The Columbiad

Night held on old Castile her silent reign, Her half orb’d moon declining to the main; O’er Valladolid’s regal turrets hazed The drizzly fogs from dull Pisuerga raised; Whose hovering sheets, along the welkin driven, Thinn’d the pale stars, and shut the eye from heaven. Cold-hearted Ferdinand his pillow prest, Nor dream’d of those his mandates robb’d of rest, Of him who gemm’d his crown, who stretcht his reign To realms that weigh’d the tenfold poise of Spain; Who now beneath his tower indungeon’d fares, Sweats the chill sod and breathes inclement airs.

His feverish pulse, slow laboring through his frame, Feeds with scant force its fast expiring flame; A far dim watch-lamp’s thrice reflected beam Throws through his grate a mist-encumber’d gleam, Paints the dun vapors that the cell invade, And fills with spectred forms the midnight shade; When from a visionary short repose, That nursed new cares and temper’d keener woes, Columbus woke, and to the walls addrest, The deep felt sorrows bursting from his breast.

Here lies the purchase, here the wretched spoil Of painful years and persevering toil. For these damp caves, this hideous haunt of pain, I traced new regions o’er the chartless main, Tamed all the dangers of untraversed waves, Hung o’er their clefts, and topt their surging graves. Saw traitorous seas o’er coral ridges sweep, Red thunders rock the pole and scorch the deep, Death rear his front in every varying form, Gape from the shoals and ride the roaring storm.

Thus mourn’d the hapless man: a thundering sound Roll’d through the shuddering walls and shook the ground; O’er all the dungeon, where black arches bend, The roofs unfold and streams of light descend; The growing splendor fills the astonisht room, And gales ethereal breathe a glad perfume. Robed in the radiance, moves a form serene, Of human structure but of heavenly mien; Near to the prisoner’s couch he takes his stand And waves, in sign of peace, his holy hand. Tall rose his stature, youth’s endearing grace Adorn’d his limbs and brighten’d in his face; Loose o’er his locks the star of evening hung, And sounds melodious moved his cheerful tongue:

Rise, trembling chief, to scenes of rapture rise, This voice awaits thee from the western skies; Indulge no longer that desponding strain, Nor count thy toils, nor deem thy virtues vain. Thou seest in me the guardian Power who keeps The new found world that skirts Atlantic deeps; Hesper my name, my seat the brightest throne In night’s whole heaven, my sire the living sun. My brother Atlas, from his birthright boast, Claims the wild wave, but mine the solid coast. This hand, which form’d, and in the tides of time Laves and improves the meliorating clime, Which taught thy prow to cleave the trackless way, And hail’d thee first in occidental day, To all thy worth shall vindicate thy claim, And raise up nations to revere thy name.

At length, as through disparting clouds they rise, And hills above them still obstruct the skies, While a dead calm o’er all the region stood And not a leaf could fan its parent wood, Sudden a strange portentous noise began; The birds fled wild, the beasts for shelter ran; Slow, sullen, loud, with deep astounding blare, Swell the strong tones of subterranean war; Behind, before, beneath them groans the ground, Earth heaves and labors with the shuddering sound; Columns of smoke, that cap the rumbling height, Roll reddening far through heaven and choke the light; From tottering steeps descend their cliffs of snow, The mountains reel, the valleys rend below; The headlong streams forget their usual round And shrink and vanish in the gaping ground. The sun descends; but night recalls in vain Her silent shades, to recommence her reign; The bursting mount gapes high, a sudden glare Coruscates wide, till all the purpling air Breaks into flame; it wheels and roars and raves And wraps the welkin in its folding waves. Light sailing cinders, through its vortex driven, Stream high and brighten to the midst of heaven; And, following slow, full floods of boiling ore Swell, swoop aloft and through the concave roar. Torrents of molten rocks, on every side, Lead o’er the shelves of ice their fiery tide; Hills slide before them, skies around them burn, Towns sink beneath and heaving plains upturn; O’er many a league the flaming deluge hurl’d, Sweeps total nations from the staggering world.

From Hudson’s bank to Trenton’s wintry strand He guards in firm retreat his feeble band; Britons by thousands on his flanks advance, Bend o’er his rear and point the lifted lance. Past Delaware’s frozen stream, with scanty force, He checks retreat; then turning back his course, Remounts the wave and through the mingled roar Of ice and storm reseeks the hostile shore, Wrapt in the gloom of night. The offended Flood Starts from his cave, assumes the indignant god, Rears through the parting tide his foamy form And with his fiery eyeballs lights the storm. He stares around him on the host he heard, Clears his choked urn and smooths his icy beard And thus: Audacious chief, this troubled wave Tempt not; or tempting, here shall gape thy grave. Is nothing sacred to thy venturous might? The howling storm, the holy truce of night, High tossing ice-isles crashing round thy side, Insidious rocks that pierce the tumbling tide? Fear then this forceful arm, and hear once more, Death stands between thee and that shelvy shore.

The chief beholds the god and notes his cry, But onward drives, nor pauses to reply; Calls to each bark and spirits every host To toil, gain, tempt the interdicted coast. The crews, regardless of the doubling roar, Breast the strong helm and wrestle with the oar, Stem with resurgent prow the struggling spray And with phosphoric lanterns shape their way.

The god perceived his warning words were vain, And rose more furious to assert his reign, Lasht up a loftier surge and heaved on high