O’er the vast regions of that Western world,

Whose lofty mountains hiding in the clouds

Conceal’d their grandeur and their wealth so long

From European eyes, the Indian rov’d,

Free and unconquered. From those frigid plains

Struck with the torpor of the Arctic pole,

To where Magellan lifts his torchOpen note a001-rota Note 1.— Line 7. “To where Magellan lifts his torch to light The meeting of the waters” The island of Terra del Fuego, having received its name of Land of
Fire, from the number of volcanoes which diversify its desolate region,
may well be represented under the metaphor of Torch-bearer to the
Oceans, as they rush to mingle their waves. to light

The meeting of the waters;—from the shore

Whose smooth green line the broad Atlantic laves,

To the rude borders of that rocky strait

Where haughty Asia seems to stand and gaze

On the New Continent, the Indian reign’d

Majestic and alone. Fearless he rose,

Firm as his mountains, like his rivers, wild,

Bold as those lakes, whose wondrous chain controuls

His northern coast. The forest and the wave

Gave him his food; the slight-constructed hut

Furnish’d his shelter, and its doors spread wide

To every wandering stranger. There his cup,

His simple meal, his lowly couch of skins

Were hospitably shared. Rude were his toils,

And rash his daring, when he headlong rush’d

Down the steep precipice to seize his prey;

Strong was his arm to bend the stubborn bow,

And keen his arrow. This the Bison knew,

The spotted Panther, the rough, shaggy Bear,

The Wolf dark-prowling, the eye-piercing Lynx,

The wild Deer bounding through the shadowy glade,

And the swift Eagle, soaring high to make

His nest among the stars. Cloth’d in their spoils

He Dar’d the elements; with eye sedate

Breasted the wintry winds; o’er the white heads

Of angry torrents steered his rapid bark

Light as their foam, mounted with tireless speed

Those slippery cliffs, where everlasting snows

Weave their dense robes, or laid him down to sleep

Where the dread thunder of the cataract lull’d

His drowsy sense. The dangerous toils of war

He sought and lov’d. Traditions, and proud tales

Of other days, exploits of chieftains bold,

Dauntless and terrible, the warrior’s song,

The victor’s triumph,—all conspired to raise

The martial spirit, kindling in his breast

With life’s first throb. Oft the rude, wandering tribes

Rush’d on to battle. Their aspiring chiefs

Lofty and iron-fram’d, with native hue

Strangely disguised in wild and glaring tints,

Frown’d like some Pictish king. The conflict rag’d

Fearless and fierce, ’mid shouts and disarray,

As the swift lightning urges its dire shafts

Through clouds and darkness, when the warring blasts

Awaken midnight. O’er the captive foe

Unsated vengeance storm’d. Flame and slow wounds

Rack’d the strong bonds of life; but the firm soul

Smil’d in its fortitude to mock the rage

Of its tormentors; when the crisping nerves

Were broken, still exulting o’er its pain

To rise unmurmuring to its father’s shades,

Where in delightful bowers the brave and just

Rest and rejoice.

Thus stood stern Regulus,

When furious Carthage urg’d her torturing darts,

Transfix’d with dark, demoniac rage to find

Her quiver all exhausted, and that soul

Proudly unhurt.

Yet those untutor’d tribes,

Bound with their stern resolves and savage deeds

Some gentle virtues; as beneath the gloom

Of overshadowing forests, sweetly springs

The unexpected flower. Oft to their homes

The captive youth they led, into his wounds

Pouring the oil of kindness, and with love

Alluring him to fill the vacant place

Of brother, or of son, untimely slain

In the dread of battle.Open note a002-rota Note 2.— Line 73. “Of brother, or of son, untimely slain In the dread battle.” The custom which prevails among the aboriginal Americans, of adopting
a captive foe in the place of some near relative, who has fallen in
battle, is well known. The affection thus transferred, is said to be sincere
and ardent, and extinguished only with life. They have been styled
the most revengeful, the most implacable of savage nations. Yet this
practice, peculiar to themselves, seems rather to prove, that the habits
arising from natural affection are stronger than the suggestions of revenge.
Among civilized nations, in every age, the adoption of children has prevailed;
but it has been circumscribed either by the limits of affinity, the
predilection of friendship, or the excitment of compassion. When was
it known to be extended to mortal foes, even by Christians, who are
bound to requite enmity with love? Where, among the followers of 16(2)v 184
Him, with whose death-pang was mingled a prayer for his murderers, has
the shelter of paternal kindness been the portion of the enemy, whose
sword had drank the blood of the lost son? or the offices of fraternal
brother? Among the ancient Egyptians, Assyrians, and Grecians,
adoption by those who were childless, was a frequent usage. The Romans
enacted laws for its regulation. The Lacedemonians required that
it should be performed in the presence of their kings. The Turk, according
to the appointed ceremonies of Mahomet, invests the adopted with his
inner garment, or with his girdle; and the Gentoo offers sacrifices to his
gods. But the native American being in this respect “without law, is a
law unto himself;” he adopts the foe who would have shed his blood,
without the pomp of prescribed ceremony, and with no sacrifice but that
which affection exacts of vengeance. In other instances, we behold this
race capable of degrees of virtue, as unexpected as they are unparalleled.
The natives of Hascala, a populous province, bordering upon Mexico, shocked
at the cruelties which marked the intrusion of the Spaniards, attacked
them with impetuous bravery and with vast superiority of numbers. But the
advantages arising from these circumstances, were entirely lost through their
solicitude to save the wounded and dying. To relieve the sufferers, and remove
them from further barbarity, divided the attention of the warrior even
in the heat of battle; and a scene unknown among civilized nations was displayed,
a sentiment of tenderness extinguishing victory. Afterwards, the
Hascalans, meditating another attack, generously apprized the invaders
of their hostile intentions, and knowing that a scarcity of provisions exsisted
among them, sent to their camp a large supply of poultry and maize;
“Eat plentifully,” said they, “for we scorn to attack enemies enfeebled
by hunger, and should blush to offer to our gods, famished and emaciated
victims.” Yet these sons of nature had never heard the command, “If
thine enemy hunger, feed him; if he thirst, give him drink.” Their uncultur’d hearts

Gave a strong soil for Friendship, that bold growth

Of generous affection, changeless, pure,

Self-sacrificing, counting losses light,

And yielding life with gladness. By its side

Like sister-plant, sprung ardent Gratitude,

Vivid, perennial, braving winter’s frost

And summer’s heat; while nurs’d by the same dews

Unbounded Reverence for the form of Age,

Struck its deep root spontaneous, and display’d

Its fair, decumbent petals. The dim eye,

The furrow’d brow, the temples thinly clad,

The wasted page of man’s infirm decline

Awake that deep respect, not always trac’d

’Mid those whom Science nurtures, whom the arts

Of smooth refinement polish, and a voice

Sublime instructs, “Honour the head that bears

The hoary crown of Age.”

With pious awe

Their eye uplifted sought the hidden path

Of the Great Spirit. The loud midnight storm,

The rush of mighty waters, the deep roll

Of thunder, gave his voice; the golden sun,

The soft effulgence of the purple morn,

The gentle rain distilling, was his smile

Dispensing good to all. The Spirit of Ill,

Base foe to man, they dreaded; and the cry

Of his vile legions shrieking on the blast,

Shuddering they heard. In various forms arose

Their superstitious homage. SomeOpen note a003-rota Note 3.— Line 101. “Some with blood Of human sacrifices, sought to appease” &c. Although the Mexicans were further advanced in refinement than any
of the aborigines of America, they were the slaves of a superstition which
was marked by the most barbarous sacrifices. At their first arrival near 16(3)r 185
the Lake of Tetzuco, from their ancient possessions, on the borders of the
Californian Gulf, they erected on the spot which they had selected for
their principal city, a temple to their tutelar god, which they consecrated
by the effusion of human blood. This event, according to their traditions,
and the simple annals preserved by their hieroglyphical paintings, occurred
in the year 13351335 of the Christian era. Following then through the variations
of their government, from its original form of aristocracy, to that
of elective monarchy, and ultimate despotism, combined with the feudal
spirit, we see the same stern religion preserving its sway unaltered, and
mingling with their civil institutions. Their political festivals were extended
with the sacrifice of human beings, and in their expiatory offerings
to their deities, they believed that “without shedding of blood was no remission.”
During the reigns of Tizoc, and his brother Ahuitzotl, a
temple was erected, which surpassed in magnificence all the structures of
Mexico, and at its completion in 14861486, it was consecrated with the blood
of more than 60,000 prisoners. Montezuma II, who was the ninth
Mexican sovereign, entered into a war with some neighbouring tribes, in
order to obtain victims for sacrifice at his coronation, and the cruel pageantry
of that scene was in accordance with the inclinations of his subjects.
The funeral rites of the Mexicans were sanguinary, particularly
at the death of any distinguished personage. At the decease of an emperor,
they slew a number of his principal attendants, and buried them in
the same tomb; supposing, like the ancient Scythians, that he would
have need of their assistance and counsel. The rites of their religion
were reduced to a regular system; but their divinities were clothed in
vengeance, and their priests perpetuated a worship of gloom and terrour. with blood

Of human sacrifices sought to appease

That anger, which in pestilence, or dearth,

Or famine stalk’d; and their astonish’d vales

Like Carthaginian altars, frequent drank

The horrible libation. Some,Open note a004-rota Note 4.— Line 106. “Some with fruits Sweet flowers, and incense of their choicest herbs Sought to propitiate Him” &c. The mild Peruvians who, at the time of the invasion of the Spaniards,
had made many attainments in the arts of civilization, had a form of religion
whose features were remarkably free from harshness and barbarity.
“The most singular and striking circumstance in their government,”
says Dr. Robertson, “was the influence of religion upon its genius and
laws. The whole system of their civil policy was founded upon religion. 16* 16(3)v 186
The Inca appeared not only as a legislator, but a messenger from
Heaven. The superstitions on which he engrafted his pretensions to
high authority, were of a different character from those established
among the Mexicans. By directing their veneration to that glorious luminary
which by its universal and vivifying energy is the best emblem of
divine beneficence, the rites and observances which they deemed acceptable
to Him were innocent and humane. They offered to the Sun a part
of the production which his genial warmth had called forth from the
bosom of the earth, and fostered to maturity. They sacrificed, as an
oblation of gratitude, some of the animals who were indebted to his influence
for nourishment. They presented to him choice specimens of those
works of ingenuity, which his light had guided the hand of man in forming,
but the Incas never stained his altars with human blood, nor conceived
that their beneficent father, the Sun, would be delighted with such
victims. Accordingly, the Peruvians, unacquainted with those barbarous
rites, which extinguish sensibility, and suppress the feelings of nature at
human sufferings, were formed by the spirit of the superstition they had
adopted, to a national character more gentle than that of any people in
America.” The tribe of Chacmeheca’s who succeeded the ancient Toltecan
monarchy, which was situated in the neighbourhood of Mexico, also
paid homage to the Sun, as their tutelar divinity, and offered to him the
herbs and flowers which they found springing in the field. The Parent
of warmth and vegetation appeared to their untaught minds, as the Fountain
of existence and of hope; and how much more elevated was the
choice of their Paganism, than that of the polished Egyptians, who, in
their absurd worship of vegetables, noxious reptiles, and the lifeless formations
of Nature, clearly evinced, that the “world by wisdom knew not
God.” with fruits,

Sweet flowers, and incense of their choicest herbs

Sought to propitiate Him, whose powerful hand

Unseen, sustain’d them. SomeOpen note a005-rota Note 5.— Line 109. “Some, with mystic rites, The ark, the orison, the paschal feast,” &c. Such a marked diversity of customs, and religious rites, is found
among the aborigines of America, that they must be considered as the
mingled offspring of different nations, who in various ages have become
inhabitants of this western hemisphere. The Peruvians, in their ancient
offerings, like a sect of the Persians, recognized the Sun as the Parent of 16(4)r 187
their joys, and the supreme object of their adoration. Some of the eastern
tribes of South America preserve a tradition that their ancestors migrated
from the African continent. The Toltecas, originally bordering upon
Mexico, and celebrated for their superiour knowledge, which comprised
some branches of agriculture, together with the art of cutting gems, and
casting gold and silver into various forms, possessed some ancient paintings,
which represented the passage of their ancestors through Asia, and
the north-western countries of America. The Mexicans who, in the
barbarity of their religious sacrifices, point to the blood-stained altars of
Carthage, in the style of their architecture, the construction of pyramidal
edifices, the use of hieroglyphicks, and the mode of computing time, lead
us back to the institutions of ancient Egypt. This similarity has so forcibly
impressed the minds of some learned writers, particularly Siguenza,
and Bishop Huet, that they have designated the Mexicans as the descendants
of Naphtahim, the son of Mizraim, and nephew of Ham. The Esquimaux
recognizes his sires in the north of Europe, and by a variety of
customs proves his affinity. The Mohawks, from the peculiarity of their
language, composed entirely without labials, so that they never close their
lips in speaking, and from the superiority which they assumed over the
surrounding tribes, seem also to claim a distinct origin. The Abbe Clavigero
supposes that the ancestors of those nations who peopled the country
of Anahuac, passed from the northeastern parts of Asia to the western
extremity of America. Amid the variety of customs which distinguish
the different tribes, some have been observed so similar to those of ancient
Israel, that they have given rise to conjecture, that some of the ten tribes,
who, after the Assyrian invasion in 0720721, (B.C.) were long in a wandering
state, might have been allured to pass, with other emigrants, the narrow strait
which separates the Old from the New World. This opinion received
strength from the circumstance, that among some of the natives, the name
of their Supreme Being was Tchewah, evidently resembling the Hebrew
Jehovah, that the word “Hallelujah”, occurred in their songs of
praise, that they bear upon their shoulders to battle a consecrated Ark,
which is never suffered to touch the earth, and the mysteries of whose interior
they guard with the most jealous care. Traditions of the murder
in Eden, of original longevity, the general deluge, the saving of the
righteous pair, the bird sent from the ark, who returned with a verdant 16(4)v 188
branch, the confusion of tongues, the anger of the Great Spirit at the
building of a high place, which the pride of man contemplated should
reach the heavens, and many more, evidently derived from the Scriptures,
are preserved among them. Some of the early settlers, who had an opportunity
of observing their character before its debasement, traced in their
religious offerings and festivals a similarity to the Jewish ritual. Intelligent
men, who have resided among them as traders, or surveyed them as
travellers and missionaries, have occasionally gathered traits of resemblance
to the peculiar people; and some learned men have been inclined to credit
this hypothesis, by a comparison of their language with the ancient Hebrew.
“Dr. Buchanan,” says a judicious writer, “supposes the ten
tribes of Israel, to be now in the country of their first captivity; but this
by no means precludes the possibility of individuals having migrated northward
and eastward to the American continent. he speaks of the white
and the black Jews of Asia: we know that there are also white Jews in
Europe, and black Jews in Africa; and why, since they are scattered,
the distinguished people, may there not be red Jews in America?” with mystic rites,

The ark, the orison, the paschal feast,

Through glimmering tradition seem’d to bear,

As in some broken vase, the smother’d coals,

Scatter’d from Jewish altars.

Let the heart,

That deems such semblance but the baseless dream

Of blind credulity, survey the trace

Of similarity, bid Truth’s clear light

Beam o’er the misty annal, note the facts,

Compare the language, weigh the evidence,

And answer for itself.

The chrystal tube

Of calm inquiry, to thy patient eye,

Meek Boudinot! reveal’d an unknown starOpen note a006-rota Note 6.— Line 121. “The crystal tube Of calm inquiry, to thy patient eye, Meek Boudinot! reveal’d an unknown star Upon this western cloud.” This refers to the Star in the West, a work which attempts to
prove the descent of some of our aborigines, from the dispersed Israelites;
written by the late Hon. Judge Boudinot, the venerable Sire and Patron
of the American Bible Society. He asserts, that if the descendants of
exiled Israel could now be identified, on any spot of the globe, we should
not find, after the revolution of twenty-five centuries, the traces of similarity
more striking; and that, admitting the affinity of our roving tribes with
the peculiar people, it would be impossible not to be surprised at perceiving
so many rites and traditions unimpaired, when to the lapse of ages is
added the absence of a written language, of a temple, of a regular government,
even of a permanent abode, and the vice, degradation, and misery,
which, since their subjugation by the Europeans, has involved them in a
darkness like midnight. He is strengthened in his theory by a passage
from the Apocrypha, where Esdras “in his vision beheld the ten tribes 16(5)r 189
who were carried captive by Shalmanezer, in the time of Hosea their king,
taking counsel to leave the multitude, and go into a country where mankind
never dwelt, that they might keep the statues which they never
kept in their own land, and remain there until the latter times.”— 2 Esdras,
xiii, 40. The Rev. Dr. Jarvis, in his interesting Discourse on the Religion
of the Indian Tribes, supposes them to be the descendants of Noah, who
migrated to this continent, after the great dispersion of mankind. This
theory, which accounts for many of the traditions preserved among them,
is also adopted by Mr. Faber, so well known by his learned dissertations
on the Prophecies.

Upon this western cloud. Its trembling beam

Guided thy soul to Zion’s sacred hill

And ancient temple; as that wondrous ray

Streaming o’er eastern summits, led the feet

Of the astonish’d Magi, to the cell

Of their Messiah. Costly gifts they bore,

Frankincense, myrrh, and gold; but thou didst yield

The better offering of a contrite prayer,

That God would gather from the utmost bound,

The children of his Friend, of the cold North

And glowing South, his fugitives require;

From Gush and Elam, from the sea-green isles,

And from the western regions, bring again

His banish’d; bid the fearful desert bloom

And sing before them, while their blinded hearts

Illumin’d, catch the knowledge and the love

Of Jesus Christ. Yet thou hast risen where pray’r

Is lost in praise; as yields the thrilling harp

Its symphony, when the high organ swells

In solemn diapason. Thou hast left

Mourning on earth, ’mid those who feel the ills

Of Penury, who venerate the deeds

Of boundless Generosity, or love

The pure in heart.

――But whither art thou fled,

Adventurous strain? Resume thy opening theme.

Paint the bold Indian ranging o’er his vales,

Unaw’d, and unsubdued.

Though his stern heart

Seem’d cold and fixed as adamant, its cell

Conceal’d the warm fount of parental love,

And felt its thrilling tide. The lofty chiefs,

Inur’d by frowning hardship to despise

The lineaments of joy, found o’er their souls

Strange softness stealing, as they mutely gaz’d

Upon the smile of infancy, or saw,

Waking from its sweet dream, the joyous babe

Reach forth its little hands. The warrior bold,

Who vanquish’d toil and famine, bore unmov’d

The battle-shock, or with calm, changelss brow

Endur’d the keenest tortures, writh’d in pangs

Over his children lost; while bitter drops

Wrung forth by anguish stain’d his furrow’d cheeks.

In that dire struggle when relentless Grief

Confronts strong Nature, the heart cherish’d nerve

Broken and bleeding, rent the stubborn breast,

As uptorn roots dislodge the iron oak

Which tempests could not bend. A prey to grief

Seem’d the sad mothers. The first-rising storm

Of sorrow, passionate and wild, burst forth,

And in that deadly calm which Reason dreads

Shuddering, their weak, exhausted hands they prest

On their wanOpen note a007-rota Note 7.— Line 172. “Their weak, exhausted hands they prest On their wan lips, and in the lowly dust Laid them despairing.” Missionaries and traders have occasionally observed among the different
tribes, the custom of pressing the hand upon the lips, and laying the
mouth in the dust, in cases of deep bereavement. Some have supposed
it the dictate of Nature in the humiliation of suffering. Others have
traced in it a resemblance to the expression of grief in ancient Israel; and
have been reminded of the passages in Job, Solomon, and Jeremiah:
“Mark me, and be astonished, and lay your hand on your mouth.”
“Behold, I am vile! what shall I answer thee? I will lay my hand
upon my mouth.” “If thou hast done foolishly, in lifting up thyself, or
if thou hast thought evil, lay thy hand upon thy mouth.” “He putteth
his mouth in the dust, if so be, there may be hope.” lips, and in the lowly dust

Laid them despairing.

――O’er the dreaded grave

Mist and thick darkness brooded; trembling Hope

Vision’d futurity, but Fancy wrought

Incessant, peopling it with airy shapes

Fantastic as her own.

Now the fair clime

Was bright with verdure, lofty forests wav’d

In the pure breeze, gay deer with branching horns

Allur’d the hunter, through clear, sparkling streams

Glided the scaly tribes, and thronging seals

Innumerous, sporting ’mid the emerald isles

Fled not the barbed lance. The Arctic sky

Kindling at evening with resplendent hues

Crimson and gold, in changeful wreaths combin’d,

To the poor Greenlander reveal’d the dance

Of happy spirits,Open note a008-rota Note 8.— Line 186. “To the poor Greenlander reveal’d the dance Of happy spirits.” The imagination of the inhabitants of Greenland traces in the Aurora
Borealis, the dance of sportive souls. They suppose the place of torment
for the wicked to be in the subterranean regions, where darkness and terrour
reign, without hope. They believe in two Great Spirits, the good
and the evil, and in various subordinate grades of ethereal beings, resembling
the major and minor gods of the ancient heathens. When a friend
is in the conflict of death, they array him in his best apparel, and when 16(5)v 190
the last change has marked his countenance, bewail his loss, and prepare
for his interment. They deposit in his grave instruments of labour, and
darts for defence, and returning to the house of mourning, the men sit
silent with uncovered faces, while the females prostrate themselves on the
earth. The nearest relative pronounces an eulogy on the virtues of the
departed, and at every pause their grief becomes more audible. The
ceremonies of mourning are continued at intervals for months, and sometimes
for a year; though its bitterness diminishes after the period which
they allot for the perilous journey to the eternal regions. They believe
that the spirits of the departed are occasionally permitted to revisit the
earth, and reveal themselves to the former objects of their attachment.
Some of the first missionaries who visited this people, supposed that the
idea of a Divine Being was in some degree familiar to their minds, since
they so readily received the knowledge of his attributes, and the most
stupid among them were struck with horror at the thought of the annihilation
of the soul. who in fields of bliss

Weave their light measures. But anon, pale Fear

With trembling pencil trac’d a gulph of woe

Throng’d with unearthly shapes, whose dizzy bridge

Tottering, and guarded by a monster fierce,

How few could pass! The first sad days of grief,

Were dark and dreadful. The tear-blinded eye

Pursues the wanderer, as he seems to urge

His toilsome journey. His adventurous foot,

Uncertain, slides upon that slippery bridge

Which like a tremulous and shrivell’d thread

Shoots the abyss of flame. Falling he rolls

Upon the fiery flood, struggling to gain

The far, dim coast, where angry dragons wait

With jaws distain’d and scaly strength to attack

The weary traveller, ere he reach the abode

Of happy spirits. Hence the mourners place

By their lamented friend, his trusty bow,

Arrows and food, and closely wrapt in skins

They leave him standing in his narrow cell

Prepar’d for combat.

Thus the warlike Earl

Stern Seward,Open note a009-rota Note 9.— Line 208. “Thus, the warlike Earl Stern Seward, in his armour brac’d, erect, Met grisly Death.” Seward, Earl of Northumberland, feeling in his last sickness, that dissolution
approached, quitted his bed, and encircled himself with his armour.
To the inquiries of his attendants, he answered, “It becometh not a
brave man to die like a beast.” Standing, and with an undaunted countenance,
he met death, closing his life of intrepidity, by an act equally
singular and heroic. in his armour brac’d, erect,

Met grisly Death, his last competitor,

But his first conqueror. Some, half reclin’d

Sit in their mouldering graves, prepar’d to hold

Converse with Death’s dark angels, when they come

Sweeping on sable pinions through the gloom,

Strong and terrific. Others, tow’rdOpen note a010-rota Note 10.— Line 214. “Others toward the East With faces turn’d, repose.” The natives of Patagonia bury their dead on the eastern shores, and
with their faces turned toward the rising Sun, where they say was the
country of their ancestors. Bougainville, and others, have suggested
their resemblance to the roving Tartars. Like them they traverse immense
plains, constantly on horseback, clothing themselves with the skins
of wild beasts, which they destroy in the chase, and occasionally pillaging
travellers, who cross their path, or interrupt their career. the east

With faces turn’d, repose; that when the morn

Expected, breaks their slumber, its first ray

May guide them to that country where their sites

Dwelt in past ages.

――O’er the lonely tomb

Affection linger’d watchful. Weed nor thornOpen note a011-rota Note 11.— Line 219. “Weed nor thorn, Might choke the young turf springing.” “Among some of our aborigines, the graves of departed friends are
guarded with the most delicate and jealous affection. They suffer no
weeds to take root upon them, and frequently visit them with lamentations.
This tender and sacred sentiment is expressed in an effusion of
simple eloquence, which bears the antiquity of nearly 200 years. In one
of the earliest records of the settlement of Massachusetts, it is mentioned
that the Indian monuments of the dead had been defaced by the whites at
Passonagessit, and the grave of the Sachem’s Mother plundered of some
skins that had decorated it. Gathering together his people, in the first
moments of his grief and indignation, he thus addressed them: “When
last the glorious light of this sky was underneath the globe, when the
birds grew silent, I began to settle, as my custom is, to take my repose.
But ere my eyes were fast closed, I saw a vision at which my soul was
troubled. As I trembled at the fearful sight, a spirit uttered its voice:—
‘Behold! my Son, whom I have cherished. See the hands that covered,
and fed thee oft. Wilt thou forget to take revenge of those wild people,
who have disturbed my ashes, disdaining our sacred customs? See now!
the Sachem’s grave lies, like one of the common people’s, defiled by an
ignoble race. Thy Mother doth complain. She implores thine aid
against this thievish people, newly intruding themselves into our land. If
this be suffered, can I rest quietly in my everlasting habitations?’ Then
the Spirit vanished, and I, trembling, and scarce able to speak, began to
get some strength, and recollect my thoughts that had fled, determining
to ask your counsel and assistance.”

Might choke the young turf spring, nor the hand

Of wantonness deface it. The keen eye

Of Valour, glancing o’er this sacred trust,

Turn’d like the sword which barr’d the step of guilt

From silent Eden. Thus the Scythian tribes,Open note a012-rota Note 12.— Line 224. “Thus the Scythian tribes Wandering without a City, call’d to guard Nor dome, nor temple, took their dauntless stand Upon their fathers’ sepulchres,” &c. Rollin, in his interesting history of the expedition of Darius against
the Sycthians, relates the embarrassment which he suffered in being unable
to bring that roving people to a regular engagement. “Prince of the
Scythians,” said he, “why do you continually fly before me?” “If I fly 16(6)v 192
before thee, Prince of Persia,” he replied, “it is not because I fear thee.
We, Scythians, have neither cities or lands to defend, yet come! attack
the tombs of our fathers, and thou shalt find what manner of men we are.”
Soon after, they exemplified another singular trait of character, by sending
a herald to Darius, with a present of a bird, a mouse, a frog, and five
arrows. The monarch exclaimed with joy, “Now they acknowledge
subjection, and by these emblems yield to me the dominion of their lands
and waters, of their warriors, and even of the atmosphere they breathe.”
But Gobryas, one of his officers, who was better versed in the hieroglyphics
of Scythia, correctly interpreted this typical message:—“Unless
the Persians can ascend into the air like birds, conceal themselves in earth
like mice, or beneath the waters like frogs, it is not possible for them to
escape the Scythain arrows.”

Wandering without a city, call’d to guard

Nor dome, nor temple, took their dauntless stand

Upon their fathers’ sepulchres, and taught

The boastful Persian, that the kindling flame

Caught from their ashes, like the lightning’s wrath

Could blast his legions. Thus the natives dwelt,

Fearless, nor asking aught save what their realm

Amply supplied. They had not learnt to change

Heaven’s gifts to poisons, nor the aliment

That cheers the body, to th’ imprisoning bend

Of th’ ethereal mind. No baleful arts

Of chymistry transform’d the staff of life

To Riot’s weapon, and the tottering props

Of Death’s dark throne. They knew not then to mark

With sparkling eye the transmigration foul

Of Earth’s blest harvest melted in the bowl

Inebriate. Nor had the fatal charm

Of Luxury seduced them to subject

Spirit to sense, binding the lofty soul

A vassal at the revel and the feast,

Like purple Dives. Temperance was theirs;

Theirs the elastic, the unruffled flow

Of spirits and of blood, the nerve firm-brac’d,

The vigorous mind, th’ undreaded day of toil,

And the pure dream. Say, can the eye that mark’d

Their simple majesty, and their bold hearts

Free and unfettered, as the wind that swept

Their cloud-capt mountains, bear to turn and trace

The dark reverse?

First, to their northern coast

Wander’d the Scandinavians, urging on

O’er the cold billows their storm-driven boats,

And pleas’d to rest, and rear their clay-built cells

Where seem’d a trace of verdure. ErickeOpen note a013-rota Note 13.— Line 257. “Ericke steer’d From that lone isle which Nature’s poising hand Cast ’tween the Continents.” It is generally admitted that the northern parts of America were settled
by the Scandinavians, several countries before the expedition of Columbus.
Ericke Raude, so named on account of his red hair, is considered as the
original discoverer of those inhospitable regions. Having past a winter
on the coast of Greenland, he returned to Iceland, and persuaded many
of his countrymen to accompany him, and undertake the establishment of
a colony. He assured them that the country which he had found, abounded
in fish, and exhibited such a verdant appearance, that he had assigned
it the name of Groenland, or Greenland. Twenty-five ships, filled with
Icelanders and Norwegians, attended him in consequence of these representations;
but it is said that only fourteen sustained the inclemencies of
the voyage. The establishment of this colony bears date, according to
Torfæus, in his Groenlandia Antiqua, in the year 0982982; yet it would
seem to have been of earlier origin, by the bull of Pope Gregory 4th,
issued in 0835835, and committing the conversion of the Greenlanders and
Icelanders, to the first northern apostle, Ansgarius. This colony assumed
the appearance of prosperity, and in 12611261, voluntarily submitted
to the sceptre of Norway, and was governed by a Norwegian viceroy,
according to the laws of Iceland. It was considerably harassed by the 17(1)r 193
natives, who were denominated Skrællings, and whose origin is traced
to the North East regions of Tartary. Driven from their country by
imperious and potent enemies, they crossed the straits of Bherring, and
gradually passing to the east and north, began their hostilities against the
Icelandic colony in the 1001 < x < 1100eleventh century. They gained great ascendancy
over it about the year 13501350, when it had been enfeebled by the ravages
of pestilence; and in the course of two or three centuries nearly exterminated
it. The small remnant of European settlers were driven from
the western toward the eastern shores, and compelled to incorporate themselves
with their conquerors. Some of them, however, retreated to the
inlets between the mountains, and like the Welch still preserve the character
of an unconquered people. steer’d

From that lone isle which Nature’s poising hand

Cast ’tween the continents. There Winter frames

The boldest architecture, rears strong tow’rs

Of rugged frost-work, and deep-labouring throws

A glassy pavement o’er rude tossing floods.

Long near this coast he lingered, half-illum’d

By the red gleaming of those fitful flames

Which wrathful Hecla through her veil of snows

Darts on the ebon night. Oft he recall’d

Pensive, his simple home, ere the New World

Enwrapt in polar robes, with frigid eye

Receiv’d him, and in rude winds hoarsely hail’d

Her earliest guest. Thus the stern king of storms,

Swart Eolus, bade his imprison’d blasts

Breathe dissonant welcome to the restless queen,

Consort of Jove, whose unaccustom’d step

Invaded his retreat. The pilgrim band

Amaz’d beheld those mountain ramparts float

Around their coast, where hoary Time had toil’d

Ev’n from his infancy, to point sublime

Their pyramids, and strike their awful base

Deep ’neath the main. Say, Darwin!Open note a014-rota Note 14.— Line 279. “Say, Darwin! Fancy’s son”— Dr. Darwin’s plan of navigating southward those tremendous masses
of ice, which for ages have been accumulating amid the polar regions, in
order to allay the fervour of the tropics, is one of the many visionary theories
of that splendid poet and eccentric philosopher. Fancy’s son!

What armour shall he choose who dares complete

Thine embassy to the dire kings who frown

Upon those thrones of frost?—What force compel

Their abdication of their favour’d realm

And rightful royalty?—What pilot’s eye

Unglaz’d by Death, direct their devious course

(Tremendous navigation!) to allay

The fervour of the tropics? Proudly gleam

Their sparkling masses, shaming the brief dome

Which Russia’s empress-queenOpen note a015-rota Note 15.— Line 289. “Shaming the brief dome Which Russia’s empress-queen bade the chill boor Quench life’s frail lamp to rear.” The Ice Palace, erected in the year 17401740, by the Empress Anne, of
Russia, was 52 feet in length, and when lighted exhibited the most splendid
appearance. Yet to a reflecting mind, its brilliance must have been
dimmed by the recollection, that many lives were sacrificed to its construction,
by the severity of cold. The description of this singularly beautiful
structure, by the poet Cowper, is in accordance with that purity and elegant
simpicity, which characterizes his numbers. “Silently, as a dream the fabric rose; No sound of hammer, or of saw was there. Ice upon ice, the well-adjusted parts Were soon conjoin’d; nor other cement ask’d Than water interfus’d, to make them one. Lamps gracefully dispos’d, and of all hues Illumin’d every side; a watery light 17 17(1)v 194 Gleam’d through the clear transparency, that seem’d Another moon new ris’n, or meteor fall’n From heaven to earth, of lambent flame serene, So stood the brittle prodigy, though smooth And slippery the materials, yet frost-bound, Firm as a rock. Nor wanted aught within That royal residence might well befit, For grandeur or for use. Long wavy wreaths Of flowers that fear’d no enemy but warmth, Blush’d on the pannels. Mirror needed none, Where all was vitreous; but in order due, Convivial table, and commodious seat, (What seem’d at least commodious seat) were there: Sofa, and couch, and high-built throne august. The same lubricity was found in all, And all was moist to the warm touch: a scene Of evanescent glory, once a stream, And soon to slide into a stream again.” bade the chill boor

Quench life’s frail lamp to rear. Now they assume

The front of old cathedral gray with years:

Anon their castellated turrets glow

In high baronial pomp; then the tall mast

Of lofty frigate, peering o’er the cloud

Attracts the eye; or some fair island spreads

Towns, tow’rs, and mountains, cradled in a flood

Of rainbow lustre, changeful as the web

From fairy loom, and wild as fabled tales
Of Araby.

Amid these icy fields

Mark’d they the Ocean monarch, in his sports

Terrific, lashing the wide-foaming surge,

Untaught to dread the harpoon, or to yield

In tides of blood upon the billowy plain

His regency to man. From eastern climes

Where Maelstrom’s vortex threatens the trembling isles

Of Lofoden and Moskoe, where the band

Of Nature in her wildness stamps the seal

Of terror on her deeds, from Norway’s realm

Whose pine-clad forests hail the tardy ray

Of the spent sun, who journeying o’er the heights

Of sky-wraps Dofrefield, exhausted sinks

Upon his western couch,—from thence the band

Of peaceful exiles caught in cheering beams

Salvation’s radiance. To their humble cells

Came holy men, by pious Olaf’sOpen note a016-rota Note 16.— Line 315. “To their humble cells Came holy men, by pious Olaf’s zeal Wing’d on their mission.” Olaf, or Olaus, a Norwegian king, having renounced heathenism, sent
a priest to Greenland, early in the 0901 < x < 1000tenth century for the conversion of the
inhabitants. His exertions were successful, and the whole colony embraced
Christianity. In the year 11221122, they chose a Norwegian bishop,
and a regular succession in the Episcopacy was preserved, until the year
14061406, when the last of seventeen bishops was sent over. Darkness for
a time overspread the religious prospects of this people; like that which
enveloped ancient Israel, when the harp of prophecy was broken in the
hand of Malachi, and for more than three centuries there was no divine
communication. But in the year 17211721, a pious clergyman of Norway,
by the name of Hans Egede, whose heart had long been moved by the
wretchedness of the Greenlanders, resolved, notwithstanding the obstructions
that were cast in the way of his enterprize, to bear to that inhospitable 17(2)r 195
region the glad tidings of salvation. He was accompanied by about
forty adventurers, who aided him in imparting a knowledge of those arts
which advance the comfort of the present life; while, with the most condescending
attention, the most faithful diligence, and under the pressure
of almost unexampled hardships, he taught the precepts of a religion,
whose benevolence he exemplified. After sustaining the arduous duties
of a missionary almost forty years, he closed his honourable and pious
life, at the age of seventy-three, and to him, and to his son, Paul Egede,
we are indebted for an ample and authentic account of modern Greenland.
The Moravian also, whose zeal in diffusing the blessings of religion, cannot
be too highly appreciated, extended the exertions of their Christian
love to this desolate region. Perhaps it is without parallel in the annals
of benevolence, that a Society so restricted in pecuniary resources, so
afflicted by persecution as to have been reduced to about six hundred individuals,
should display the missionary spirit in such unbroken strength
and splendour. After the oppressions of the Church of Rome, when they
had taken refuge on the estates of Count Zizendorf in Lusatia, they
sent, in the space of nine years, missionaries to Greenland, to South-America,
to Algiers, to Guinea, to Lapland, to the West-Indian and Nicobar
islands, to Ceylon, to the extremities of the Cape of Good Hope, and to
the wilds of Tartary. About the year 17331733, when the mission of Mr.
Egede was so coldly patronized by government, and so overclouded by
misfortune, that it seemed ready to expire, the Moravians having resolved
to carry the gospel to Greenland, two of their venerable messengers arrived
on foot at Copenhagen, entreating permission to accomplish their
design. “How,” said one of the ministers of the crown of Denmark,
“do you maintain yourselves in that desolate region?” “By
the labour of our hands,” they answered “and by the blessing of God.
We will build a house, and cultivate a piece of land, that we may not be
burdensome to any.” The nobleman, perceiving that they were not fully
acquainted with the sterility of the country, replied, “There is no timber
there to build with.” “Then,” said these devoted servants of the cross,
“we will dig a cavern in the earth, and lodge there.” These faithful
missionaries with others who from time to time were sent to their assistance,
suffered indescribably from the rigours of the climate, and the
ravages of famine and pestilence. Yet nothing extinguished the flame of 17(2)v 196
their benevolence, and they expressed themselves willing to prolong their
labours until death, to continue “to believe while there was nothing to
be seen, to hope when nothing was to be expected.” Soon after their
arrival, the Small-Pox was communicated by a Greenlander who had returned
from Europe, and it assumed so malignant a form, that few who
were seized by it, survived beyond the third day. Destitute of the knowledge
of medicine, and of the comforts which alleviate disease, the wretched
natives stabbed themselves, or plunged into the sea, to put a period to
their sufferings. The Moravians, in company with Mr. Egede, hastened
from place to place, to impart assistance or consolation. Empty houses,
and unburied corpses, bleaching on the snow, every where shocked their
eyes. On one island, only one little girl, and her three brothers, survived.
Their father had buried all the inhabitants, and finding himself and his
youngest child smitten with the malady, lay down in a grave, with the
sick infant in his arms, commanding his daughter to cover them with
skins and stones, that their bodies might not be devoured by ravens and
foxes. In 17391739, the severity of that terrific climate was heightened to
an unusual degree, and snow fell in every month of the year. In 1739-03March,
the cold was so intense, that even glass and stones burst. Famine was
the consequence, and continued till 17571757, when it surpassed all that had
ever been imagined by the Europeans. “We found,” said the Missionaries,
“near a house that we visited, fifteen persons nearly starved to
death. They lay near each other, striving to preserve warmth, for they
had no fire, nor the least morsel to eat. For very faintness they did not
care to lift up themselves, or to speak to us. Four of their children were
already dead with hunger. At length a man brought a fish from the sea,
and a girl snatched it, raw as it was, and tore it in pieces with her teeth,
gorging it with violence. She looked pale as death, and was ghastly to
behold. We distributed among them our small pittance, and advised them
to endeavour to remove to our part of the land” Children perished in
great numbers by famine, and old people were buried alive in order to save
the food that they would have consumed. The Missionaries participated
in these sufferings, till their strength was exhausted, and their constitutions
debilitated, yet occasional success in their spiritual work, caused them to
count their afflictions light. Settlements were formed at New Herrnhut,
Liehtenfels, and Lichtenau; and materials for two churches were sent 17(3)r 197
them from Europe, which were erected and partially filled with worshippers.
In the year 18141814, more than 1100 inhabitants belonged to these
three settlements, and the whole population of Greenland was estimated
at 7000. Since the commencement of the mission by Mr. Egede, which
has comprised a century, the number baptized is computed at about 5000. The extension of this Note by an interesting extract from the 18th
volume of the Quarterly Review, will be forgiven by minds who have felt
solicitude in the extension of truth, or sympathy for the privations of its
messengers. It is a forcible delineation of the feelings of a missionary
and his family, during the gloom and loneliness of a Greenland winter,
and is drawn from the manuscripts of Saabye, a grandson of that venerated
apostle Hans Egede. “They have one bright epoch; for it is a happy
time, when the ice is loosed from the rocky coast, and they can expect
the arrival of the vessel which alone reaches their solitude. Often deceived
by the floating Ice-berg, forming itself in mockery late into the shape
of their friendly visitant, at length they see the white sails, the towering
masts, the blessed guest riding at anchor in the bay. By this vessel their
wants are supplied. The active and pious housewife busies herself in
arranging the stores of the ensuing twelvemonth. There are letters too,
from friends, and from relations, and books, and newspapers; and banished
as they are, they live again in Denmark, in ‘their father-land.’ The
hour of enjoyment soon glides away; the ship sails; the Missionary and
the partner of his toils remain behind, solitary and forsaken. To this
season of sadness succeeds the gloom of the polar night. A few days
before the --11-2626th of November, Saabye was accustomed to climb the high
rocks, from whence at noon he could just see the sun shining with a soft
and pallid light; and then the sun sank, and he bade farewell to the eye
of creation with heaviness and grief. Dubious twilight lingered till the
beginning of --12December; then darkness ruled. The stream near which
Saabye’s house was situated, roared beneath the ice; the sea dashed and
howled over the rocks, bursting in foam against his windows, and the
dogs filled the air with long continued moans. About the --01-1212th of January,
the rays of the rising sun glittered on the rocks, and suddenly faded,
like the high-raised hopes of man.” zeal

Wing’d on their mission. Bowing from his throne

To the baptismal font, his soul imbib’d

Pity for distant heathen, and he stretch’d

The sceptre of his love to the far realm

Of Greenland’s loneliness. Then churches rose,

And from the lips of priests and bishops fell

Sublime instruction, like the dews of heaven

Upon the sons of Ericke. These by Time

Mix’d and incorporate with the native race

Content remain’d’ and wrought no change of wrong

Or tyranny. These too, the Esquimaux

Wrapping his dwindled frame in the stol’n robe

Of bear or rein-deer, and in uncouth sounds

Conning his legends ’mid his long, drear night

Counts as his sires.

And did thy footsteps press

These western shores, thou, whom the laureate Muse

Of ardent Southey, from her rapid car

Array’d in cloud-wrought garniture, with stars

Of epic lustre, Madoc!Open note a017-rota Note 17.— Line 334. “Madoc! wandering son Of that unconquer’d clime.” From researches made by British Antiquarians, it appears that traditions
exist of the discovery of America, by Madoc ap Owen Guyneth, a
Welch Prince, in the year 11701170. It is asserted that a colony was planted
by him, west of the Mississippi, and that their descendants have at
various times been recognized by travellers. The fact has been recorded
also, by the ancient poets of Wales, and the celebrated Mr. Southey has
founded upon it one of the most interesting modern epic poems in the
English languatge. In Howel’s Letters, volume 2, page 71, it is recorded,
that Madoc ap Owen, Prince of Wales, made two voyages to America, at
the time specified; and the Welsh Cambria, translated into English, by
H. Lloyd, contains, in its 225th page, the reasons which induced that
Prince to undertake such an expedition. Some modern writers have employed
their pens in this investigation, among whom are Dr. Williams,
Rector of Sydenham, and the Rev. George Burder, late of Coventry,
England. wandering son

Of that unconquer’d clime, whose rifted rocks

Travers’d by browsing goats, still from deep cells

Pour tuneful forth the treasur’d minstrelsyOpen note a018-rota Note 18.— Line 337. “The treasure’d minstrelsy Of Taliesin’s harp.” Taliesin, who wrote in the 0501 < x < 0600sixth century, was one of the most celebrated
of the ancient Welch bards. His poems have been highly commended
by the amateurs of the old Cambrian minstrelsy. The affinity of
the language of Wales to the Hebrew, has rendered its study intersting
to many classical scholars; and recently, among the prizes offered in
Jesus College, Oxford, England, for the best six Englynion, on a passage
of Taliesin, beginning “Cymru fu, Cymru fydd.” The early taste of
the Welch, for poetry and music, is well known. The knowledge of the
harp was considered essential to the character of a prince and a hero; and
the bards received in the courts of their kings such dignity and honour,
as Homer asserts were enjoyed by Demodocus and Phemius, in the first
ages of Greece.

Of Tariessen’s harp?

Age roll’d o’er age

Ere the slight prow of bold Columbus broke

Its unknown way, and plough’d the wrathful deep.

The poor Lucayan, as he stood and gaz’d

On those tall ships, and those mysterious men

With brows so pale, and words of loftiest tone

Fancied them Gods, nor dream’d their secret aim

Was theft and cruelty, to snatch the gold

That sparkled in their streams, and bid their blood

Stain those pure waters. Yet the victor spake

Of their mild manners, their deportment kind,

Generous and just, even to the hordes that wrought

Their misery and death. Once as he rov’d

With ardent eye surveying this New World,

From his green summer bow’r, an aged man

Came forth to meet him. As a patriarch, grave,

Yet vigorous he seem’d; thin, silver locks

Wav’d o’er his temples, and his form display’d

That calm and graceful dignity which Time

Tempers, but not destroys. With courteous air

Ripe fruits he offer’d, from the juicy stem

New-cull’d and fragrant, while with gentle words

Bowing, he spake—

“See ye these verdant vales,

And spicy forests, where we careless live

In simple plenty? From far distant lands

A differing and superiour race you come,

With mighty weapons, and a warklike force

To us resistless. We have not the heart

To harm the stranger, or to see your blood

Staining our arrows. Yet if men you are,

Like us, subject to death; if ye belief

As we have heard, that after this shortlife

Another comes, unending, where all deeds 370

Receive their due reward, we need not fear

To trust your mercy, for you cannot seek

To wound the innocent.”

Perchance the appeal

Which seem’d so feeble to that conquering chief,

Was ponder’d deeper when his soul had lost

The pride of pow’r. PerchanceOpen note a019-rota Note 19.— Line 376. “Perchance in his lone cell At Vallodolid.” Columbus expired in obscurity, at Valladolid, on the 1508-05-2525th of May,
1508, in his 59th year, exhausted by hardships and infirmities. The
discoverer of America, like the conqueror of Mexico, found the close of
his days rendered wretched by the persecution of enemies, and the chilling
indifference of those from whom he had expected patronage and consolation.
in his lone cell

At Valladolid, that mild voice might rise

In Memory’s echoes, striking on his car

With painful cadence, as he sought the tomb,

Urg’d on and blasted by the withering frown

Of an ungrateful country.

When the steps

Of the invaders first imprest the shores

Of the New World, say, did no dark eclipse

Pervade thy skies, fair Mexico? No sound

Portentous, warn thee that the spoilers came

To riot on thy glory? Mark’dOpen note a020-rota Note 20.— Line 386. “Mark’d thy seers Mid the dim vista of futurity Ought like the step of Cortes?” It is recorded by Robertson, that an opinion prevailed almost universally
among the Mexicans, that some dreadful calamity would befall their
country, by means of formidable invaders who should come from regions
towards the rising sun. Their superstitious credulity saw in the Spaniards
the instruments of that fatal revolution which they dreaded, and this in
some measure accounts for the success of Cortes, with his ill-appointed
force, over the monarch of a great and populous empire. When the spoilers, in descending from the mountains of Chalco, caught
their first view of the vast plain of Mexico, interspersed with fertile and
cultivated fields, enriched with a lake resembling the sea in extent, whose
banks were encompassed with large towns, and whose bosom was beautified
with an island, where rose the capital city, adorned with its temples and
turrets, they were impressed at once with a conviction of the great wealth
of the country, and with an irresistable desire to possess it. After the humiliating
death of Montezuma, and the more barbarous subjugation of
Guatimozin, the imperial city yielded to its conquerors, 1521-08-21August 21,
1521, after sustaining a siege of 75 days. This event, the most
memorable of any in the conquest of America, preceded the death of
Cortes 25 years. The neglect of his country embittered the declining
life of the victor; and it was decreed, that the punishment of his injustice
and cruelty should be inflicted, not by the vengeance of those whom he
had injured, but by the ingratitude of those he had served. thy seers

’Mid the dim vista of futurity

Aught like the step of Cortez, like his glance

Withering thy charms, as the false Spirit’s eye

On sinless Eden? Pour’d the scroll of Fate

No fearful blackness o’er the final hour

Of hapless Montezuma? Bright the Sun

Still shone, Peru! upon thy diamond cliffs,

Cheer’d the soft flow’ret, blushing, while its roots

Sprang from the sparkling ore, glided the dome

Of Capac’s lofty temple, gave one smile

To his delighted children, though its beam

Was but the sad farewell of peace, and hope,

And liberty. Deep were thy prison sighs

Ahatualpa!Open note a021-rota Note 21.— Line 400. “Deep were thy prison sighs, Ahatualpa.” The annals of the crimes of man are darkened with no blacker instance
of perfidy, than that of Pizarro to the unfortunate monarch of Peru.
Confiding in the protestations of the Spaniard, he advanced to the distance
of a league from his city, to pay him a visit of respect. Pizarro instructed
a priest to proclaim some of the articles of the Popish faith,
strangely intermixed with the claims of the crown of Spain upon the New
World, to which Ahatualpa not immediately assenting, the desperado
seized him as his prisoner, and gave the signal of assault upon his followers. The carnage continued till the close of day, and the Peruvians, unprepared
for combat, and ignorant of the mode of European warfare, left
4000 dead upon the field, without scarcely making an impression upon
the phalanx of their enemies. The imprisoned Inca made liberal offers
for his ransom, and his subjects, like those of Richard Coeur de Lion,
would have stripped the churches of their consecrated gold, to purchase
liberty for their beloved sovereign. The apartment in which he was confined
was 22 feet in length and 16 in breadth, and Pizarro demanded that
it should be filled with vessels of gold, as high as he could reach. The
line of demarcation was drawn upon the wall—the Peruvians hastened to
heap the gold to the standard which avarice had prescribed, but with abominable
treachery the Inca was detained in captivity. He was brought to
a mock trial, and condemned to be burnt alive. The miserable monarch
was offered, at the place of doom, that alternative which is allowed the
victims of the Auto da fe, by the mercy of the Inquisition, to confess
the Romish faith, and be strangled at the stake, or continue in heresy,
and endure the anguish of the flame. Ahatualpa bowed to the baptismal
font, and fell an immediate victim to the fury of those who, professing the
“name of Christ, in works denied him.” This execrable deed was perpetrated
in the year 15331533; and on the 1541-06-2626th of June 1541, Pizarro was
destroyed by conspiracy in the city of Lima. The record of his fame is
stained with atrocious barbarity; and he may be characterized, as the inhabitants
of Melita unjustly designated the shipwrecked apostle, as “a
murderer, whom, though he had escaped the sea, yet vengeance suffered
not to live.” Vain thy high descent

From mighty Incas; vain thy simple truth

And free confiding kindness to these sons

Of desolation. Not thy proffer’d gold,

Profuse as grasping Mammon’s boundless wish,

Could sooth the tyrant’s guilty thirst of blood,

Or bind his perfidy. But thou must bend

In all thy mildness to the blasting doom

Of base Pizarro. Ev’n Religion lends

A mockery to the deed. Methinks I see

That kneeling [Gap in transcription—1-wordflawed-reproduction] at the peaceful font

Of holy baptism, bearing on his lip

The name of Christ, while those profaning bands

Who bless his cross, yet trample on his blood

Prepare th’ unjust, the ignominious pang

Of black’ning torture. But the hour is near,

Unprincipled Pizarro, when thy breast

Shall feel the assassin’s poniard, and thy soul

Fleet where the opprest, and the oppressor meet,

Stript of the baseless pow’r, and tyrant pomp

Of this vain world.

Soon is the track mark’d out

By haughty Spain, the LusitanianOpen note a022-rota Note 22.— Line 421. “The Lusitanian bands Came flocking.” The discovery of Brazil is usually placed in the year 15001500. The
honour of that event is ascribed to Perez Alvarez Cabral, a Portugese
naval commander. He originally gave it the name of Santa Cruz, but
this was changed to Brazil, by King Emmanuel. The derivation of the
latter name is from Brasas, a Portugese word, signifying glowing fire,
of a red coal, which colour resembles that produced by the celebrated
tree ibiritanga, commonly called Brazil wood, with which that country
abounds. bands

Came flocking; from scant bounds and despot sway,

Eager for space and freedom, their rude hands

Grasp’d the wide zone from where th’ Equator marks

The mouth of Amazon, to the broad sea

Of the La Plata. Sweetly were thy vales

Smiling, Oh fair Brazil! on their new lords.

Unconscious that their harvests many a year

Must rise and fatten in the richest blood

Of their own sons. Far northward, where the chill

Of winter linger’d, steer’d the crews of France,

And with a giddy and vivacious joy

Snatch’d for themselves a cold Acadia,Open note a023-rota Note 23.— Line 433. “Snatch’d for themselves a cold Acadia, white With frost, and drifted snow.” Acadia, the original name given by the French to Nova-Scotia, was
their first possession in the New World. It was granted, in the year
16031603, to De Mons, with somewhat indefinite boundaries, by Henry IV,
of France. Settlements were made in Canada, five years after, by the
same nation. Quebec, the capital was reduced by General Wolfe in
17591759, the year after his conquest of Cape Breton, or Isle Royale.
The whole of Canada was ceded to Great-Britain, by the treaty at Paris,
in 17631763. white

With frost, and drifted snow. Onward they prest,

Toward where its source the proud St. Lawrence owns,

As NilusOpen note a024-rota Note 24.— Line 436. “As Nilus ’mid the Abyssinian wastes Unseals through fringed reeds and willows dank His azure eyes.” The small source whence the St. Lawrence takes its rise, reminds us
of the two parent springs of the Nile, whose size Rollin compares to that
of a coach-wheel. They are, he remarks, thirty paces distant from each
other, and are sometimes called eyes, “the same word, in Arabic, signifying
both eye and fountain.” ’mid th’ Abyssinian wastes

Reveals through fringed reeds, and willows dank

His azure eyes. With trembling awe they mark’d

Bold Niagara hurling down the steep

Eternal thunders, while the battle shock

Of rocks and waters in his gulf profound

Forever by the rushing column swoln,

Uprears a misty canopy to involve

The fearful conflict. Eagerly they trac’d

That land which bounding the broad lakes, erects

A lofty aspect, where the dying sigh

Of Wolfe, on victory’s bloody couch arose,

Where bold Montgomery sank ’mid patriot tears,

And Arnold urged the combat, ere his foot

Prest dark Perdition’s portal.

Sad of cheer

Seem Gallia’s sons, as if their thoughts recall

A brighter clime. Ev’n thus in later times

Gleam thy wan features o’er the billowy surge,

Poor GermanOpen note a025-rota Note 25.— Line 454. “Poor German exile.” The emigration from Germany to the United States, has been greatest
in recent times, than has generally been imagined. Only in the short 17(5)v 202
period included between 1817-07-12July 12th, 1817, and the beginning of the year
18181818, nineteen vessels arrived, bringing passengers to the number of
6000. They were of every age, from infancy to eighty years, and many
of them so poor, that they were compelled to bind themselves out for a
term of service, to defray the expenses of their scantily provided passage.
M. von Fürstenwärther, who was officially appointed to examine the situation
of his countrymen who had emigrated to the United States, reports,
that “the ships made use of in this service, are commonly of the worst
quality, old and unseaworthy, and the commanders ignorant, inexperienced,
and brutal. I was on board of a vessel at the Helder, 1817-07-07July 7th, 1817,
which had formerly been a Russian ship of the line, which a Dutchman
had bought for the sake of carrying German emigrants to Philadelphia.
There were already four or five hundred souls on board, and the vessel
was not to sail without her complement of passengers. I have found the
misery of most of the German emigrants greater, and the condition of all
more forlorn and helpless than I could have imagined. A ship arrived
from Amsterdam at Baltimore, in the summer of 18171817, the greater part
of whose passengers had not paid their freight. Two families were bought
by free negroes in Maryland, but the Germans resident in Baltimore
were so disgusted, that they immediately rebought them, and formed an
association to prevent the recurrence of any such degrading abuse.” “Laws have been passed in Philadelphia,” says the North-American
Review, “for the protection of German redemptioners; and by these it
was established, that the extreme term of service, in ordinary cases, for
adults, is four years, and two years for the shortest term. Children under
four years old, are not bound, but follow their parents; males over
four, are bound to serve till they are 21, and females till they are eighteen
years old.”—Stern realities, to those who parted from their native country
with the expectation of finding in America something like Eden restored. Exile! by the heavy weight

Of a dense population forc’d away

From the smooth verdure of thy vales, to float

Like feather o’er the wave. I see thee launch

Amid the throng! The deeply laden bark

Moves like a slave-ship o’er the tossing main.

Thou spiest distant mountains, and art told

There is Columbia. Thy sad eye relumes

Its wonted brightness, trusting there to find

A Paradise. Thy trembling footsteps press

The shore of strangers, and a foreign voice

Bids gold against thy freedom. Thou art sold

To pay thy famish’d voyage! ’Mid the toil

Of thy hard term of service, think’st thou nought

Of cherish’d Germany? Say, does no dream

Of fugitive delight glide o’er the spot

That gave thee birth? Men of strange brows are here,

Of other manners, and of unknown speech.

And the sad eyes of thy untutor’d babes

Gaze wildly on them. Hadst thou ne’er a hut

Shelter’d by some cool spreading tree?—a stream

To slake thy thirst?—a morsel to refresh

Thy wasted strength? that thou should’st roam to lay

Thy humble head beneath a stranger’s turf,

Poor Emigrant? Hast thou no bond of love,

Proud Germany! to bind thy sons to thee?

No charities of home, that they should fly

Thy glance parental?

Still thy breast conceals

The feudalOpen note a026-rota Note 26.— Line 482. “Still thy breast conceals The feudal spirit.” “In Germany the feudal institutions still subsist with great vigour.
Its great princes possess all the feudal privileges.”— Robertson’s Scotland. spirit, prompting thee to count

Thy sons, thy vassals. But thou, sterner France,

Didst with thy persecuting scourge drive forth

Thy worthiest offspring, they who “held the truth

In righteousness of life.” Backward they turn

Their eyes on that delightful land, so lov’d

Of bounteous Nature, yet with deeds of blood

So darkly stain’d. As the receding coast

Fades on the wave, the scenes of other days

Brighten their lineaments. Majestic shades

Of buried heroes rise, array’d in pow’r,

As if they still the field of mortal strife

Rul’d in their might. The formOpen note a027-rota Note 27.— Line 494. “The form of Condé gleams As when at Jarnac, rising o’er his wounds.” The intrepid Condé approached the battle of Jarnac, which was sustained
by the Huguenots with such constancy in the year 15691569, with an arm
debilitated and in a state of suffering. Entering the field, his leg also was
broken, by the accidental rearing of the horse of his brother in law. Rising
superior to pain, he exclaimed to his followers, “Nobility of France!
know, that the prince of Condé, with an arm in a scarf, and a leg broken,
fears not to give battle, since you attend him.” After displaying prodigies
of valour, he was found, exhausted with fatigue, surrounded, and
taken captive. He was placed at the foot of a tree, by those who had
made him their prisoner, and, while in this defenceless condition, was barbarously
shot by Montesquieu, a captain in the guards of the Duke of
Anjou, whose master was supposed to have instigated the infamous deed,
from motives of personal animosity. The persecuted Huguenots ever
cherished with tender gratitude the memory of their great benefactor.
We may trace a strong expression of this affectionate sentiment, in the
fact recorded by Heriot, in his travels through the Canadas, that the
name of Condé was given, by the early French settlers, to Lake Superior,
as if they were anxious that his fame should find a monument in the most
magnificent body of fresh and pellucid waters which the globe affords. of Condé gleams

As when at Jarnac, rising o’er his wounds

In scornful valour, or with deep reproach

Silent, yet poignant in his dying eye

Transfixing the assassin’s soul who pierc’d

A heart which kinngs had reverenc’d.

With low sigh

Where strong emotions mingle, they recall

The great Coligny, who alike in camp

And council proudly on his front display’d

The name of Hugonot. But as the sire;

To whom th’ approaching grave betokens rest,

Thinks of his sons, his eye that HeroOpen note a028-rota Note 28.— Line 505. “His eye that Hero turn’d Toward the New World.” It is well known that Admiral Coligny had contemplated a removal
with the Hugenots, where, enjoying liberty of conscience, they might be
enabled without dread of death to say, “after the way which ye call heresy,
so worship we the God of our fathers.” Permission had actually been
accorded him, to conduct his adherents to the Floridas, but the design
was deferred until the commencement of hostilities detained him to exhibit,
on the continent of Europe, the invincible firmness and constancy of his
character. He was the first victim of the diabolical massacre at Paris, on 17(6)v 204
1572-08-24St. Bartholemew’s day, 1572. Having been previously wounded by a
hired assassin, and disenabled from defending himself, he was murdered in
his chamber by a party led on by his implacable enemy, the Duke of
Guise. turn’d

Toward the New World, solicitous to find

A refuge for his followers. See, he falls

The tumult rages! The fierce Guises steep

Their swords in blood, and the insatiate soul

Of Catharine riots in the dire repast.

Oh night of horror! night of nameless guilt!

To be remember’d while the world shall stand,

With stern abhorrence.

See, the pious few

Escape to this far coast. Firmly they bear

Their lot of sorrow, while they meekly bend

Over the page inspir’d. Hail, holy book!

Best gift of Heaven, instructing Man to bear

Life’s discipline, with devoutly fix’d

On Mercy’s purpose, through the wildering maze

Of fate, or storm of woe, discovering oft

That golden chain fast linking all below

To Wisdom’s throne. Divinely didst thou shed

In earliest ages on prophetic souls,

Through types and symbols, a prelusive beam

Of His approach whose sorrow was our peace.

Hail, harp of Prophecy! to mortal touch

Attun’d by the Great Spirit! Him who mov’d

Upon the murmuring waters, when the light

Sprang out of Chaos, and who breath’d the soul

Of inspiration into holy breasts

Of seers and patriarchs, when their raptur’d strains

Hymn’d the Messiah.

Hail, mysterious harp!

That ’mid the trees of Paradise wert hung,

Wreath’d with unsullied roses. Thou wert wak’d

From Eden’s dewy slumbers by the touch

Of the Eternal, while thy trembling chords

Awfully prest, spake of the future God

Incarnate, who should bruise the crested head

Of the foul serpent.

At the lapse of Man

Thy garlands wither’d, and a mournful wreath

Of cypress buds entwin’d thee, shuddering deep,

As thy sad voice pour’d forth the fatal doom

Of him who was but dust.

Anon thy tones

Breath’d in soft cadence on the wond’ring ear

Of righteous Abraham. Pensively he mark’d

The vales of Haran, fond to linger near

His father’s sepulchres, revolving deep

The fiat to forsake his cherish’d home

Kindred and country. Then didst thou confirm

His high obedience by the heavenly strain,

Cheering his soul with promises of Him

In whom his race unborn, and all the earth

With her uncounted families should joy

And find a blessing. Thou didst faintly gleam

Upon the eye of Jacob, as he lay

In his death-trance. With cold yet pow’rful hand

He prest thee, and thine utterance was a sound

That fir’d with extacy his glowing eye.

Thou didst announce Messiah in his power

Coming to Zion, as the sceptre fell

From humbled Judah. Balaam’s doubtful hand

Rov’d o’er thy secret chords, though his heart shrunk

At the exulting praises of the Star

That should arise for Israel, and the might

Of that high sceptre, which in distant days

Should crush his foes. The Psalmist’s tuneful touch

Rul’d thee, Oh sacred Harp, with skill so sweet

So masterly, that angels deem’d they heard

Earth echo their own lyres, and bent to learn

Of mysteries, which they had long desir’d

In vain to comprehend. Isaiah wak’d

To melody thy diapason strong,

Till thy rous’d strings pour’d forth in strains divine

The glories of Emmanuel. Deep they moan’d

In broken cadence of his earthly woes,

His word despis’d, his visage marr’d, his form

Laid in the tomb, and then in raptur’d tones

Of thrilling music, chanted of his throne

O’er all the earth, when heav’n-born peace should
reign,

And the fierce lion turning from his rage

Caress the lamb. The weeping prophet’s tears

Dew’d thee, Oh Harp! as from thy chords he drew

Music of heaven, still soften’d by his sighs

For Zion’s ruin, for the wounds that rent

The “daughter of his people.”

――He, who saw

On Chebar’s banks high visions, caught thy gleam

Of sudden beauty through the parted clouds

And hasting, press’d thee. Daniel swept thy strings,

And Haggai made thee vocal, ’mid the tide

Of ecstacy, that rushing bore away

The mists of time, and made the future stand

Unveil’d and glowing. Malachi came last

In the long range majestic of Heaven’s seers.

Kneeling, the sacred harp of God he took,

And prest it to his lips. His hand essay’d

To rouse it, and its treasur’d voice awoke

Thrilling and tremulous. But Oh! a Power

Invisible controul’d it, and its strings

Quiv’ring, were broken.

――Nature seem’d to mourn

The awful wreck. Night came, and darkness fell,

Long darkness. On the head of hoary Time

It settled, and desponding mortals wept

While tardy ages slowly rose to birth

And roll’d away. At length the twilight dawn’d

O’er the dim mountains, and that day-star shone

Whose short ray, fading on the rosy cloud,

Announc’d the Sun of Righteousness. A voice

Cry’d in the wilderness, and roughly clad,

Exhorting to repentance, with stern brow

Stood the forerunner of our Lord, to mark

His way before him. Like a beam he glow’d,

Severing the midnight of the legal rites

From the glad gospel’s morn. But the frail lamp

Was quench’d in blood, and o’er the dazzled skies

Rose earth’s salvation. Seraph lyres awoke

Responsive, breathing forth “good will and peace”

In strains of rapture, and the shepherd train

Watching their flocks, beheld that glorious star,

Whose orb mysterious cast a healing ray

O’er all the nations.

Behold they come!—O’er the wide-tossing sea

Their ships adventurous throng. Their tall masts cleave

The dim horizon, and what seem’d but specks

On Ocean’s bosom, spread wide, snowy sails

Curtaining the rocky shore. In crowds descend

The eager inmates, joyous to escape

Their floating prison and unvarying view

Of the eternal wave. Almost it seem’d

As if old Europe, weary of her load,

Pour’d on a younger world than her thousand sons

In ceaseless deluge. Thus, when he whose eye

“Eclips’d by drop serene,” more clearly saw

Things hid from mortal vision, sang sublime

Of war in Heaven, the seated hillocks rose,

And uptorn mounts their myriad streams disgorg’d

Whelming the recreant angels.

Thither came

To Nature’s boldest scenery, men who saw

No beauty in her charms, in the dark arch

Of mountain forest springing to the skies

E’er since Creation, on the mighty cliff

Crown’d with rich light, or wrapt in sable clouds

No grandeur trac’d; for still their eyes were bent

In the dark caverns of the Earth to grope

For drossy ore.Open note a029-rota Note 1.— Line 24. “—still their eyes were bent In the dark caverns of the earth to grope For drossy ore.” The thirst of gold, which excited both the enterprize and the barbarity
of the settlers of South-America, pervaded in some degree the colonists
of Virginia. About the year 16071607, a glittering earth was discovered in
the channel of a small stream near Jamestown, and from that time, says
Stith in his history, “there was no thought, no discourse, no hope, and
no work, but to dig gold, wash gold, refine gold, and load gold.” Capt.
Smith’s representations of the folly of such conduct had no effect, and
they persisted in loading a vessel for England with this drossy dust.
“Two vessels,” says Judge Marshall, “returned thither in the spring
and summer of 16081608, one laden with this dust, and the other with cedar:
the first remittances ever made from America by an English colony.” These, in the chyrstal stream

Fring’d with the silvery willow, in the foam

Of the wild thundering cataract, bearing on

A mighty tribute to the swelling sea,

Beheld no majesty, nor deign’d a glance

Save on the glittering sediment. To Heaven,

If it were possible, that to the seat

Of God such souls might soar, no thought of bliss

Could reach them there, except to gaze intense

Upon the golden pavement. Thither hied

Ambition, deck’d with nodding plumes, and proud

In martial port. What saw he to allure

His haughty glance, amid a simple race

Content like poor Caractacus to hold

Nought but a humble hovel? Yet he snatch’d

His trophies from the savage, with a hand

More savage still, nor did his stern soul shrink

To find his laurels tarnish’d with the blood

Of Innocence. Here too the patriot came

Indignant at th’ oppressor, proud to dwell

With liberty, though on the storm-rock’d cliff,

Where the stern Eagle broods. The PoetOpen note a030-rota Note 2.— Line 45. “The Poet lur’d His muse to emigrate.” Among the colonists of New England, who came under the protection
of the son of Sir Ferdinando Gorges, in 16231623, was the Rev. William
Morrell, an Episcopal Clergyman, bearing a Commission from the Ecclesiastical
Court in England to exercise superintendancy over such
churches as might be established in the new region. He was a man of 18 18(1)v 206
classical taste, and described that part of the country which he explored, in
an elegant Latin poem, a few specimens of which are subjoined with an
attempt at translation. But he early made the discovery that the climate
was uncongenial to his favourite art, and too frigid for the expansion of
genius, and he returned to his native country, after an absence of one
year. “Hactenus ignotam populis ego carmine primus, Te Nova, de veteri cui contigit Anglia nomen, Aggredior trepidus pingui celebrare Minerva. Fer mihl numen opem, cupienti singula plectro Pandere veridico, quæ nuper vidimus ipsi: Ut brevitèr vereque sonent modulamina nostra, Temperiem cœli, vim terræ, munera ponti, Et varios gentis mores, velamina cultus. Anglia felici merito Nova nomine gaudens, Sœvos nativi mores pertœsi colini, Indigni penitùs populi tellure feraci, Mœsta superfusis attollit fletibus ora, Antiquos precibus flectens ardentibus Anglos, Numinus æterni felicein lumine gentem Efficere; ætternis, quæ nune peritura tenebris. — Sunt etenim populi minimi sermonis, et oris Austeri, risusque partim, sœvique superbi; Constricto nodis hirsuto crine sinistro, Imparibus formis tendentes ordine villos; Mollia magnanima peragentes otia gentes, Arte sagittiferâ pollentes, cursibus, armis Astutæ; recto, robusto corpore et alto, Pellibus indutæ cervinis, frigora eontra Aspera. — Num sua lunari distinguunt tempora motu, Non quot Phoœbus habet cursus, sed quot sua conjux Expletus vicibus convertat Cynthia cursus, Noctibus enumerant sua tempora, nulla diebus, Mosque düs India est inservire duobus, Quorum mollis, amans, bona dans, inimica, repellens 18(2)r 207 Unus, amore bonum vererantur: at invidus alter, Dizos effundens cum turbine, fulgura nimbos. Afficiensque malis variis morbisque nefandis, Et violentis: hune gelidà formidine adorant.” “Hail, unknown World! in shades so long enroll’d! My trembling voice reveals thee to the Old. I, of rude wit, and undistinguish’d name, Inscribe thy record on the scroll of fame, Myself a stranger, choose the stranger’s theme, And first for thee invoke the poet’s dream: Oh! may some heavenly Muse th’ attempt inspire And pour her spirit o’er my shrinking lyre. Thy genial breezes bear the blush of health, Earth spreads her gifts, and Ocean yields his wealth, Yet ’mid thy happy lot incessant sighs Heave thy pure breast, and tears distain thine eyes, Thy abject race a speechless sorrow wakes, And still thine eye its supplication makes, For some blest beam to light their hopeless tomb, And snatch their souls from everlasting gloom. —Men, spare in language, and of brow austere, Averse from laughter, and in wrath severe, Supreme in strength the stubborn bow to wield, And bold in courage ’mid the blood-stain’d field; Men of proud spirit, and of fierce design, Tho’ oft in lingering indolence supine, Swift in the race as speeds the rushing storm. With wind-swept tresses, and majestic form, Clad in rude skins that mark the hunter’s toil. Throng the dark wild, but shun a cultur’d soil. Not by the smile which ardent Phœbus gives, When to her annual goal the Earth arrives, Not by the changes of revolving Day, Their time they measure, or existence weigh: But by the lamp which gentle Cynthia burns, 18(2)v 208 As round our orb her silver axle turns, And by the march of slow majestic Night, Whose tardy vigils mock the trembling light. —Two Pow’rs unseen, their humbled hearts confess, One, full of good, omnipotent to bless, And one, in clouds who veils his awful form, His sport the lightning, and his voice the storm: And this, through fear, with abject rites adore.” Another poet, also, at a still earlier period, hazarded a transportation
to our western clime. This was Stephen Parmenias, a man of
great learning, who was born at Buda, in Hungary, about the middle
of the 1501 < x < 160016th century. For the completion of his education, he visited
the most celebrated European universities, and during his residence
in England, forming a friendship for Sir Humphrey Gilbert, the half
brother of Sir Walter Raleigh, decided to accompany him in his expedition
to America, under the patronage of Queen Elizabeth. In the
summer of 15831583, they arrived at Newfoundland, and took possession
of it, in the name of the British crown. The Hungarian poet preserved
the memory of this expedition, in an elegant Latin poem, rich
with classical allusions, but on his return to Europe the same year,
unfortunately perished in a violent storm, together with the admiral,
and nearly a hundred of the crew. The poem alluded to, and likewise
a more particular account of this interesting Hungarian, may be
found in the ninth volume of the Collections of the Massachusetts
Historical Society. lur’d

His muse to emigrate, and fondly told

Of sylvan haunts, and fairy domes; but frost

Chain’d her light pinion, and the sun-beam cast

That cold regard, which like some icy chill

Still withers genius. Here, with footsteps slow

Came calm philosophers, shunning the throng

Who waste existence in an empty chase

Of frail ephemera, to merge the soul

In solitude, as in her element

Of purest health, and pause o’er Nature’s chain

Where link by link, with mystic art she binds

Terrestrial to divine.

The Christian knelt

Upon this rocky strand, intent to build

His tabernacle where despotic pow’r

Might rear no image, and compel his soul

To offer homage—where the spirit’s eye

Might seek its sire, uncheck’d by the dire bolt

Of persecution’s thunder, and with awe

Amid the silence of his works, revere

The great Creator. Thus with varying aim

Flock’d the firm Swede, bold Danube’s patient sons,

The toiling Belgian, Albions patriot race,

And thine, Oh Caledon! blest land of song,

While fair Hibernia pour’d in throngs profuse

Her ardent offspring. Guided by the breath

Of southern gales, the bands of England steer’d

Where the proud waters of the mighty James,

And swift Potomac, mark’d the broad domain

Of great Powhatan. He more years had told

Than hoary Nestor. ThriceOpen note a031-rota Note 3.— Line 75. “Thrice had he beheld His fading race scatter’d like autumn leaves.” Powhatan told Captain Smith that he was “very old, and had seen
the death of all his people thrice, so that not one of the first generation
was living beside himself.” Mr. Jefferson, in his Notes on
Virginia, relates that at the first settlement of the English, the territories
of Powhatan, were said to comprise 8000 square miles. had he beheld

His fading race scatter’d like autumn leaves,

While he, unshorn and unsubdu’d, remain’d

King of the forest. To his region came,

Aiding the adventurous, one whose daring soul

Breath’d the high spirit of heroic deeds,

The brave, accomplish’d Smith.Open note a032-rota No. 4.— Line 81. “The brave accomplish’d Smith.” Capt. John Smith, who accompanied the Colony, which, in 16071607,
planted itself at Jamestown, displayed so many uncommon talents,
suited to the exigencies of those difficult times, that the early historians
have been eloquent in his praise. Stith, in his History of Virginia,
written in the year 14741747, records in his antiquated style, the
testimony of the soliders, and fellow-adventurers of Smith. “They
confess that in that age, there were many captains who were no
soldiers, but that he was a soldier of the true old English stamp,
who fought, not for gain or empty praise, but for his country’s
honour and the public good; that his wit, courage and success
were worthy of eternal memory; that by the mere force of his
virtue and courage, he awed the Indian kings, and made them submit
and bring presents; that notwithstanding such a stern and
invincible resolution, there was seldom seen a milder and more
tender heart than his was; that he had nothing in him counterfeit
or sly; but was open, honest, and sincere, and that they never
knew a soldier before him, so free from the military vices of wine,
tobacco, debts, dice, and oaths.” Judge Marshall, in his biography
of Washington, in describing the expedients which Capt. Smith
devised, and the dangers which he encountered for the protection
of the colony, remarks, that “he preserved his health unimpaired,
his spirits unbroken, and his judgment unclouded, amidst the genral
misery and dejection.” After his liberation from captivity by
Powhatan, he concerted measures for the safety of the colony, and
the welfare of his government, he undertook a bold expedition to
explore the waters of the Chesapeake, and to make researches into
the countries upon its shores. “He entered,” says Marshall, “most
of the large creeks, and sailed up many of the great rivers to their
falls. He made accurate observations on the extensive territories
through which he passed, and on the various tribes inhabiting
them, with whom he alternately fought, negotiated and traded.
In the various situations in which he found himself, he always
displayed judgment, courage, and that presence of mind, which is
so essential to the character of a commander; and he never failed 18* 18(3)v 210
finally to inspire the savages whom he encountered, with the most
exalted opinion of himself, and of his nation. When we consider
that he sailed above three thousand miles in an open boat; when
we contemplate the dangers, the hardships, he endured, and the
fortitude, patience, and courage with which he bore them; when
we reflect on the useful and important additions which he made to
the stock of knowledge, respecting America, then possessed by his
countrymen, we shall not hesitate to say that few voyages of discovery,
undertaken at any time, reflect more honour on those
engaged in them, than this does on Captain Smith.” His dauntless mind

And vigorous frame, scorning fatigue and toil,

Had gathered laurels from the lofty heights

Of martial Europe, from the battle fields

Of sultry Asia, where pure christian blood

Mingling with the dark tide from Turkish veins,

Had stain’d the red-cross banners.

――Buoyant Hope

Still smiling in his eye, while other brows

Were blanch’d with terror, or with wan despair

The giddy heights of Fame he had achiev’d,

The goal of strange adventure, and the maze

Of deep Romance, ere Manhood’s tingeOpen note a033-rota Note 5.— Line 92. “—ere Manhood’s tinge had bronz’d His blooming cheek.” Captain Smith was born at Willoughby in 17591759, and at the time
of his slavery in Constantinople, when most of the romantic adventures
of his life had terminated, the hero had only attained the
age of 23 years. had bronz’d

His blooming cheek. The syren charms of wealth

Cluster’d around his cradle, and the lawns

Of Willoughby, replete with genial gales

Nurtur’d his roving boyhood. There he shar’d

Sport, such as hardihood and danger love,

Though it mocks at them. From historic lore

A restless, kindling impulse caught the flame

That fir’d heroic souls; and as he bent,

A silent student o’er his daily task,

Unfetter’d fancy bore him far beyond

His island home, to rove in distant climes,

And act in other ages, with the men

Of high renown. And when his joyous youth

Mark’d with a traveller’s eye, the varied scenes

Of Europe’s grandeur, not the beauteous Seine

Winding through flow’ry vales, or crown’d with domes

Of gay Parisian luxury, nor yet

Those arts by which the patient Hollander

Props his scant birthright ’gainst usurping seas,

Nor Nature’s majesty, when on the Alps

She rests her cloudy coronet, could charm

His sanguine heart, like the red chart of war

Graven on hero’s monument, or drawn

In fearful lines upon the furrow’d earth

Where battles once were fought.

The rocky bounds

Of Caledonia next his step explor’d,

Seeking its monarch’s court; for there he thought

Amid that brave and high-soul’d race to meet

Some kindred spirits. But the pedant king,

Offspring of beauteous Mary, soon to wield

The Stuart sceptre o’er high Albion’s throne,

Allur’d by promises the youthful band

To throng around him, yet no food supplied

To cheer ambition. Smith’s impetuous sword

Spurn’d at the thistly harvest, as he sought

Once more his native halls. But not the joys

Of softening home might lure that Spartan soul

Girding its armour on. From the fair domes

Where lingering Courtesy too oft detain’d

His coldly render’d time, the youth recluse

Turn’d to the forest, and ’mid deepest shades

Chose out a silent spot. Riven from their trunks

Firm boughs of cedar with the knotty oak

He interwove, in architecture rude,

Forming a green pavilion. There he gave

His soul its favourite lore, the rudiments

Of warlike science; or on fiery steed

With glittering lance, evinc’d in graceful feat

Of manly daring, or of martial skill

His ponder’d theory. Thus the fam’d prince

Of eloquence, sublime Demosthenes,

Pent in his subterranean cell, pursued

The art he lov’d, or mid the Ocean’s roar

Utter’d its precepts. Still this close recess

Was sacred from the interrupting foot

Of Idleness, from enervating sports

And light amusements of the giddy throng;

Hither no soft indulgence gliding came

In Epicurean robe, or Beauty’s brow

Bent its keen glance of sarcasm to annoy

The military anchorite. But sounds

Of distant war, of battle grimly fought

Beneath the cloud of Turkish banners, came,

Loading the deep-ton’d gale. As the proud steed,

Long held in durance, hears the trumpet blast

And struggling, rends the earth, thus the bold youth

Undisciplin’d, unsanction’d, unrestrain’d

By sage experience, rushes on his course.

This eager zeal he strove to sanctify

With high devotion’s name, and, as he took

His rapid journey, often ask’d his heart

With angry emphasis, if it were meet

That ancient city where the Saviour pour’d

His dying blood, should bow its hallow’d head

To sacrilegious thraldom? Thus is Man

Prone with Religion’s front to dignify

His doubtful deeds, baptising in Heaven’s name

His earthly promptings.

Where Marseilles retreats

To rocky barrier,Open note a034-rota Note 6.— Line 171. “Where Marseilles retreats To rocky barrier.” Marseilles, the ancient Massilia, is situated at the foot of a
rocky mountain near the sea. Its natural advantages for commerce
were such, that its trade flourished even in the days of Gothic barbarism.
The politeness and literature of its early inhabitants,
were so conspicuous, that Livy pronounced it to have been as
much polished as if it had risen in the midst of Greece; and Cicero
denominated it the “Athens of the Gauls.” from sea-beaten shore,

’Mid thronging masts, the traveller’s glance espies

A parting sail, and up the vessel’s side

Ascends with little question. Here he found

A throng of devotees, in pilgrim’s weeds,

Bound to Loretto, there to consummate

Penance or vow.

Loudly they spake in praise

Of that fair shrine by wondering angels borne,

On outstretch’d pinions, from the Holy Land

To glad Dalmatia, and from thence transferr’d,

Pitying the toil of weary pilgrim saints,

To happy Italy. Oft they describ’d

The cell with lingering rainbowOpen note a035-rota Note 7.— Line 183. “Oft they describ’d The cell with lingering rainbow ever bright.” The niche, in which the statue of the Virgin is placed in the
Casa Santa of the church at Loretto, is adorned among other
costly declarations, with 71 large Bohemian Topazes; near it
stands an angel of cast gold, profusely enriched with gems and
diamonds; and the lustre of the precious stones with which this
cell is ornamented, has been compared by pilgrims to a rainbow. 18(4)r 211
eclipsing the lamps with which it is contrasted. The chamber,
containing this statue, is alleged by the adherents of the Romish
church, to have been carried through the air by angels in the
month of 1291-05May, 1291, from Galilee to Tersato, in Dalmatia. From
thence it was removed in the same manner, after having reposed
somewhat more than four years, and set down in a wood in
Italy, about midnight in the month of 1291-12December, where it remained
nearly 200 years, before it was noticed by any author of that
country. ever bright,

Which hath no need of sun, or silver moon,

Or glimmering lamp, and that blest Lady’s form,

The glorious Virgin, whose meek brow hath pow’r

To cancel sin: and ever as they spake

Their eye with mortified, yet curious glance

Fell on the silent warrior.—Soon recedes

The crowded mart, and fades the Gallic coast

In the faint emerald of the tideless sea,

While the refreshing and propitious gales

Swell the dilated canvas. But the day,

That sunk in smiles, rose not; so dense a cloud

Involv’d her in its canopy. Low blasts

Moan’d hollow from the bosom of the deep,

And fluttering ’mid the heavy, humid sails,

The sea-birds shriek’d. Around the feverish moon

Hung a wan circle, livid as the spot

Where aspic poison creeps. Then as the wing

Of the black tempest wav’d ’mid mutinous winds

And mighty thunders, while the reeling bark

Alternate mounted on the slippery wave,

Or roll’d in dark abysses, ye might see

Those frighted pilgrims, with dishevell’d locks

Telling their beads, and calling every saint

Of note throughout the calendar to help

Their great extremity.

The soldier thought

Of that Disciple, valiant in his faith,

Who on the mission of his Master’s will

Went bound to Rome, and on that very sea

Encounter’d shipwreck. He remember’d too

The arm that sav’d him, and upon that prop

Rested his waiting eye, while the dread storm

Woke its third day of gloom. But the stern band

Bent a dark scowling glance on him who clasp’d

No rosary, nor in such awful hour

Ave Maria utter’d; and it seem’d

To their perverted minds, that for his sin

Such evil had pursued their innocence.

Pale Superstition’s traitor eye reveal’d

Her darken’d purpose, ere its venom sprang

To the blanch’d lip, to purchase with his death

Imagin’d safety. In rash narrow minds

The blinding motive from the blasting deed

Hath no division. As the mariners

Of Tarshish hurl’d the recreant prophet forth,

So these good pilgrims in their righteous zeal

To save themselves, cast out the stranger youth

Into the raging element. Proud waves

Broke over him, but with impetuous strength

He brav’d their fury. Long the foaming surge

With head uprais’d, and firm, undaunted breast

He baffled in his might. Long unappall’d

His spirit view’d the purpose of his life

Still unaccomplish’d, and believ’d that God

Would snatch him from the deep, though all its waves

And water-spouts pass’d over him.

But day

Sunk on her couch, and Evening quench’d the light,

The feeble light, that from the billow’s crest

Had gleam’d upon the wanderer. Driven on

Like broken leaf before the blast, he seemed

A thing for storms to sport with, or the child

Of the dark surge, to which he wildly clung

As to a mother’s breast. Alone he felt,

As if in wide Creation, nought but him

Surviv’d. Cold languor o’er the springs of life

Crept slowly, ’gainst his unresisting form

Rush’d the wild wave, and his despairing ear

Heard the hoarse voice of waters and of winds,

As of a death-dirge. Midnight darkness prest

The wrathful deep, and dropping he resigns

His body to the tomb where myriads sleep,

Waiting that trump which warns the startled sea

To yield her dead. Ah! when the arm of Man

Resigns its power, the Omnipotence of God

Is nearest in deliverance. A rude shock

Convuls’d the victim’s frame, as if it broke

The Spirit’s casket on those marble rocks

Where slippery sea-weed binds the pearly cells

In depths unfathomable. His rent ear

Stunn’d by the thundering tide resigns its pain

To welcome silence, and his stiffen’d arms

Convulsive clasp the sharp and rugged rocks,

While his dim eye and fainting bosom hail

The house of Death; for thus the sufferer deem’d

That lonely isle, on whose deserted bound

God had prepar’d his refuge.

When he thought

Earth with her bars had clos’d around his pit

Forever; from that dungeon of despair

Jehovah had redeem’d him, to behold

The light among the living. There he lay

Long in Exhaustion’s trance, while the spent strom

Swept by on drooping pinion. Then look’d forth

From her deep sable arch, the timid Moon,

And saw the slumberer on that rocky beach

With bloodless cheek, and panting breast that heav’d

Heavily, in low sobs: so strong did Life

Contend, and yet so bitterly had Death

Urg’d his expected victory. Young Morn

From her bright eye such genial warmth diffus’d

That up the sleeper sprang, his humid locks

Still dripping, and his countenance illum’d

With that inert expression, which displays

Its sceptic glances, when the muscles live

Before the intellect; while the lost mind

Coming from exile, like the strong man arm’d

Findeth her mansion empty. Thus, perchance,

Beam’d the wan features of the man entomb’d,

In that first moment, when returning life,

Caught from the touch of dead Elisha’s bones,

Pervaded him: and well thy pencil’s pow’r,

Allston! hath kindled that mysterious gleam

When in brief struggle the terrestial strove

With the celestial, and dull matter mov’d

Ere the Creator’s breathing spirit gave

Pure Thought its resurrection.

Soon with eye

No longer vacant, though still unassur’d

He, who had deem’d his mortal conflict o’er,

Strove with bewilder’d toil to wake the trace

Of shipwreck’d Memory. Almost it seem’d

That the strange fable caught from Pagan loreOpen note a036-rota Note 8.— Line 302. “Almost it seem’d That the strange fable caught from Pagan lore.” The doctrines of Purgatory, which some have derived from the
Platonic fancies of Origen, the Montanism of Tertullian, pretended
visions, or doubtful expressions of the later fathers, was introduced
in part towards the close of the 0401 < x < 0500fifth century, but not positively
affirmed till the year 11401140, nor made an article of faith, till the
council of Trent.

And interwoven with the creed of Rome

Were true, and to some isolated nook

Of Purgatory, he had been comdemn’d,

To expiate the errors which had stain’d

His former being. Well this spot might seem

The broken isthmus of a middle state

Remote from joys of either world; for nought

Like cheering verdure, or reviving shade

Of pensile bough was there. No cavern deep,

Like that of Patmos, where the lov’d of God

Saw holy visions, spread a cool recess

From the sun’s fervour; and no transient gourd

Like that which shelter’d Jonah’s head, and lull’d

His dark repining, rear’d its fragile stem

To blossom for a night. But the lone isle,

One naked rock, lash’d by th’ eternal surge

Appall’d the eye. Not with such poignant woe

The solitary glance of Selkirk fell

On lone Fernandez; there were bowers of shade,

Green earth, fair plants, nutritious roots and fruits

To cheer existence, there the bounding goats

Furnish’d his household flock, the gentle kids

Lay at his feet, and fondly seem’d to claim

Companionship.

――But here was nought to break

The rayless gloom of sceptred solitude,

Nor foot of animal, nor chirp of bird,

Nor e’en a shrub, on which might hang one nest,

For the poor hermit’s heart to watch and love.

Words intermix’d with sighs at length burst forth,

And strange their utterance seem’d, where human tone

Had never woke before, the slumbering cell

Of unborn Echo――

“Ah! is this sad spot

My place of doom? No more must I behold

The countenance of man? Ne’er hear his voice

Answering to mine? Methinks the serpent’s hiss

Were music to this ever-dashing wave.

The sight of the most loath’d of Nature’s works,

Vile worm, or slimy snail, or swollen toad, 340

Were joy. Shall withering famine terminate

My dateless being on this nameless shore?

Then what avails how drear the solitude

That hangs its blackening curtain o’er a grave

Which none may visit? A dissever’d link

From vast Creation’s chain, no pitying voice

Of kindred or of friend shall e’er inquire

Whose bones lie bleaching on this blasted bourne

Of desolation. Hence! away ye hopes,

Pictur’d in childhood, treasur’d in gay youth, 350

Vain, airy bubbles! See, the lofty plans

Of proud Ambition, luring me to join

My name with heroes, see the glorious scroll

Unroll’d by Fancy, shrivel to the seal

Of blank Oblivion.”

With such groans, perchance,

Though stung to deeper agony, complain’d

The fugitive of Elba, from whose head

The crown had fall’n. His prison isle he pac’d

With frantic step, and o’er the sounding beach

Roving like maniac, tax’d with madd’ning curse

And ceaseless question, the unresting wave.

Yet was he not alone, for round him throng’d

Thin spectral shapes from Lodi’s bloody field,

From Jena, Jaffa, Borodino’s bound,

Dread Austerlitz, Marengo, Moscow’s wreck

From countless scenes they rose, and flitting sought

To gaze on their destroyer. Conscience shrunk

At solitude so populous, and Pride,

Which quell’d Remorse, wept at Ambition’s goad,

Vexing, like him of Macedon, to find

Bounds to its conquest.

Would ye ask what throng’d

The mental temple, when in frowns he rov’d

Listning indignant to the Atlantic roar

On lone St. Helena? Did Memory’s torch

Light up his past career, o’er blasted earth,

And wasted being, subjugated realms

And “seas of flame;”—Open note a037-rota Note 9.— Line 377. “And ‘seas of flame.’” Moscow, in its conflagration, was emphatically compared to an
“Ocean of flame.” or Pity bear the wail

Of childless parent, and of sireless babe?

Did pale Remorse, lifting her serpent scourge,

Come with the manes of the mighty dead

Who fell by treachery? Did despair announce

The fearful miseries of the falsely great?

Or sad Contrition wake the pungent tear

That cleanses guilt?――

Peace! for his doom is seal’d.

Man may not scan the conflict of the soul

When the chill lip drinks the last bitter drop

Of life’s exhausted cup. Man may not pass

Verdict upon the heart, which the High Judge

Alone explores. Nor should he rashly hurl

His condemnations forth, since he, himself

With all his fancied, all his just deserts,

Is but an erring, trembling candidate

For his Creator’s mercy.

Turn we now

To that lone exile on yon islet dark,

Who is the breathless struggle where fair Hope

Too weak for contest, copes with pallid Fear,

Descries a sail. Advancing where the rock

Strikes its sharp bastion farthest in the main,

His hand he waves in agony, and wastes

The remnant of his voice. Ah, see! a boat

Approaches him. Already he perceives

The quick dash of the oar, and the light foam

Rippling around its prow. Holy that sight,

As the ark’s casement to the trembling Dove

Whose weary pinion o’er the shoreless waste

Droop’d as in death. Not once the exile thought

If friend or foe approach him, the proud Turk,

Or wily Arab, or brute Algerine,

All the stern ills that man inflicts on man,

Slavery, or galley-chain, or ceaseless toil

Seem’d in that hour of wild emotion, light

To everduring loneliness. The voice

Of Man once more accosts him, a kind arm

Supports his feeble steps to reach the boat

And scale the vessel’s side, while fainting, pale,

And speechless, he admits the tide of joy

To whelm his soul. Stretch’d on the ready couch,

Reviv’d with welcome cordials and the tone

Of sympathy, the sufferer’s heart expands

In boundless gratitude, to that blest Pow’r,

Who snatch’d him from his dungeon; while the bands

Of courteous France, who listened to his tale,

Exulting, that their gallant ship had sav’d

A fellow-creature, merg’d in that pure joy

The light aversion which their native coast.

And sea-girt Albion cherish. Long they cruis’d

O’er the untroubled waters, mark’d the coast

Of sultry Afric, caught the fragrant gales

That fan Sicilian vineyards, cross’d the tide

Of the rough Adriatic, steer’d with care

Amid Ionian quicksands, and beheld

The Ægean wave with sprinkled lustre bright

Of emerald islets, where the classic Muse

Delights to linger. There old Tenedos

Frown’d upon ruin’d Ilion; Lemnos hush’d

Her Cyclopean forge; while Lesbian heights

Still seem’d to echo to Alcæus’s harp,

And Sappho’s fond complaint. There Samos spread

Her beauteous harbours o’er the violent wave,

While in perspective soft, her green fields gleam’d

In semi-annual harvest,Open note a038-rota Note 10.— Line 441. “There Samos spread Her beauteous harbours o’er the violet wave, While in perspective soft her green fields gleam’d In semi-annual harvest.” Between Samos and Icaria, the intensely deep blue colour of
the water has been noticed by voyagers; and in the Childe
Harolde of Lord Byron, it is denominated the “dark blue sea.”
Athenæus relates, that in Samos, the fig-trees, apple-trees, rose-
trees, and vines, bore fruit twice in a year. rich with tints

Of purple light; the clustering Cyclades

Girt in their rocky zone the Delphic isle

No more oracular, where glowing clouds

Of golden lustre, ting’d with crimson dies,

Canopy pure Parnassus.

――Rosy Rhodes,Open note a039-rota Note 11.— Line 446. “Rosy Rhodes.” The etymology of Rhodes, has been sought in the Greek word
“Rhodon”, signifying a rose, with which flower that island 18(4)v 212
abounded. The classical traveller, Clarke, observes, “from the
number of appellations it has borne at different periods, it might
at last have received the name of the Polynoman Island. It has
been called Ophiusa, from the number of its serpents; Telchynis;
Corymbria; Trinacria; Æthræa, from its cloudless sky; Asteria,
because at a distance its figure appears like that of a star; Poessa;
Atabyria; Oloessa; Macaria, and Pelagia. Some are of opinion
that Rhodes was first peopled by the descendants of Dodanim, the
fourth son of Javan. Both the Septuagint and Samaritan translation
of the Pentateuch, instead of Dodanium use Rodonim; and
by this appellation the Greeks always distinguished the Rhodians.”

No longer by its proud Colossus mark’d

Stretch’d its triangular scale, as if to catch

Those golden show’rsOpen note a040-rota Note 12.— Line 449. “Those golden showers which testified the love Of ardent Phœbus.” The exuberant fertility of the soil of this island gave occasion
to those fables embellished by the poets, of golden showers which
they pretended to have fallen upon it. They feigned also a story of
the love of Phœbus for Rhodes, and asserted it to have been an uninhabitable
marsh, until it was loved by him, and drawn from the
waters by his powerful influence. But now, under Turkish oppression,
the island no longer merits the appellation of “fortunate”; and
the golden showers of fiction, are changed to the iron influence of
tyranny and desolation. which testified the love

Of ardent Phœbus; while the Cretan vales

Cloth’d with their fruitage fair the awful base

Of that stern mountain, boastful of the birth

Of Jove the Thunderer.

Towards the setting Sun

Their course they bend, when, ploughing o’er the deep

Her transverse path with heavy laden keel,

A ship they spy, whose waving colours spoke

Of haughty Venice. Hasting they prepare

For naval combat. Decks are clear’d, light sails

Furl’d, lest their playful wantonness impede

Decisive action, while those engines dire

Which flash destruction o’er the echoing wave,

Unlash’d are levell’d, and from their deep vents

The tompions drawn. Inspir’d with warlike joy

The soul of Smith rush’d to his eagle eye,

Darting unwonted lightnings. Every spot

He seem’d to traverse; now, in grave debate

Consulting with the Master, how to pour

With best effect their battery on the foe;

Now, gliding o’er the deck with watchful glance

Of keen insepction; now, into the souls

Of wondering Frenchmen pouring that proud zeal

Which nerves a British tar. Thus the bold king,

Harry of Monmouth, cheer’d his doubting troops

For Agincourt’s dread field; with his gay smile

Inspiring courage, brightening the wan brow

Of Apprehension, while his valorous heart

Impatient chode the interrupting night

Which “like a foul and ugly witch did limp

So lazily away.” Short space was here

In this wild contest on the briny plain

For courtesy or signal of attack:

The volleying broadsides deal Destruction’s blast,

Life fled in purple streams, but still the wrath

Of Man subsided not. The shivering masts,

And sides transpierc’d, witness in fearful wounds

The strife of human passions, when they war

And yield not.

From the Gallic ship, a band

Forth sally, bright their boarding axes shine

Through sable wreaths of smoke, while they essay

With vigorous action to ascend the deck

Of the Venetian. Clamorous blows resound

And shouts outrageous, till the invaders, hurl’d

Back from their slippery footing, darkly plunge

Beneath the redd’ning element. Yet see!

Another band, unaw’d by Danger’s front,

Dare the same fate, with desperate ardour fir’d,

And o’er the bowsprit rushing to the deck,

Wade through their comrade’s blood.

How can I paint

The features of that scene? My pencil shrinks

From dies so deep! Oh! ’twas a fearful sight

To souls who love not carnage, to behold

God’s image in the human form so marr’d,

And his blest work defac’d. The deed was done,

The hoarse, terrific din of battle o’er,

But many a gallant man, whose warm lip p our’d

Impetuous words to urge the contest on,

Saw not the victory, nor heard the shout

When Venice struck to France. O’er the smooth wave

Her trackless course the victor ship pursued;

Not quite unscath’d; but, as the knight, return’d

From tournament, heeds not his batter’d helm,

And sever’d cuirass, nor the puny wounds

That goad his side, since ever in his mind

The vivid image of his unhors’d foe

Banishes pain and loss. The exulting crew

Boastful in garrulous joy, incessant trac’d

Their chart of conquest, emulous to meet

A second enemy. But the lone youth,

Whose changeful fortunes we pursue, oft sigh’d

For sweet release from durance on the wave,

And like a landman pin’d, whene’er he thought

Of the pure verdure, and salubrious breeze,

And busy haunts, where answering voices blend

In cheering echo. Him at lenghtth they sent,

In feeble boat to that delightful shore

Which spread a refuge for the Hero’s toil,

Who from Troy’s flame, wild ocean’s adverse surge

And Juno’s harsh inexorable hate

Scap’d through long wanderings.

Glad th’ enfranchis’d youth

Mark’d the rough line of that peninsular coast,

Enraptur’d revell’d in the firm support

Of Earth, his mother, and once more beheld

Her brilliant garments, and alluring fruits,

With joy unutterable. Soon his course

In eager speed toward Rome’s imperial seat

He pointed; for in boyhood’s brightest hour

Thither, on Fancy’s pinion, had he flown

To search and question Cesar’s sepulchre:

And thither now, half doubting, as if dreams

Involv’d him in their tissue, he arriv’d.

With reverence gaz’d he on the Queen of earth,

Who in the mouldering of her gorgeous robes,

And ancient diadem, still rose in pomp

Of dread magnificence. His rapt eye saw

In warrior vision, when with sceptred pride,

Seated upon her seven-hill’d throne, she cast

The rays of her dominion on the wings

Of the unresting Sun, and bade them reach

All realms that saw his light. With pausing step

Alone he wander’d, ’mid those mighty wrecks

Which Man had consecrated, but old Time

Respected not, and bade the unsightly weed

And slimy snail deface. Anon he mark’d

Strong massy fabricks, on whose fronts sublime

Dwelt hoar Antiquity, ruling the wrath

And spoil of ages. There unnumber’d fanes

Tower’d in the gracefulness of modern skill,

Where cluster’d columns rear’d their cornice fair,

And fretted architrave, th’ Ionic chaste,

Time-honour’d Doric, or Corinthian rich,

Or simple Tuscan. The admiring youth

Mark’d with a gaze intense of wondering awe

Vespasian’s Coliseum, where, the GothOpen note a041-rota Note 13.— Line 563. “Vespasian’s Coliseum, where the Goth,— Stood in amazement.” The Coliseum, sometimes called the Flavian amphitheatre, was
commenced by Flavius Vespasian, in the year 007272, but finished by
Titus, who employed upon it such of the Jews, as were brought in
slavery to Rome. This vast structure was viewed with wonder by
the Gothic conquerors; and the venerable Bede records a proverbial
expression of the pilgrims of the north, by which in the 0701 < x < 08008th
century they testified their admiration: “As long as the Coliseum
stands, will Rome stand, when the Coliseum falls, Rome must fall,
and with Rome, the world shall fall.”

Who led his barbarous legions to the spoil

Of the despis’d magnificence of Rome,

Stood in amazement――

That Ellipsis vast

Reveal’d the hand of Titus, who resum’d

The work his dying sire left unfulfill’d.

From those arcades, those pillars that embrace

Within their pond’rous and wide-stretching grasp

That spacious ampitheatre, erst rose,

As from the Egyptian house of bondage, sighs

Of captive Israel, labouring and oppress’d;

Though no deliverer, call’d by Heaven, came forth

From his rush cradle on the turbid stream

To break their yoke. Still might the eye recall

Through mist of gath’ring ages, through the wreck

Of Devastation’s wantonness,Open note a042-rota Note 14.— Line 578. “—through the wreck Of Devastation’s wantonness.” Notwithstanding the Coliseum had in various instances been the subject
of dilapidation, had furnished stone for the construction of the Farnese
Palace, by Michael Angelo, and had even been thrown open as a
common quarry, in the 1301 < x < 140014th century, for the use of the multitude, yet in
the middle of the 1501 < x < 160016th century, its exterior circumference of 1612 feet
still remained inviolate, and a triple elevation of fourscore arches was preserved,
rising to the height of 108 feet. that spot

Where the pavilion, with its purple pomp,Open note a043-rota Note 15.— Line 579. “Where the pavilion with its purple pomp.” Persons of the highest dignity had places assigned to them in a part of
the ampitheatre called the Podium, near the centre of which was the
Imperial Pavilion, lined with silk, and embellished in the most splendid
manner.

And proud, imperial blazonry, enshrin’d

The dignity of Rome; still might it mark

The Cunei,Open note a044-rota Note 16.— Line 582. “The Cunei, dividing with strict care Patrician from Plebeian.” The Cunei distinguished the seats appointed for the different classes of
the people, so that every one might be conducted to the place allotted, by
the laws of the ampitheatre, to his respective rank. The strictest attention
was exercised, lest any might obtain a dignity of station to which he
was not entitled; and the Cunei were under the direction of officers called
Locarii, while the general care of the Coliseum was entrusted to the
grand Villicus amphitheatri. dividing with strict care

Patrician from Plebeian, even in sports

Whose baseness levell’d all to the same rank

Of degradation, weighing jealously

Each vain distinction; there might still be trac’d

The radiatory passages, where throng’d

Crown’d Emperors, and savage beasts, and men

Abject as they; and there stood gaping wide

Those Vomitories,Open note a045-rota Note 17.— Line 590. “Those Vomitories, whence the noisy crowd Issu’d abrupt.” The entrances to the passages and stair-cases were styled Vomitories;
and the crowd passing through them to witness favourite exhibitions was
immense. Justus Lipsius asserts, that the Coliseum was capable of accommodating
87,000 spectators on benches; and Fontana added 22,000
for the galleries, stair-cases, and passages. On the ground plan, the exterior 18(5)v 214
surface of the ellipsis covered a superficies of 246,661 feet, (more
than five and a half acres,) and consisted of eighty arches, opening into a
spacious double corridor, from whence radiated eighty passages and staircases,
leading either to two inner corridors, to the arena, or to the galleries.
whence the noisy crowd

Issu’d abrupt. Swept by winds of Heaven

Was that vast structure, open to the wrath

Of raging elements; no more was rear’d

The spreading Velum’sOpen note a046-rota Note 18.— Line 594. “The spreading Velum’s gorgeous canopy.” At the summit of the Flavian amphitheatre was a sixth story, or rather
floor, appropriated to those who managed the Velum, which was an awning
of various colours, occasionally stretched to protect the audience from
rain, or the heat of the sun, and which, by means of cords and pullies,
could be extended or withdrawn at pleasure. gorgeous canopy

To shelter from the solar beam, or storm

Those pitiless throngs, deep gazing on the scenes

Of inhumanity. There, with vigorous arm

And rigid muscles, nerv’d to utmost strength

By uncomplaining Agony, wild wrath,

Undaunted courage, or intense despair,

Fought the stern Gladiators: Open note a047-rota Note 19.— Line 601. “Fought the stern Gladiators.” The combats of Gladiators, were early exhibited at Rome, and the
people became so strongly attached to these entertainments, that the emperors
found it polite to indulge their barbarous taste. Julius Cæser,
during his ædileship, gratified the populace with combats between 320 pair
of gladiators; and Gordian, before the imperial purple was conferred upon
him, gave those shows twelve times in a year, in some of which 500
couple were engaged. Titus exhibited a show of gladiators, wild beasts,
and representations of sea-fights upon the Coliseum, which lasted 100
days, and Trajan continued an exhibition of the same nature during one
third of a year, in the course of which he brought out 10,000 gladiators.
The masters, by whom these miserable combatants were instructed in the
science of defence, forced them to swear that they would fight till death,
and if they displayed cowardice, they were made to expire by fire, sword,
or whips, unless the voice of the emperor, or the people, gave them life. stung to rage,

The lordly Lion, the mad Elephant,

The foaming Tyger, the Hyena fierce,

Baffled the hunter’s skill, or madly rush’d

Upon his spear, champing with bloody jaws

The murderous weapon. And alas! how oft

Drank that Arena’s dust the peaceful tide

Flowing from christian veins, when strong in faith

Those holy victims, pouring forth pure pray’rs

For persecuting foes, were given a prey

To monster’s teeth.

There thou didst yield thy breath,

Ignatius, mitred prelate of that church,

Which firstOpen note a048-rota Note 20.— Line 613. “Which first upon its sacred banner bore The name of Christ.” “The disciples were first called Christians at Antioch.”— Acts xi.
26. Ignatius was the second bishop of this church, and, according to
Eusebius, succeeded Euodius, near the close of the 0001 < x < 0100first century after the
death of Christ. He suffered martyrdom in the amphitheatre at Rome, 18(6)r 215
during the persecution of Trajan; and was venerated, even among his foes,
for his years and piety. upon its sacred banner bore

The name of Christ. Full on thy rapt ear pour’d

The melody of heaven,Open note a049-rota Note 21.— Line 615. “Full on thy right ear pour’d The melody of Heaven.” Ignatius was the first who introduced antiphonal singing among the
churches of the East, which, according to Socrates, the ecclesiastical historian,
he first learnt from a vision, in which the glorified spirits of heaven
appeared, singing in alternate meaasures, hymns of praise to the Everlasting
Trinity. where the blest choir

With harp and voice, in high alternate swell

Hymn’d the Eternal, till thy tranced soul

Wrapt in extatic vision, scorn’d the bounds

Of Earth’s low confine. But a martyr’s doom

Awaited thy decline; and thou didst meet

Its pangs, rejoicing that thy sould should haste

To its reward, while high devotion’s pray’r

Ascended for the parricides who rent

Thy feeble span. Methinks the Lions pause

In their career. Did thine uplifted eye

Intently fix’d on Heaven imbibe new beams

Of awful lustre, till brute Instinct shrank

To mar that kneeling form, and clot with blood

Those silver locks?

Yet there was Beauty’s eye,

Gazing unmov’d upon the ghastly wound,

And gasping bosom; hearts, which should have been

At every scene of woe, as liquid balm

Distill’d in Pity’s heavenly dew, grew hard,

Grew obdurate as the flame-temper’d steel,

Till female softness turn’d her exile foot

From pagan Rome――

Sick’ning at thoughts like these

The youth with fond enthusiasm rush’d to seek

Trajan’s fair victor column, where it rear’d

Its tow’ring shaft, pure as the snows that crown

The Alpine heights. Its pedestal display’d

Four birds of Jove, depending from whose beaks

In rich luxuriance flow’d the laurel wreath,

And ah! so well those polish’d leaflets twin’d

Their slender fibres, with so light a grace

Ruffled the Eaglet’s plumage, that the art

Of bold Apollodorus seem’d to have taught

The cold and steadfast marble how to vie

With nature’s life and beauty. There the youth

Knelt in low reverence, while in ardent tone

Burst forth his homage from unconscious lips—

“Awful and glorious Man! at whose dread name

Trembled far distant realms, while haughty Rome

Wove it with stars into her diadem,

Gem of her pride, and bond of loyalty.

Subjected Dacia felt thy vengeful sword,

Assyria was thy suppliant, the arm’d throngs

Of wide Armenia, the infuriate hordes

From Mesopotamian mountains, and the tribes

Barbarous and rude, from where the Euxine roars

To the vex’d Caspian, bent with vassal awe 660

Th’ imploring glance on thee. Thy curb controul’d Open note a050-rota Note 22.— Line 661. “Thy curb controul’d The tossing Danube.” Trajan, in the year 0104104, constructed a bridge over the Danube, which
was long admired as a relic of antiquity. After his conquest of Assyria,
he descended the Tigris with his fleet, and had the honour of being both
the first and the last Roman general who navigated the Indian Ocean.

The tossing Danube, and with force sublime

Treading the trackless deep, thy lofty prow

First to old Ocean’s angry billows taught

Rome’s will to reign.”

Ling’ring o’er Trajan’s fame

In contemplation deep, the abstracted youth

Hung with a soldier’s rapture; then with eye

Dazzled and dimm’d by countless monuments

That mark the lost illustrious, he explor’d

The arch of Titus, Open note a051-rota Note 23.— Line 670. “The arch of Titus, rich with victories O’er humbled Judah.” The arch of Titus is of the composite order, and represents upon its
frieze his conquest of Judea, a delineation of the river Jordan, with the
captives who attended his triumph, and the spoil and sacred utensils from
the desolated temple. rich with victories

O’er humbled Judah. There with sinuous trace

O’er the fair sculpture, rapid Jordan rov’d,

While on its banks the weeping captives throng’d,

With heads declin’d. And there were sacred spoils

Scatter’d in careless triumph, the high trump

Whose silver sound warn’d to the Jubilee,

The golden Candlestick, whose wreathed branch

Fed with pure oil, shed o’er the sancutary

Unsullied light, the table consecrate

To the shew-bread, which none but holy hands

Might touch unsinning, the mysterious ark,

The fearful tables of the Eternal Law,

The sacrificial altar, ah! what pangs

Wrung thee, deserted Zion, when these spoils

Were won by Rome. Thy broken, ruin’d towers,

Thy reeking stones, thy city furrow’d deep

By Desolation’s ploughshare, the dire cross,

Stern sword, gaunt Famine, sated with thy sons,

And that majestic, dedicated dome,

The temple of Jehovah, given to feed

The Gentile flame, and thy weak remnant made

A hissing, an astonishment, a taunt

To every nation; how these countless woes,

Immeasurable as th’ unfathom’d sea,

Announce thy guilt, and verify the truth

Of Him who cannot err; and will they not,

Oh! thou afflicted, tempest-tost, despis’d

And reft of comfort, will they not at length

Ope thy blind eye to Him, whom didst pierce

And crucify, that thou mitght’st mourn and live?

Who with a traveller’s eye can search the bounds

Of Rome, nor pause to muse upon the tomb

Of Adrian, asking the insensate winds,

How they can winnow as unhallow’d dust

Its consecrated glory? Who can shun

To gaze upon the lofty column rear’d

To pious Antonius, by the hand

Of good Aurelius, sharer of his fame

Virtue and dignity, who early wiseOpen note a052-rota Note 24.— Line 709. “—who early wise Learnt with a philosophic sway to quell The passions’ mutiny.” Marcus Aurelius Antoninus, who erected the celebrated Antonine
column, to the memory of Antoninus Pius, made such great and early
proficiency in his studies, that at the age of twelve years he assumed the
philosophical gown. With the gravity of a philosopher he blended no
severity, but continued virtuous without pride, and gave without melancholy.
Such was the enthusiasm of his gratitude to those who had aided 18(6)v 216
him in the pursuits of knowledge, that he kept their images of gold in his
domestic chapel, and offered garlands of flowers at their tombs.

Learnt with a philosophic sway to quell

The passions’ mutiny. Ev’n hoary Time

Reveres that fabric, and commands the years

That in their revolution blindly wield

Destruction’s besom, and exulting stamp

Oblivion’s seal, to spare that marble spire

Its simple beauty, nor to rend the pile

Which bears the second Numa’s spotless fame.

Half sunk in Earth, the wanderer trac’d his arch

Who on fair Albion’s isle resign’d his breath,

Septimius Severus.

――Dark with throngs

Of flying Parthians, was its scroll sublime;

But gathering ages, dense with mouldering dust,

Obscur’d the Hero’s emblem, with keen touch

Corroding what the impotence of Man

Pronounc’d immortal. With a statelier front,

Just where the dark base of the Cælian Mount

Confronts the Palatine, tower’d the white arch

Of the blest christian Emperor, Constantine, Open note a053-rota Note 25.— Line 728. “—the blest christian Emperor Constantine.” The splendid reign of Constantine, when the Church past from a state
of suffering to one of comparative power, when she was appointed to
“arise from the dust, and put on her beautiful garments,” is well known
to every reader of ecclesiastical history. Among the triumphs of Christianity
which shed lustre on the annals of this prosperous prince, may be
numbered the prohibition of the barbarous spectacles of gladiators, which
was decreed by him in the East, on the 0325-10-01first of October 325, and by
Theodoric in the West, about the year 0500500.

Who bade the sword of persecution cease

To vex the bleeding church. There paus’d the youth,

Reviewing the recorded tints that glow’d

Of memory’s tablet; for his soul was proud

To bold communion with the awful shades

Of Emperors, and warriors, and stern Chiefs

Who rul’d the rage of battle. With less joy

Gaz’d he upon the fountains, sumptuous squares,

Rich palaces, majestic obelisks;

Beheld the vaunted Vatican display

Its pomp of painting, and time-honour’d scrolls

Innumerable; and even with slighter touch

Of strong emotion, mark’d that Basilick

Rising in deep and dread magnificence,

Beneath whose lofty dome pale Awe turns cold,

Offering a while, her trembling consciousness

Upon Devotion’s altar.

Yet not long

Might spirit so active be content to dwell

Amid the tombs and mouldering monuments

Of buried glory. The hoarse blast of War

Kindling its ardour to the thrill of Joy,

Warn’d it away.

To throng’d Vienna’s bound

The soldier went, for there were martial sounds,

Mustering of mighty men, shrill trumpets’ blast,

Hoarse clang of armour, neigh of prancing steed,

Where brave Count Meldrich gallantly review’d

His gather’d legions. Strongly reinforc’d

By Transylvania’s Duke, their blended aim

Against the Turk was destin’d, he who holds

In cruel thraldom, those delightful plains

Where ancient Greece her band illustrious rear’d

Of heroes and of sages.

There thy sword

Still glitters, Ypsilante!—May it deal

To the oppressor, justice, like the brand

Of mighty Scanderberg! Open note a054-rota Note 26.— Line 763. “—like the brand
Of mighty Scanderberg.” The interesting scene of modern Greece contending with her oppressors,
for her ancient birthright, and her long-trampled liberty, leads the mind
back to the noble exploits of Scanderberg the Great, Prince of Albania.
He was sent, when young, as a hostage to Amurath II. by his father,
who held his territory in subjection to the Turkish government. Here
he received the best education consistent with the Mahometan system,
and so early distinguished himself for courage and military ability, that
he received the command of a body of troops, at the age of eighteen.
The death of his father in 14321432, filled him with an unconquerable desire
to redeem his native principality from Turkish thraldom. Attending the
Mahometan army into Hungary, he entered into an alliance with the celebrated
Huniades, king of that country, and soon after began to contend
for the liberties of Albania. After many years of warfare with Mahomet
II. the successor of Amurath, he established his dominion, and compelled
his foes to propose conditions of peace. His invincible courage was acknowledged
throughout Europe; and in him the spirit of the ancient
heroes and conquerors of Greece seems to have been revived. He died at the
age of 63, and from that period Albania has been the subject of Turkish
oppression. Even foes were constrained to pay homage to the valour and
greatness of Scanderberg, and when they besieged Lissa, the place of his 19(1)r 217
sepulchre, they disinterred his bones, and had them set in silver, viewing
them as precious relics and powerful amulets. he who beheld

The sad Albanian weeping in his hut,

Saw from his famish’d babes the morsel torn

By stern rapacity, and nerv’d his arm

For righteous vengeance. Prince! Be Him thy guide

Who crown’d with victory Judah’s prayerful King,

When the swarth Ethiops, and fierce Lubims came

Like lions, in their insolence to wreck

The shepherd’s fold. Oh! is there not a time

In His eternal counsels, who doth break

The Tyrant’s yoke, when the sword-planted faith

Of Mecca’s dark imposter from its root

Shall perish? when the desolating rod

Of the vile Painim, shall no longer bruise

Earth’s fairest climes? Behold it darkly press

The realm belov’d of Science, where her eye,

First waking from its cradle slumbers, scann’d

A globe benighted; see it crush the race

Whom Xerxes might not conquer, where the arts

Like quenchless stars, their constellation wreath’d

Round laurell’d Liberty: and lo! it threats

The Holy Land, like that portentous star

In the red skies o’er Zion’s ’leagur’d height,

When Rome’s dire Eagles hasted to their meat.

It subjugates that land, once bright illum’d

By blest Salvation’s day-star, by the eye

Of priests and prophets, by the glowing wings

Of angel visitants, by the dread robe

Of the Eternal: hallow’d by the steps

Of Him of Nazareth, as forth he went

Seeking the lost, where palm-crown’d Olivet

Responded in low murmurs to his sigh

Of midnight pray’r, where sad Gethsemane

Receiv’d affrighted on her humid soil

The dews of agony, and Calvary

Bowing beneath the awful wrath of Heaven,

Shook to her inmost centre, at the voice

“Father! forgive!”

But now the kindling war

Assum’d a front of horrour. Siege on siege

Baffled the Turk’s endurance, and confirm’d

The Christian courage. Fortified in vain,

Alba-Regalis, Open note a055-rota Note 27.— Line 804. “Alba-Regalis and Olumpagh fell Shaming the Moslem.” “During the sieges of Olumpagh, and Alba-Regalis, young Smith was
the projector of stratagems, and the conductor of certain modes of attack,
which manifested an unusual talent for the art of war, and rendered the
most essential services to the Christain cause. The command of a horse,
and the rank of first major, were conferred on him, as an acknowledgement
of his high desert.”—Biography of Capt. Smith. and Olumpagh fell,

Shaming the Moslem. Mid the warrior band,

Who by undaunted bravery, or skill

In varying strategem, serv’d to sustain

The rising fortunes of the Christian arms

Smith stood conspicuous, while around his brow

The hard won laurels cluster’d.

――Once, a siege

Protracted long, inflated with base pride

The renegade garrison. Then forth

From those invested walls, there proudly came

A haughty champion, as in older time

Philistia sent her giant to defy

The host of Israel. With insulting taunt

Rang his loud challenge; and amid the swords

That from their scabbards started to avenge

The holy cross aspers’d, the boon was given

To the exulting youth, whose fate we trace.

The contest came, and proudly on his lance

Bears he his country’s honour. From the height

Of giddy rampart, thousand sunny eyes

Of ardent beauty, thousand helmed brows

Bend anxious o’er th’ arena.

Rang’d around

Upon the brow of an opposing hill

In moony crescet stretch’d the bands of Christ,

While many a silent, interceding pray’r

Invokes the God of battles. The bold youth,

Whose burnish’d armour glitter’d in the ray

Of the resplendent Sun, while sable plumes

Like a dark cloud wav’d o’er his polish’d helm,

A second Hector seem’d. Strongly he reins

His fiery courser, and with spear in rest

Awaits his foe. He comes, and furious wrath,

Mingled with scorn, inspires him, as he hurls,

His dark defiance.

The loud trumpet blast

Breathes the appointed signal. They advance,

They meet as ligtning, and the unhors’d Turk

Rolls in his hearts-blood. From the ramparts rose

A howl of horrour when that champion fell,

As the hoarse watch-dog, in his vigil drear,

Bays the cold moon. But hast’ning to the field

Another foe appears. Towering and strong,

Like mighty Ajax; his red eye-ball dealt

Bitter derision, as Goliath scowl’d

Upon the stripling David. Strictly curb’d

His mighty war-horse, with indignant rage,

Foams at restraint, ejects the wreathed smoke

From his spread nostril, and with armed hoof

Spurns the rent ground. They meet in fatal shock,

Their steeds recoil! God nerves the Christian’s arm,

And on the earth the mail’d Colossus lay

Gnashing his teeth in death. The victor rode

Unhurt the dread arena: but, behold!

A third appears. Less furious than the last,

Yet more tremendous than the first, he rears

His front of hatred, while his measur’d step

Wary he rules, watchful, but yet serene

As cautious Fabius. Almost it might seem

As if those fallen foes, dissatisfied

To die but once, had risen, and blent in him

Their various lineaments, pleas’d to create

A worse antagonist. On either side

Hung tremulous expectancy, o’er those

Who watch’d the combat.—

Thus stood ancient Rome,

And haughty Alba, with such gaze intense,

Breathless, and leaning on th’ ensanguin’d spear,

When rose the last Horatius, in the blood

Of his two weltering brothers, to confront

The twin Curiatii.—

Gallantly they met

At word of herald, but with careful eye

Adjusting the career, and with firm hand

Guiding the spear shock. Lo! the Turkish steed

Plunges without his rider, and a groan

Bursts from the city’s height, responded long

In fitful shrillness, like the female wail

Over some favourite knight, whom minstrels style

The flower of chivalry. The deed was done.

The prize of conquest gain’d. No other foe

Again would dare that fatal tournament,

Nor e’en the insatiate soul of Mahomet

Could longer parley. Loud the shrill-ton’d trump

In pomp of chivalry announc’d the youth

Thrice victor; tears and acclamations greet

His glad return, while honours and rewards Open note a056-rota Note 28.— Line 886. “—while honours and rewards Whelm him in rich profusion.” Smith, at his return from this eventful tournament, was attended by
6000 men at arms to the pavilion of the general, where he received the
most flattering reception, and was presented with a noble war-horse, richly
caparisoned, and a scimitar and belt of great value. The Duke of Transylvania
gave him his own miniature set in gold, accompanied with the
kindest expressions of regard, and issued letters patent of nobility, giving
him for his arms three Turks’ heads, emblazoned on a shield. These
were afterwards recorded in the herald’s office in England, and became
the permanent arms of Smith and his descendants.

Whelm him in rich profusion. Ah! but Man,

Brief Man, when in the spring-tide of his Fame,

Oft sees the ebbing flood forsake those sands

Wher Joy had spread her sail; oft hears the blast

Awake against his glory, and disperse

The light ephemeron. From heaps of slain,

In dark, disastrous hour the youth is drawn, Open note a057-rota Note 29.— Line 893. “From heaps of slain In dark disastrous hour the youth is drawn Half lifeless.” This was at the unfortunate engagement of Rottenton, in 16021602, when
the carnage of the Christian army was very extensive. Smith was left
on the field among the dead, but the pillagers perceiving that he still
breathed, and supposing from the elegance of his armour, that his ransom
would be ample, took great pains to restore his life. After this was
effected, and no one sought his redemption, he was sold at auction with
other prisoners, and purchased by a bashaw, as a present to his mistress,
a lady of distinguished beauty.

Half lifeless, pierc’d with wounds, while foeman’s care

Solicits his revival, and preserves

Existence, reft of Liberty.

At length

Restor’d, he tastes of Slavery’s bitter dregs,

And with revolting heart beholds the domes

Of high Constantinople, thither sent

A Bashaw’s present to his lady love,

The fair Charitza. He with patient care,

Wrought in her beauteous garden, propp’d the trees

Laden with fruit, twin’d the luxuriant vines

Round fairy arches, cheer’d the imprison’d birds,

Or bore fresh water to the thirsty flowers.

Him, at his toil, the maiden oft observ’d

From her high lattice, where the fragrant gale

Murmur’d through painted vases; oft admir’d

His noble mien, and manly, graceful form,

With partial eye. And often would she muse

And wonder, if in his dear native land,

A mother he had left, a sister fond,

To weep for him, or if a stronger tie

Binding the heart-strings, forc’d some maid to pine

At his long absence. Then her plaintive lute

With thrilling softness she would touch, and wake

Some simple strain of captive youth, who won,

His Lady’s heart, and how the lovers fled

A father’s frown, to some green isle of rest

Gay with perennial roses. Then her glance

Would rest upon the youth, whose features beam’d

With lustre, which the cloud of slavery

Strove vainly to eclipse, and she would sigh

She knew not wherefore; then indignant, wish

That he were not a Christian, and retire,

Perchance, to dream of him.

But other bonds

Than those of dalliance, were ordain’d to bind

His lofty soul. Driv’n from the beauteous shades Open note a058-rota Note 30.— Line 928. “Driven from the beauteous shades.” The partiality of Charitza exciting the jealousy of her mother, Smith
was sent into Tartary, to her brother, the timor-bashaw of Nalbrits, on
the Palus Mœotis.

Where soft Charitza render’d durance light,

He bends a vassal to the lordly sway

Of her stern brother. Here he learnt the toils

That wait the slave; contemptuous, bitter Scorn,

Unceasign Labour, and the gloomy waste

Of rifled Hope. Oppression’s galling chain

Wrought no despair, but urged th’ indignant soul

To vengeful madness. When the tyrant’s wrath

Heap’d insolence with outrage, his bold hand

Aveng’d it in his blood,Open note a059-rota Note 31.— Line 938. “When the tyrant’s wrath Heap’d insolence with outrage, his bold hand Aveng’d it in his blood.” Smith, exasperated by the personal brutalities of his master, struck
him dead with a threshing bat, in his barn, about a league from his mansion.
Burying the body beneath the straw, he arrayed himself in the
clothes of the dead bashaw, mounted his horse, and with only a knapsack
of corn for his subsistence, fled for three days with the utmost precipitation
through the deserts of Circassia. Accidentally finding the main road to
Muscovy, he travelled upon it 16 days, under the greatest pressure of
hunger and fatigue, until he reached a garrison on the Russian frontier,
where he found a safe refuge and a cordial welcome. as Moses’ zeal

Slew mocking Egypt’s supercilious son,

And bid him in the sand. The flying youth,

An apprehensive fugitive, the prey

Of meagre Famine, rov’d Circassian wilds,

Nor dar’d ev’n with a trembling voice to hail

His blood-bought Liberty, till in the walls

Of Russia’s frontier, he receiv’d the hand

Of pitying Friendship. Then, as if on wings

With which the liberated bird ascends

The trackless fields of ether, he survey’d

Europe’s exhaustless stores, Open note a060-rota Note 32.— Line 949. “—he survey’d Europe’s exhaustless stores.” After taking a range through various countries of Asia and Europe,
he met at Leipsic his faithful patron, the Duke of Transylvania, who
presented him with 1500 ducats to repair his decaying finances, and furnished
him with letters of recommendation, setting forth his military services.
He then took an extensive circuit through Germany, France and
Spain. He passed also into Africa, and was allured, says his biographer,
“by the rumours of war, and the native affinity of his mind for dangers,
to spend some time at the court of Morocco.” This must have been at
the period of those competitions for the sovereignty which succeeded the
death of Muley Achmet in 16031603, and which were finally decided by the
succession of his youngest son, Muley Sidon, who reigned until the year
16301630. and o’er the sea

When once like Jonah he had been cast forth

To the wild fury of the elements,

Gliding with prosperous gales, explor’d the coast

Of fruitful Barbary. There ’mid fragrant groves

Where glides the zephyr’s wing, with sweets surcharg’d,

The wily Arab, the dark-minded Moor,

Unpitying Turk, and persecuted Jew,

Roam in wild hordes, unconscious of the charms

That Nature spreads around; as the dull swine

Heeds not the trodden pearl. Westward he prest,

Over Mulluvian waters, whose fair banks

Fring’d with the rose-bay on its graceful stern Open note a061-rota Note 33.— Line 961. “Fring’d with the rose-bay on its graceful stem.” The Nereum Oleander, a beautiful tree, delighting in moist situations,
adorns the margin of the Mulluvia, a considerable river, which rises in
Mount Atlas, and pursues its course to the Mediterranean, partly dividing
Algiers from Morocco.

Glitter’d in varying beauty. There he saw

Shelter’d by hoary Atlas, ’mid cool groves

Of lofty palm, Morocco’s scatter’d mosques

With snowy minarets, her princes’ homes,

Painted pavilions like the gold-streak’d even,

Shaming the low and wretched huts where herd

The abject people. There, devoid of state

Crown or regalia, sits the Emperor

Upon his barbe, and ’neath the simple shade

Of his umbrella, holds his Meshoar, Open note a062-rota Note 34.— Line 971. “—’neath the simple shade Of his umbrella, holds his Meshooar.” In the empire of Morocco, there is no code of laws, but the will of a
despotic monarch disposes of wealth, liberty, opinion, or existence, without
appeal. Wherever he happens to be, he grants public audience four
times a week, for the distribution of justice, sitting on horseback, while a
groom holds an umbrella over his head. This the Moors call holding
the Meshooar; though there is also a place in the city of Morocco
distinctively styled “the Meshooar,” because devoted to these audiences.
It is surrounded by walls, and situated between the old palace and the
magnificent pavilions erected by Sidi Mahomet.

Dooming his crimeless vassals with the tone

Of lawless despotism.

But the youth sigh’d

For climes of liberty, and turning sought

That which the foot of Slavery may not press

Ere her sad spirit hears a heavenly voice

Exclaim, “Be free!” and her loos’d manacles

Vanish, as fell imprison’d Peter’s chain

Before the Angel. The capricious sea

Again he woos, to view that native land.

The winds were peaceful, but the wrath of man

Troubled the waters. Fearful engines breathe

Forth from their dark, cylindric chambers, blast

Of thundering terror o’er the ignited wave.

Twice had the Sun his flaming coursers quench’d,

And lav’d his gold locks ere he sought his rest,

Yet still the deep foundations of the main

Echoed those battle thunders.Open note a063-rota Note 35.— Line 988. “Yet still the deep foundations of the main Echo’d those battle thunders.” Smith returned to his native country by the way of France, and in his
passage across the channel in a French galley, was in a desperate conflict
with two Spanish ships of war, which continued nearly three days, and
terminated in the discomfiture of the Spaniards. Haply scap’d

He sees white Albion’s cliffs their welcome beam

Upon his eye, and revels in the bowers

Of his soft infancy. The rapturous joy,

That hail’d his glad arrival, past, he breaks

The transient dream of rest, and bold embarks

A hardy pioneer to this New World,Open note a064-rota Note 36.— Line 994. “A hardy pioneer to this New World, Hewing out danger’s path.” Capt. Smith was one of the original company to which James I. under
the date of 1606-04-10April 10th, 1606, granted letters patent for the colonization
of America. He was appointed to a seat in the first council of what was
then denominated the South Colony, and though he met with the opposition
which envy testifies to superior merit, he was afterwards elected
president of that body. He embarked with his associates from England, 19(2)v 220
with Capt. Grosnold, on the 1606-12-1919th of December 1606, but did not arrive
on the coast of Virginia, until past the middle of the succeeding spring.

Hewing out danger’s path. With watchful eye

Ev’n as a father shields the son he loves,

He nurs’d the infant colony, which hung

In deathful hesitancy, and with care

Shelter’d that vine, which in the wilderness

The cold storm threaten’d.

――But the rugged brow

Of Chieftains frown’d upon him, for his wiles

Perplex’d their own. Baffled at length, and foil’d

In stratagem, he tastes the captive’s lot,

And borne in triumph sees the royal tent

Of Worowocomoco. There enthron’d

Sat great Powhatan. Open note a065-rota Note 37.— Line 1006. “There enthron’d
Sat great Powhatan.” The Indian monarch at this audience was seated on a throne somewhat
resembling a bedstead, clothed in a flowing robe composed of the skins of
the Racoon, with a fanciful coronet of feathers upon his head. His residence
was at Worowocomoco, and his sway not only extensive but imperial,
in the true signification of the term; for he exercised dominion over thirty
tributary kings. Flowing robes array’d

His form, and a bright coronet of plumes

Wav’d o’er his brow. Upon his features sat

A native majesty, uncheck’d by age

Which knew of no infirmity, and seem’d

Well to befit the high imperial lord

Of thirty subject kings. Around him rang’d

His chiefs in solemn council, while their eyes

Bent darkly on the earth, seem’d to portend

An ominous doom. But still the prisoner read

Nought like stern hatred on those thoughtful brows

That ponder’d o’er his fate.

――On the green turf

They spread a table, generously heap’d

With all their choicest viands; the fair haunch

Of savory venison, victims from the flood,

And from the air, and fresh from hasting hands

The juicy corn-cake. No such kind repast

In gentle friendship heralded thy death,

Poor Ugolino.Open note a066-rota Note 38.— Line 1024. “No such kind repast In gentle friendship, heralded thy death, Poor Ugolino.” The death of Count Ugolino and his sons, by hunger, in the prison of
Pisa, during the contest of the Guelphs and Ghibellines, at the close of
the 1201 < x < 1300thirteenth century, furnished a subject for one of the most striking historical
pictures of Sir Joshua Reynolds, and is described by Dante in his
Inferno, with great poetical energy. “Dreams wak’d me ere the dawn, when in their sleep I heard my children groan, and call for bread, Oh cruel! should no pity touch thy soul To think how much a father’s heart presag’d? If now thou shedd’st no tears, what have thy eyes Been us’d to weep at? Now my boys awoke: The hour arriv’d, when each expected food, As wonted, would be brought him; but his heart Mistrusted, when each thought upon his dream, And I—oh horrible! that instant heard The dungeon’s iron doors more firmly lock’d; In desperate silence on my sons I gaz’d, I could not weep—my breast was turn’d to stone. The little victims wept, and one began, 19(3)r 221 (My dear Anselmo,) ‘Father! why that look! What ails my Father?’ Ah! I could not weep, Nor answer all that day, nor yet that night, Till on the world another morn arose. As faintly through our doleful prison gleam’d The tremulous ray, so I could view again Each face, on which my features were imprest, Both hands I gnaw’d in agony and rage. Sweet innocents! They thought me hunger-strung, And rising on a sudden, all exclaim’d, ‘Father! our anguish would be less severe If thou would’st feed on us. This fleshly vest Thou didst bestow; now take it back again.’ I check’d my inward nature, lest my groans Should aggravate their anguish. All were mute That bitter day, and all the morrow. Earth! Why didst thou not obdurate earth! dispart? The fourth and sad morning came, when at my feet My Gando fell extended. ‘Help, he cried, Canst thou not help me, father?’ and expir’d. Thus wither’d as thou see’st me, one by one I saw my children ere the sixth morn, die. Then seiz’d with sudden blindness, on my knees I grop’d among them, calling each by name For three days after they were dead. At length Famine and death clos’d up the scene of woe.” Thou didst frantic grope

Amid thy famish’d sons, till thou couldst hear

No more those moving skeletons implore

For water and for bread; and when those lips

Hunger had seal’d forever, thou didst live

Writhing in burning pangs, day after day

Of untold misery, till Mercy broke

The long protracted, agonizing thread

That held thee from the grave.

――With courteous care

These sons of Nature gave the parting rite

Of hospitality, and gaily strove

The prisoner to sustain the festive hour

With cheerful voice. But as the phantom guest

Marr’d Mackbeth’s banquet, so the morsel fail’d

To gratify the sense, and bitter dregs

From the sweet draught clave to the victim’s lip,

For on his soul the ghastly visage glar’d

Of beck’ning Death. The fatal feast was o’er:

And to his doom the pinion’d captive led.

Yet no exulting shout, no taunting hiss

Broke on the deep solemnity; it seem’d

A deed of stern, reluctant policy,

Averting evil, not avenging hate.

Heroic Andre! Thou, perchance didst fall

Amid such sadness; for the bursting sigh

Of sympathy, from strangers and from foes,

Bore tribute to thy virtues, and deplor’d

Thine ignominious fate.

But now are rear’d

Four massy clubs, high o’er the victims head,

While the grim warriors, with averted face

Await the signal. One brief interval

Of anguish’d thought convuls’d the sufferer’s mind:

That all his honours, all his high designs,

All his ambition’s concentrated hopes

Must end by savage hands. Pride stamp’d her seal

Of cold reluctance, on a brow unblanch’d

By fear of Death. To fall in laurell’d fields

Mid shouts of victory, as heroes die,

Seem’d enviable glory. ’Mid the throng

That gaz’d in silence on the prostrate foe,

As if half doubtful whether death had power

O’er him like others, one young, timid maid Open note a067-rota Note 39.— Line 1065. “—one young timid maid Sat near the throne.” The Princess Pocahontas, in many instances, besides the rescue of
Capt. Smith, signified a firm friendship for the English colony. From
famine and secret conspiracy, she was more than once the instrument of
deliverance. “Oft times,” says Capt. Smith, in his history of Virginia, 19* 19(3)v 222
“in the utmost of my extremities, hath that blessed Pocahontas, the daughter
of the great king of Virginia, saved my life.” With the heroic magnanimity
of a noble soul, she united the softness and tenderness of the
feminine character. Yet notwithstanding all her arts of disinterested
kindness to the English, she was treacherously decoyed by them on board
one of their vessels, and carried to Jamestown. Still their sense of honour
moved them to treat her with all that respect which her correct deportment
and high rank deserved. “The motive to this step,” says Judge Marshall, in his Life of Washington,
“was a hope, that the protection of Pocahontas would give the
English an ascendancy over Powhatan, her father, who was known to
dote on her. In this, however, they were disappointed. Powhatan
offered first, corn, then friendship, if they would immediately restore his
daughter, but refused to come to any terms until that reparation was
made for what he resented as an act of treachery. During the detention
of the Princess at Jamestown, she made an impression on the heart of
Mr. Rolfe, a young gentleman of estimation in the colony, who also succeeded
in gaining her affections. They were married with the consent of
Powhatan, who by this event was entirely reconciled to the English, and
ever after continued their sincere friend.” After the arrival of Pocahontas
in England, with her husband, a petition was addressed in her behalf
to Queen Anne, by Capt. Smith, bearing the date of 1616-06June 1616, in the
course of which he mentions, “Being taken prisoner by the power of
Powhatan, I received from this great savage exceeding great courtesy,
especially from his son Nantaquas, the manliest, comeliest, boldest spirit
that I ever saw in an Indian, and this sister Pocahontas, the king’s most
dear and well-beloved daughter, whose compassionate, pitiful heart of my
desperate estate, gave me much cause to respect her. I being the first
Christian that this proud king and his grim attendants ever saw, and thus
enthralled in their barbarous power, I cannot say that I ever felt the least
occasion of want, which was in the power of these my mortal foes to prevent.
After some six weeks falling under these savage courtiers, at the
moment of my own execution, she hazarded the beating out of her own
brains to save mine, and the Nantaquas so prevailed with his father, that
I was safely conducted to Jamestown, where I found about 38 miserable,
poor and sick creatures, to keep possession for all those large territories of 19(4)r 223
Virginia. Such was the weakness of this poor commonwealth, that had
not the Indians fed us, we directly had starved. And this relief, most
gracious Queen, was commonly brought us by the Lady Pocahontas, who,
notwithstanding all the changes when inconstant fortune turned our peace
into war, would not spare to dare to visit us; and by her our jars have
been often appeased, and our wants still supplied. When her father, with the
utmost of his policy and power, sought to suprize me, having but eighteen
with me, the dark night could not affright her from adventuring through
the darksome woods, and with tearful eyes giving me the intelligence,
with her best advice how to escape his fury, which had the king known he
had surely slain her. She, under God, was the instrument to preserve
this colony from death, famine, and utter confusion: for if in those times
it had been once dissolved, Virginia might have lain unto this day, as it
was at our arrival.” The age of Pocahontas, at the time of her saving the life of Capt.
Smith, is usually fixed at thirteen years, though Mr. Davis, in a note to
his song of the Angel of the Wild, represents her as a child of only
eleven years. As this poetical effusion happily displays the tender sensibility
of that noble heroine, it is extracted as a close to this note. “The Angel of the Wild. ‘Sunt lachrymæ.’—Virg. Now blazes bright the wigwam-hall, The plumed Chiefs are circled wide, Above the crowd with lordly call Sits Powhatan, in frowning pride. The captive Smith, in bonds is brought, His head reclines upon a stone, The fatal club of Death is sought, While tawny maids his fate bemoan. When lo! with scream of anguish loud, A tender child, in gorgeous vest, Runs to the stranger through the crowd, And kneeling, clasps him to her breast. See, see her arms around him twin’d, And hear her pour the piteous wail; As if for hopeless love she pin’d, 19(4)v 224 Her tresses loose, her dear cheek pale. ‘Stay, stay the club! exclaims the king, And hush the white man’s dire alarms.’ Then rushing through the shouting ring He strains his daughter in his arms. Fair Spirit! nurs’d in forest wild, Whence caught thy breast those sacred flames That mark thee Mercy’s meekest child Beyond proud Europe’s tilted dames. Scalps and war-weapons met thy gaze, And trophies wove in blood-stain’d wreath, Thy birth-star was the funeral blaze, Thy lullaby the song of death. But Pity sought thee in the wild, Invisible, thy cradle rock’d, Seraphic Love his offerings pil’d And heavenly graces round thee flock’d.”

Sat near the throne. Soft tears of Pity wound

Their copious course, and her imploring hands

Unconsciously she rais’d tow’rd him who seem’d

Her sire, but from those trembling lips no sound

Gain’d utterance. At length the trance of Fear

Vanish’d, and from those dove-like eyes shone forth

A dazzling spirit. That meek child, who seem’d

To shrink as the Mimosa, now evinc’d

More than a warrior’s daring. Like the winds,

Rushing in wildness tow’rd th’ imprison’d foe,

His head she clasp’d.

“Now let the death-stroke fall!

Boldly she cried, for ere it reach that head

This shall be crush’d.” The warriors’ uprais’d arm,

For execution bar’d in vigorous strength

Unconsciously declin’d, and deep respect

Ev’n for a child, wander’d with soft’ning trace

O’er their hard features. That unwonted sight

The monarch could not brook; his soul was mov’d

To mark his daughter’s bearing, and he bade

To loose the prisoner’s bonds, and loud exclaim’d,

“Rise! and be free.”

Thus thou the royal maid

Of swarthy Egypt, through thy pitying heart

Didst save a humbled nation. Thou didst hear,

An infant wailing in his slimy ark,

’Mid the green rushes on the river’s brink,

And hadst compassion. Ah! how slightly deem’d

Thy haughty father, that his palace proud

Nurtur’d the Hebrews’ hope: as little thought

The Indian Monarch, that his child’s weak arm

Fostered that colony, whose rising light

Should quench his own forever. Thus a flower,

Nurs’d in the forest, shed its healing balm

Upon our wounded sires. Shrinking they felt

The serpent’s venom, and this noble plant

Solac’d and sav’d them. By the grateful hand

Of fond Refinement gather’d, on the breast

Of Piety it hung, and meekly drank

The breath of fairer climes: but early shed

Its withering bloom in peace. What though this flower

A giddy world might scorn, because its leaves

The sun had darken’d, what if her proud glance

Saw in its form nor grace nor comeliness;

Might not its incense rise as pure to Him

Who weigheth spirits?

The unbidden tear

Rushing, Oh! Indian Princess, o’er thy grave

Effac’d my theme a moment, turn’d my eye

From those tall ships that land their ceaseless freight

On the new coast. I see our ancestors,

A thoughtful band, escaping from the frown

Of a hard parent. Resolute they seem,

Though sad of heart; while their exploring eye

Wanders o’er Plymouth’s beach, and thickets dark,

All tenantless. A feeble light they struck

On a cold shore, and oft its livid spire

Trembling and narowing, like a lance’s point

Seem’d to expire; but still a viewless breath

Would fan and feed it, though loud torrents fell

And the wild desert howl’d.

Do I behold

The men of peace approach, with smile serene,

Reaching the hand of amity, to greet

The Indians as their brethren? Meek they stand,

And weaponless, save with the shield of truth

And equity. How from their leader’s eye

Beams the calm lustre of an upright soul,

Brighten’d by pure benevolence, as shines

The Queen of Heaven upon the lunar bow.

Firm as th’ Athenian sage, to whom the scenes

Of life or death, the dazzling pomp of wealth,

Or hemlock draught were equal, is the port

Of the Colonial Sire, the Friend of Man,

While with the diamond seal of Truth he stamps

His oathless treaty.Open note a068-rota Note 40.— Line 1137. “While with the diamond seal of truth he stamps His oathless treaty.” Clarkson, in his life of William Penn, describes the manner in which
his great treaty with the Indians was confirmed, in the year 16821682. “The
religious principles of Penn,” says his biographer, “which led him to the
practice of the most scrupulous morality, did not permit him to look upon
the king’s patent, or legal possession according to the laws of England,
as sufficient to establish his right to the country, without purchasing it by
fair and open bargain of the natives, to whom it properly belonged. He
had instructed commissioners who arrived in America before him, to buy
it of the latter, and to make with them a treaty of eternal friendship.
This, those commissioners had done, and now, by mutual agreement between
him and the Indian chiefs, it was to be solemnly ratified. He proceeded,
therefore, accompanied by his friends, consisting of men, women,
and young persons of both sexes, to Coaquannoc, the Indian name for
the place where Philadelphia now stands. On his arrival, he found the
sachems and their tribes assembling. They were seen through the woods, 19(5)r 225
as far as the eye could reach, and looked frightfully both on account of
their number and their arms. The Quakers are reported to have been
but a handful in comparison, and without any weapon; so that dismay and
terror must have seized them, had they not confided in the righteousness
of their cause. It is much to be regretted, when we have accounts of
minor treaties, between William Penn and the Indians, that no historian
has any particular detail of this, though so many mention it, and all concur
in considering it the most glorious day of any in the annals of the world.
There are, however, relations in Indian speeches, and traditions in Quaker
families, descended from those who were present on the occasion, from
which we may learn something concerning it. It appears that though the
parties were to assemble at Coaquannoc, the treaty was made a little
higher up, at Shackamaxon. Upon this site, Kensington now stands,
the houses of which may be considered as the suburbs of Philadelphia.
There was at Shackamaxon, an elm tree of a prodigious size. To this,
the leaders on both sides repaired, approaching each other under its widely-
spreading branches. William Penn appeared in his usual dress. He
had neither crown, sceptre, mace, sword, halberd, or any insignia of eminence.
He was distinguished only by wearing a sky-blue sash round his
waist, made of silk net-work, and of no larger dimension than an officer’s
military sash, which, except in colour, it resembled. On his right hand
was Col. Markham, his secretary and relative; on his left, his friend
Pierson, followed by the train of Quakers. Before him were carried various
articles of mechandize, which, when they came near the Sachems,
were spread upon the ground. He held a roll of parchment, containing
the confirmation of the treaty of purchase and amity, in his hand. One
of the Sachems, who was the chief of them, then put upon his own head
a kind of chaplet, in which appeared a small horn. This, according to
scripture language, and among the primitive eastern nations, was an emblem
of kingly power; and whenever the Chief who had a right to wear
it, put it on, it was understood that the place was made sacred, and the
persons of all present inviolable. Upon putting on this horn, all the Indians
threw down their bows and arrows, seating themselves round their
Chiefs, in the form of a half moon upon the ground. The principal
Sachem then announced to William Penn, by the aid of an interpreter,
that the nations were ready to hear him. He then said, that the Great 19(5)v 226
Spirit, who made him and them, who ruled the heavens and the earth,
and was acquainted with the innermost thoughts of man, knew that he
and his friends had a hearty desire to live in peace and friendship with
them, and serve them to the utmost of their power. It was not their
custom to use hostile weapons against their fellow-creatures, therefore,
came they to this treaty unarmed. Their object was not to do injury,
and thus provoke the Great Spirit, but to do good. They had met them
on the broad path-way of good faith and good will, so that no advantage
was to be taken on either side, but all was to be openness, brotherhood
and love. After these and other words, he unrolled the parchment, and
by means of the same interpreter, conveyed to them, article by article,
the conditions of the purchase, and the words of the contract then made
for their eternal union. Among other things, they were not to be molested
in their lawful pursuits, even in the territory they had alienated, for
it was to be common to them, as well as to the English. They were to
have the same liberty to do all things therein, relating to the improvement
of their grounds, and providing sustenance for their families, which
the English had. If any dispute should arise between the two, it should
be settled by twelve persons, half of whom should be English, and half
Indians. He then paid them for the land, and made them many presents
besides, from the merchandize which was spread before them. Having
done this, he laid the roll of parchment on the ground, observing again,
that the ground should be common to both people. He then added, that
he would not do like the inhabitants of Maryland, that is, call them only
children or brothers; for parents were sometimes unkind to their children,
and brothers would often differ; neither would he compare the friendship
between them to a chain, which the rain might rust, or a tree fall upon
and break; but he should consider them as the same flesh and blood with
the Christians, the same as if a man’s body was to be divided into two
parts. Taking up the parchment, he then presented it to the Sachem
who wore the horn in his chaplet, and desired him and the other Sachems
to preserve it carefully for three generations, that their children might
know what had passed between them, when they were no longer living to
repeat it. It is to be regretted that the speeches of the Indians, on this
memorable day, have not come down to us. It is only known that they
solemnly pledged themselves, according to the manner of their country, 19(6)r 227
to live in love with William Penn and his children as long as the sun and
moon should endure. Thus ended this famous treaty, of which more has
been said in the way of praise, than of any other ever transmitted to posterity.”
To the commendation which the biographer of the Man of Peace bestows
on this honourable transaction, we add the concise eulogium of
Voltaire, who pronounced it to be “the only treaty which was ratified
without an oath, and the only one which was never broken.” Well might he who sigh’d