The poetical works of Samuel Rogers with a memoir by Edward Bell |
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| IV. | CANTO IV.
THE VOYAGE CONTINUED. |
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 | The poetical works of Samuel Rogers |  |
CANTO IV. THE VOYAGE CONTINUED.
Ah, why look back, tho' all is left behind?
No sounds of life are stirring in the wind.—
And you, ye birds, winging your passage home,
How blest ye are!—We know not where we roam.
We go,” they cried, “go to return no more;
Nor ours, alas, the transport to explore
A human footstep on a desert shore!”
No sounds of life are stirring in the wind.—
And you, ye birds, winging your passage home,
How blest ye are!—We know not where we roam.
We go,” they cried, “go to return no more;
Nor ours, alas, the transport to explore
A human footstep on a desert shore!”
—Still, as beyond this mortal life impelled
By some mysterious energy, He held
His everlasting course. Still self-possessed,
High on the deck He stood, disdaining rest;
(His amber chain the only badge he bore,
His mantle blue such as his fathers wore)
Fathomed, with searching hand, the dark profound,
And scattered hope and glad assurance round;
Tho' like some strange portentous dream, the Past
Still hovered, and the cloudless sky o'ercast.
By some mysterious energy, He held
His everlasting course. Still self-possessed,
High on the deck He stood, disdaining rest;
(His amber chain the only badge he bore,
His mantle blue such as his fathers wore)
67
And scattered hope and glad assurance round;
Tho' like some strange portentous dream, the Past
Still hovered, and the cloudless sky o'ercast.
At day-break might the Caravels be seen,
Chasing their shadows o'er the deep serene;
Their burnished prows lashed by the sparkling tide,
Their green-cross standards waving far and wide.
And now once more to better thoughts inclined,
The sea-man, mounting, clamoured in the wind.
The soldier told his tales of love and war;
The courtier sung—sung to his gay guitar.
Round, at Primero, sate a whiskered band;
So Fortune smiled, careless of sea or land!
Leon, Montalvan, (serving side by side;
Two with one soul—and, as they lived, they died)
Vasco, the brave, thrice found among the slain,
Thrice, and how soon, up and in arms again,
As soon to wish he had been sought in vain,
Chained down in Fez, beneath the bitter thong,
To the hard bench and heavy oar so long!
Albert of Florence, who, at twilight-time,
In my rapt ear poured Dante's tragic rhyme,
Screened by the sail as near the mast we lay,
Our nights illumined by the ocean-spray;
And Manfred, who espoused with jewelled ring
Young Isabel, then left her sorrowing:
Lerma “the generous,” Avila “the proud”;
Velasquez, Garcia, thro' the echoing crowd
Traced by their mirth—from Ebro's classic shore,
From golden Tajo, to return no more!
Chasing their shadows o'er the deep serene;
Their burnished prows lashed by the sparkling tide,
Their green-cross standards waving far and wide.
And now once more to better thoughts inclined,
The sea-man, mounting, clamoured in the wind.
The soldier told his tales of love and war;
The courtier sung—sung to his gay guitar.
Round, at Primero, sate a whiskered band;
So Fortune smiled, careless of sea or land!
Leon, Montalvan, (serving side by side;
Two with one soul—and, as they lived, they died)
Vasco, the brave, thrice found among the slain,
Thrice, and how soon, up and in arms again,
As soon to wish he had been sought in vain,
Chained down in Fez, beneath the bitter thong,
To the hard bench and heavy oar so long!
Albert of Florence, who, at twilight-time,
In my rapt ear poured Dante's tragic rhyme,
Screened by the sail as near the mast we lay,
Our nights illumined by the ocean-spray;
And Manfred, who espoused with jewelled ring
Young Isabel, then left her sorrowing:
Lerma “the generous,” Avila “the proud”;
Velasquez, Garcia, thro' the echoing crowd
Traced by their mirth—from Ebro's classic shore,
From golden Tajo, to return no more!
| The poetical works of Samuel Rogers | |