Let supercilious Wisdom's smiling pride The passion wild of these bold days deride; But let the humbler Sage with reverence own That something sacred glows, of name unknown, Glows in the deeds that Heaven delights to crown; Something that boasts an impulse uncontrol'd By school-taught prudence, and its maxims cold. Fired at the thought, methinks on sacred ground I tread; where'er I cast mine eyes around, Palmela's hill and Cintra's summits tell How the grim Sarazen's dread legions fell; Turbans and cymeters in carnage roll'd, And their moon'd ensigns torn from every hold :Yes, let the Youth whose generous search explores The various lessons of Iberia's shores, Let him as wandering at the Muse's hour Of eve or morn where low the Moorish tower, Fallen from its rocky height and tyrant sway, Lies scatter'd o'er the dale in fragments grey, Let him with joy behold the hills around With olive forests, and with vineyards crown'd, All grateful pouring on the hands that rear Their fruit, the fruitage of the bounteous year. Then let his mind to fair Ionia turn,Alas! how waste Ionia's landscapes mourn; And thine, O beauteous Greece, amid the towers Where dreadful still the Turkish banner lowers; Beneath whose gloom, unconscious of the stain That dims his soul, the peasant hugs his chain, And whence these woes debasing human kind?
Eunuchs in heart, in polish'd sloth reclin'd, Thy sons, degenerate Greece, ignobly bled, And fair Byzantium bow'd th' imperial head; While Tago's iron race, in dangers steel'd, All ardor, dared the horrors of the field. The towers of Venice trembled o'er her flood, And Paris' gates aghast and open stood; Low lay her Peers on Fontarabia's plains : And Lisboa groan'd beneath stern Mah'met's chains: Vain was the hope the North might rest unspoil'd; When stern Iberia's spirit fierce recoil'd. As from the toils the wounded lion bounds, And tears the hunters and the sated hounds; So smarting with his wounds th' Iberian tore, And to his sun-scorch'd regions drove, the Moor: The vengeful Moors, as mastiffs on their prey, Return'd; as heavy clouds their deep array Blacken'd o'er Tago's banks.-As Sagrez braves And stems the furious rage of Afric's waves, So braved, so stood the Lusitanian bands, The southern bulwark of Europa's lands. Such were the foes by Chivalry repell'd, And such the honors that adorn'd her shield. And ask what Christian Europe owes the high And ardent soul of gallant Chivalry, Ask, and let Turkish Europe's groans reply !
As through the pictured abbey window gleams The evening Sun with bold though fading beams, So through the reverend shade of ancient days
Gleam these bold deeds with dim yet golden rays. But let not glowing Fancy as it warms O'er these, high honor's youthful pride in arms, Forget the stern ambition and the worth Of minds mature, by patriot Kings call'd forth; That worth that roused the nations to explore Old Ocean's wildest waves and farthest shore.
By human eye untempted, unexplored,
An awful solitude, old Ocean roar'd: As to the fearful dove's impatient eye Appears the height untry'd of upper sky; So seem'd the last dim wave, in boundless space Involved and lost, when Tago's gallant race, As eagles fixing on the Sun their eyes
Through gulphs unknown explor'd the morning skies; And taught the wondering world the grand design Of parent heaven, that shore to shore should join In bands of mutual aid, from sky to sky, And Ocean's wildest waves the chain supply.
And here, my Friend, how many a trophy woos The Briton's earnest eye, and British Muse ! Here bids the youthful Traveller's care forego The arts of elegance and polish'd shew; Bids other arts his nobler thoughts engage, And wake to highest aim his patriot rage; Those arts which raised that race of Men, who shone The heroes of their age on Lisboa's throne. What mighty deeds in filial order flow'd,
While each still brighter than its parent glow'd, Till Henry's Naval School its heroes pour'd From pole to pole wherever Ocean roar'd! Columbus, Gama, and Magellan's name, Its deathless boast; and all of later fame Its offspring-kindling o'er the view the Muse The naval pride of those bright days reviews; Sees Gama's sails, that first to India bore, In awful hope evanish from the shore; Sees from the silken regions of the morn What fleets of gay triumphant vanes return! What heroes, plumed with conquest, proudly bring The Eastern sceptres to the Lusian King! When sudden, rising on the evening gale, Methinks I hear the Ocean's murmurs wail, And every breeze repeat the woeful tale, How bow'd, how fell proud Lisboa's naval throne- Ah heaven, how cold the boding thoughts rush on! Methinks I hear the shades that hover round Of English heroes heave the sigh profound, Prophetic of the kindred fate that lowers, O'er Albion's fleets and London's proudest towers.
Broad was the firm-based structure and sublime,
That Gama fondly rear'd on India's clime : On justice and benevolence he placed Its ponderous weight, and warlike trophies graced Its mounting turrets; and o'er Asia wide Great Albuquerk renown'd its generous pride.
The injured native sought its friendly shade, And India's Princes blest its powerful aid: Till from corrupted passion's basest hour Rose the dread daemon of tyrannic power. Sampayo's heart, where dauntless valor reign'd, And counsel deep, she seiz'd and foul profaned. Then the straight road where sacred justice leads, Where for its plighted compact honor bleeds, Was left, and holy patriot zeal gave place To lust of gold and self-devotion base : Deceitful art the Chief's sole guide became, And breach of faith was wisdom; slaughter, fame. Yet though from far his hawk-eye markt its prey, Soon through the rocks that crost his crooked way, As a toil'd bull, fiercely he stumbled on, Till low he lay dishonor'd and o'erthrown.
Others, without his valor or his art, With all his interested rage of heart, Follow'd, as blighting mists on Gama's toil, And undermined and rent the mighty pile; Convulsions dread its deep foundations tore, Its bending head the scath of lightning bore: Its falling turrets desolation spread;
And from its faithless shade in horror fled The native tribes yet not at once subdued; Its pristine strength long storms on storms withstood : A Nunio's justice, and a Castro's sword, Oft raised its turrets, and its dread restored. Yet, like the sunshine of a winter day
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