,High on a throne, the English monarch sat,All round, the ladies and the barons bold,Shining in proud array, their stations hold.Now, o'er the theatre the champions pour,And facing three to three, and four to four,Flourish their arms in prelude. From the bayWhere flows the Tagus to the Indian sea,The sun beholds not, in his annual race,A twelve more sightly, more of manly graceThan tower'd the English knights. With frothing jaws,Furious, each steed the bit restrictive gnaws,And, rearing to approach the rearing foe,Their wavy manes are dash'd with foamy snow:Cross-darting to the sun a thousand rays,The champions' helmets as the crystal blaze.Ah now, the trembling ladies' cheeks how wan!Cold crept their blood; when, through the tumult ranA shout, loud gath'ring; turn'd was ev'ry eyeWhere rose the shout, the sudden cause to spy.And lo, in shining arms a warrior rode,With conscious pride his snorting courser trod;Low to the monarch, and the dames he bends,And now, the great Magricio joins his friends.With looks that glow'd, exulting rose the fair,Whose wounded honour claim'd the hero's care.Aside the doleful weeds of mourning thrown,In dazzling purple, and in gold she shone.Now, loud the signal of the fight rebounds,Quiv'ring the air, the meeting shock resoundsHoarse, crashing uproar; griding splinters springFar round, and bucklers dash'd on bucklers ring.Their swords flash lightning; darkly reeking o'erThe shining mail-plates flows the purple gore.Torn by the spur, the loosen'd reins at large,Furious, the steeds in thund'ring plunges charge;Trembles beneath their hoofs the solid ground,And, thick the fiery sparkles flash around,A dreadful blaze! With pleasing horror thrill'd,The crowd behold the terrors of the field.Here, stunn'd and stagg'ring with the forceful blow,A bending champion grasps the saddle-bow;Here, backward bent, a falling knight reclines,His plumes, dishonour'd, lash the courser's loins.So, tir'd and stagger'd toil'd the doubtful fight,When great Magricio, kindling all his might,Gave all his rage to burn: with headlong force,Conscious of victory, his bounding horseWheels round and round the foe; the hero's spearNow on the front, now flaming on the rear,Mows down their firmest battle; groans the ground }Beneath his courser's smiting hoofs: far round }The cloven helms and splinter'd shields resound. }Here, torn and trail'd in dust the harness gay,From the fall'n master springs the steed away;Obscene with dust and gore, slow from the groundRising, the master rolls his eyes around,Pale as a spectre on the Stygian coast,In all the rage of shame confus'd, and lost:Here, low on earth, and o'er the riders thrown,The wallowing coursers and the riders groan:Before their glimm'ring vision dies the light,And, deep descends the gloom of death's eternal night.They now who boasted, 'Let the sword decide,'Alone in flight's ignoble aid confide:Loud to the skies the shout of joy proclaimsThe spotless honour of the ladies' names.

"In painted halls of state, and rosy bowers,The twelve brave Lusians crown the festive hours.Bold Lancaster the princely feast bestows,The goblet circles, and the music flows;And ev'ry care, the transport of their joy,To tend the knights the lovely dames employ;The green-bough'd forests by the lawns of ThamesBehold the victor-champions, and the damesRouse the tall roe-buck o'er the dews of morn,While, through the dales of Kent resounds the bugle-horn.The sultry noon the princely banquet owns,The minstrel's song of war the banquet crowns:And, when the shades of gentle ev'ning fall,Loud with the dance resounds the lordly hall:The golden roofs, while Vesper shines, prolongThe trembling echoes of the harp and song.Thus pass'd the days on England's happy strand,Till the dear mem'ry of their natal landSigh'd for the banks of Tagus. Yet, the breastOf brave Magricio spurns the thoughts of rest.In Gaul's proud court he sought the listed plain,In arms, an injur'd lady's knight again.As Rome's Corvinus o'er the field he strode,And, on the foe's huge cuirass proudly trod.No more by tyranny's proud tongue revil'd,The Flandrian countess on her hero smil'd.The Rhine another pass'd, and prov'd his might,A fraudful German dar'd him to the fight.Strain'd in his grasp, the fraudful boaster fell----"Here sudden stopp'd the youth; the distant yellOf gath'ring tempest sounded in his ears,Unheard, unheeded by his list'ning peers.Earnest, at full, they urge him to relateMagricio's combat, and the German's fate.When, shrilly whistling through the decks, resoundsThe master's call, and loud his voice rebounds:Instant from converse, and from slumber, startBoth bands, and instant to their toils they dart."Aloft, oh speed, down, down the topsails!" criesThe master: "sudden from my earnest eyesVanish'd the stars; slow rolls the hollow sigh,The storm's dread herald." To the topsails flyThe bounding youths, and o'er the yardarms whirlThe whizzing ropes, and swift the canvas furl;When, from their grasp the bursting tempests boreThe sheets half-gather'd, and in fragments tore."Strike, strike the mainsail!" loud again he rearsHis echoing voice; when, roaring in their ears,As if the starry vault, by thunders riv'n,Rush'd downward to the deep the walls of heav'n,With headlong weight a fiercer blast descends,And, with sharp whirring crash, the mainsail rends;Loud shrieks of horror through the fleet resound;Bursts the torn cordage; rattle far aroundThe splinter'd yardarms; from each bending mast,In many a shred, far streaming on the blastThe canvas floats; low sinks the leeward side,O'er the broad vessels rolls the swelling tide:"Oh strain each nerve!" the frantic pilot cries--"Oh now!"--and instant every nerve applies,Tugging what cumbrous lay, with strainful force;Dash'd by the pond'rous loads, the surges hoarseRoar in new whirls: the dauntless soldiers ranTo pump, yet, ere the groaning pump beganThe wave to vomit, o'er the decks o'erthrownIn grovelling heaps, the stagger'd soldiers groan:So rolls the vessel, not the boldest three,Of arm robustest, and of firmest knee,Can guide the starting rudder; from their handsThe helm bursts; scarce a cable's strength commandsThe stagg'ring fury of its starting bounds,While to the forceful, beating surge resoundsThe hollow crazing hulk: with kindling rageThe adverse winds the adverse winds engage,As, from its base of rock their banded powerStrove in the dust to strew some lordly tower,Whose dented battlements in middle skyFrown on the tempest and its rage defy;So, roar'd the winds: high o'er the rest upborneOn the wide mountain-wave's slant ridge forlorn,At times discover'd by the lightnings blue,Hangs GAMA'S lofty vessel, to the viewSmall as her boat; o'er Paulus' shatter'd proreFalls the tall mainmast, prone, with crashing roar;Their hands, yet grasping their uprooted hair,The sailors lift to heaven in wild despair,The Saviour-God each yelling voice implores.Nor less from brave Coello's war-ship poursThe shriek, shrill rolling on the tempest's wings:Dire as the bird of death at midnight singsHis dreary howlings in the sick man's ear,The answ'ring shriek from ship to ship they hear.

Now, on the mountain-billows upward driv'n,The navy mingles with the clouds of heav'n;Now, rushing downward with the sinking waves,Bare they behold old Ocean's vaulty caves.The eastern blast against the western pours,Against the southern storm the northern roars:From pole to pole the flashy lightnings glare,One pale, blue, twinkling sheet enwraps the air;In swift succession now the volleys fly,Darted in pointed curvings o'er the sky;And, through the horrors of the dreadful night,O'er the torn waves they shed a ghastly light;The breaking surges flame with burning red,Wider, and louder still the thunders spread,As if the solid heav'ns together crush'd,Expiring worlds on worlds expiring rush'd,And dim-brow'd Chaos struggled to regainThe wild confusion of his ancient reign.Not such the volley when the arm of JoveFrom heav'n's high gates the rebel Titans drove;Not such fierce lightnings blaz'd athwart the flood,When, sav'd by Heaven, Deucalion's vessel rodeHigh o'er the delug'd hills. Along the shoreThe halcyons, mindful of their fate, deplore;As beating round, on trembling wings they fly,Shrill through the storm their woful clamours die.So, from the tomb, when midnight veils the plains,With shrill, faint voice, th' untimely ghost complains.The am'rous dolphins to their deepest cavesIn vain retreat, to fly the furious waves;High o'er the mountain-capes the ocean flows,And tears the aged forests from their brows:The pine and oak's huge, sinewy roots uptorn,And, from their beds the dusky sands upborneOn the rude whirlings of the billowy sweep,Imbrown the surface of the boiling deep.High to the poop the valiant GAMA springs,And all the rage of grief his bosom wrings,Grief to behold, the while fond hope enjoy'dThe meed of all his toils, that hope destroy'd.In awful horror lost, the hero stands,And rolls his eyes to heav'n, and spreads his hands,While to the clouds his vessel rides the swell,And now, her black keel strikes the gates of hell;"O Thou," he cries, "whom trembling heav'n obeys,Whose will the tempest's furious madness sways,Who, through the wild waves, ledd'st Thy chosen race,While the high billows stood like walls of brass:O Thou, while ocean bursting o'er the worldRoar'd o'er the hills, and from the sky down hurl'dRush'd other headlong oceans; oh, as thenThe second father of the race of menSafe in Thy care the dreadful billows rode,Oh! save us now, be now the Saviour-God!Safe in Thy care, what dangers have we pass'd!And shalt Thou leave us, leave us now at lastTo perish here--our dangers and our toilsTo spread Thy laws unworthy of Thy smiles;Our vows unheard? Heavy with all thy weight,Oh horror, come! and come, eternal night!"

He paus'd;--then round his eyes and arms he threwIn gesture wild, and thus: "Oh happy you!You, who in Afric fought for holy faith,And, pierc'd with Moorish spears, in glorious deathBeheld the smiling heav'ns your toils reward,By your brave mates beheld the conquest shar'd;Oh happy you, on every shore renown'd!Your vows respected, and your wishes crown'd."

He spoke; redoubled rag'd the mingled blasts;Through the torn cordage and the shatter'd mastsThe winds loud whistled, fiercer lightnings blaz'd,And louder roars the doubled thunders rais'd,The sky and ocean blending, each on fire,Seem'd as all Nature struggled to expire.When now, the silver star of Love appear'd,Bright in the east her radiant front she rear'd;Fair, through the horrid storm, the gentle rayAnnounc'd the promise of the cheerful day;From her bright throne Celestial Love beheldThe tempest burn, and blast on blast impell'd:"And must the furious demon still," she cries,"Still urge his rage, nor all the past suffice!Yet, as the past, shall all his rage be vain----"She spoke, and darted to the roaring main;Her lovely nymphs she calls, the nymphs obey,Her nymphs the virtues who confess her sway;Round ev'ry brow she bids the rose-buds twine,And ev'ry flower adown the locks to shine,The snow-white lily, and the laurel green,And pink and yellow as at strife be seen.Instant, amid their golden ringlets stroveEach flow'ret, planted by the hand of Love;At strife, who first th' enamour'd powers to gain,Who rule the tempests and the waves restrain:Bright as a starry band the Nereids shone,Instant old Eolus' sons their presence own;The winds die faintly, and, in softest sighs,Each at his fair one's feet desponding lies:The bright Orithia, threatening, sternly chidesThe furious Boreas, and his faith derides;The furious Boreas owns her powerful bands:Fair Galatea, with a smile commandsThe raging Notus, for his love, how true,His fervent passion and his faith she knew.Thus, every nymph her various lover chides;The silent winds are fetter'd by their brides;And, to the goddess of celestial loves,Mild as her look, and gentle as her doves,In flow'ry bands are brought. Their am'rous flameThe queen approves, and "ever burn the same,"She cries, and joyful on the nymphs' fair hands,Th' Eolian race receive the queen's commands,And vow, that henceforth her Armada's sailsShould gently swell with fair propitious gales.

Now, morn, serene, in dappled grey aroseO'er the fair lawns where murm'ring Ganges flows;Pale shone the wave beneath the golden beam,Blue, o'er the silver flood, Malabria's mountains gleam;The sailors on the main-top's airy round,"Land, land!" aloud with waving hands resound;Aloud the pilot of Melinda cries,"Behold, O chief, the shores of India rise!"Elate, the joyful crew on tip-toe trod,And every breast with swelling raptures glow'd;GAMA's great soul confess'd the rushing swell,Prone on his manly knees the hero fell;"O bounteous heav'n!" he cries, and spreads his handsTo bounteous heav'n, while boundless joy commandsNo further word to flow. In wonder lost,As one in horrid dreams through whirlpools toss'd,Now, snatch'd by demons, rides the flaming air,And howls, and hears the howlings of despair;Awak'd, amaz'd, confus'd with transport glows,And, trembling still, with troubled joy o'erflows;So, yet affected with the sickly weightLeft by the horrors of the dreadful night,The hero wakes, in raptures to beholdThe Indian shores before his prows unfold:Bounding, he rises, and, with eyes on fire,Surveys the limits of his proud desire.

O glorious chief, while storms and oceans rav'd,What hopeless toils thy dauntless valour brav'd!By toils like thine the brave ascend to heav'n,By toils like thine immortal fame is giv'n.Not he, who daily moves in ermine gown,Who nightly slumbers on the couch of down;Who proudly boasts through heroes old to traceThe lordly lineage of his titled race;Proud of the smiles of every courtier lord,A welcome guest at every courtier's board;Not he, the feeble son of ease, may claimThy wreath, O GAMA, or may hope thy fame.'Tis he, who nurtur'd on the tented field,From whose brown cheek each tint of fear expell'd,With manly face unmov'd, secure, serene,Amidst the thunders of the deathful scene,From horror's mouth dares snatch the warrior's crown,His own his honours, all his fame his own:Who, proudly just to honour's stern commands,The dogstar's rage on Afric's burning sands,Or the keen air of midnight polar skies,Long watchful by the helm, alike defies:Who, on his front, the trophies of the wars,Bears his proud knighthood's badge, his honest scars;Who, cloth'd in steel, by thirst, by famine worn,Through raging seas by bold ambition borne,Scornful of gold, by noblest ardour fir'd,Each wish by mental dignity inspir'd,Prepar'd each ill to suffer, or to dare,To bless mankind, his great, his only care;Him whom her son mature Experience owns,Him, him alone Heroic Glory crowns.