The Isle of Devils A Historical Tale, Funnded on an Anecdote in the Annals of Portugal. (From an unpublished Manuscript.) By M. G. Lewis |
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 | The Isle of Devils |  |
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II.
From Goa's precious sands to Lisbon's shore,The Viceroy's countless wealth that vessel bore;
There jewels lay in heaps of various dyes,
Ingots of Gold, and Pearls of wondrous size.
And there (two gems worth all that Cortez won)
He placed his blooming niece and only son.
Sebastian sought the Moors! with loyal zeal,
Rosalvo cased his youthful limbs in steel—
To die or conquer by his Sovereign's side
He came, aud with him came his promised bride.
E'en now in Lisbon's court for Irza's hair,
Virgins the Myrtle's bridal wreath prepare.
And Hymen waves his torch from Cintra's towers,
Hails the slow bark, and chides the loitering hours.
Seldom in this frail world two hearts we see,
So blest, and meriting, so blest to be;
Gently then O ye winds, your pinions move,
And speed in safety home the bark of love.
Brood Halcyon, Brood! thy sea spell chaunt again,
And keep the mirror of th' enchanted main,
Where his white wing the vaulting tropic dips,
Calm as their hearts, and smiling as their lips.
The charm prevails! hush'd are the waves, and still
Th' expanded sails, light favoring Zephyrs fill;
Wafting with motion scarce perceived: and now
In rapture Irza from the vessel's prow,
Gazed on an Isle with verdure gay and bright,
Which seemed (so green it shone in solar light)
An Emerald set in silver! long her eyes,
Dwelt on its rocks—and oh! dear friend she cries;
(And clasps Rosalvo's hands)—admire with me,
Yon Isle whlch rising crowns the silent sea.
How bold yon mossy cliffs which guard the strand,
Like spires, and domes, and towers in fairy land;
How green the plains! how balsam-fraught the breeze—
How bend with golden fruit the loaded trees!
While fluttering 'mid their boughs in joyful notes,
Miriads of birds attune their warbling throats.
Blooms all the ground with flowers, and mark, oh! mark,
That giant palm whose foliage green and dark;
Plays on the sun-clad rock: beneath, a cave,
Spreads wide its sparry mouth, while loosely wave
A thousand creepers, dyed with thousand stains,
Whose wreaths enrich the trees and clothe the plains.
Dear friend, how blest if passed my life could be,
In that fair Isle with God alone and thee.
Far from the world, from man and fiend secure,
No guilt to harm us, and no vice to lure!
Bright round the Virgin's shrine would blush and bloom
That world of flowers which pour such rich perfume;
And sweet yon caves repeat with mellowing swell,
Eve's closing Hymn when chimed the vesper bell.
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How bright and beauteous seems the bliss untried;
I too, like you, in youth's romantic hours,
Dreamt not of wasps in fruit, or thorn in flowers.
And when on banks of sand the sunbeams shone,
I deemed each sparkling flint a precious stone.
Ah! noble lady, learn that Isle so fair,
The fields all roses, and all balm the air.
That Isle is one, where every leaf's a spell,
Where no good thing e'er dwelt, nor e'er shall dwell;
No fisher forced from home by adverse breeze,
Would slake his thirst from yon infernal trees;
No ship-wrecked sailors from the swallowing waves,
Would seek a refuge in those haunted caves.
There flock the damned—there Satan reigns and revels,
And thence yon Isle is called “The Isle of Devils”!
Nor think on rumour's faith my tale is given,
Once hot in youthful blood when hell nor heaven,
Much filled my thoughts (the truth with shame I tell,
Holy St. Francis guard thy votary well);
In quest of water near that Isle I drew.
When lo! such monstrous forms appalled my view.
Such shrieks I heard, sounds all so strange and dread,
That from the strand with shuddering haste I fled,
Plyed as for life the oar, nor backward turned my head.
And tho' since then hath flown full many a year,
Still sinks my heart and shake my limbs with fear,
Soon as yon fatal Isle alarms mine eye:
Cross we our breasts, say Ave and pass by.
| The Isle of Devils | |