46

COLUMBUS.-DELAVIGNE.

ON

N the deck stood Columbus; the ocean's expanse, Untried and unlimited, swept by his glance. "Back to Spain !" cry his men; "Put the vessel about! We venture no further through danger and doubt."Three days, and I give you a world!" he replied;

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"Bear up, my brave comrades;-three days shall decide."

He sails, but no token of land is in sight;

COLUMBUS.

He sails, but the day shows no more than the night;

On, onward he sails, while in vain o'er the lee

The lead is plunged down through a fathomless sea.

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The pilot, in silence, leans mournfully o'er
The rudder, which creaks mid the billowy roar;
He hears the hoarse moan of the spray-driving blast,
And its funeral wail through the shrouds of the mast.
The stars of far Europe have sunk from the skies,
And the great Southern Cross meets his terrified eyes;
But, at length, the slow dawn, softly streaking the night,
Illumes the blue vault with its faint crimson light.

"Columbus! 'tis day, and the darkness is o'er."

'Day! and what dost thou see?"—"Sky and ocean. No more!"

The second day's past, and Columbus is sleeping,
While Mutiny near him its vigil is keeping:
"Shall he perish?"-"Ay! death!" is the barbarous cry.
"He must triumph to-morrow, or, perjured, must die!"
Ungrateful and blind!--shall the world-linking sea,
He traced for the Future, his sepulchre be?
Shall that sea, on the morrow, with pitiless waves,
Fling his corse on that shore which his patient eye craves?
The corse of an humble adventurer, then;
One day later,--Columbus, the first among men.

But, hush! he is dreaming!-A veil on the main,
At the distant horizon, is parted in twain,

And now, on his dreaming eye,--rapturous sight!--
Fresh bursts the New World from the darkness of night.

COLUMBUS.

O, vision of glory! how dazzling it seems!

How glistens the verdure! how sparkle the streams!
How blue the far mountains! how glad the green isles!
And the earth and the ocean, how dimpled with smiles!
"Joy! joy!" cries Columbus, "this region is mine!"
Ah! not e'en its name, wondrous dreamer, is thine!

But, lo! his dream changes;--a vision less bright
Comes to darken and banish that scene of delight.
The gold-seeking Spaniards, a merciless band,
Assail the meek natives, and ravage the land.
He sees the fair palace, the temple on fire,
And the peaceful Cazique 'mid their ashes expire.

Again the dream changes. Columbus looks forth,
And a bright constellation beholds in the North.
'Tis the herald of empire! A People appear,
Impatient of wrong, and unconscious of fear!
They level the forest,--they ransack the seas,-
Each zone finds their canvas unfurled to the breeze.
"Hold!" Tyranny cries; but their resolute breath
Sends back the reply, "Independence or death!"
The ploughshare they turn to a weapon of might,
And, defying all odds, they go forth to the fight.

They have conquered! The People, with grateful acclaim,
Look to Washington's guidance, from Washington's fame;—
Behold Cincinnatus and Cato combined

In his patriot heart and republican mind.

O, type of true manhood! What sceptre or crown
But fades in the light of thy simple renown?
And lo! by the side of the Hero, a sage,

In freedom's behalf, sets his mark on the age;
Whom science adoringly hails, while he wrings
The lightning from Heaven, the sceptre from kings!
At length, o'er Columbus slow consciousness breaks,-

"Land! land!" cry the sailors; "land! land!"—he awakes,

He runs, yes! behold it!-it blesseth his sight,

The land! O, dear spectacle! transport! delight!

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ROME AND CARTHAGE.

O, generous sobs, which he cannot restrain !
What will Ferdinand say? and the Future? and Spain?
He will lay this fair land at the foot of the Throne,-
His King will repay all the ills he has known,-

In exchange for a world, what are honors and gains?
Or a crown? But how is he rewarded ?—with chains!

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ROME AND CARTHAGE.-VICTOR HUGO.

OME and Carthage!-behold them drawing near for the struggle that is to shake the world! Carthage, the metropolis of Africa, is the mistress of oceans, of kingdoms, and of nations; a magnificent city, burthened with opulence, radiant with the strange arts and trophies of the East. She is at the acme of her civilization. She can mount no higher. Any change now must be a decline. Rome is comparatively poor. She has seized all within her grasp, but rather from the lust of conquest than to fill her own coffers. She is demi-barbarous, and has her education and her fortune both to make. All is before her,-nothing behind. For a time these two nations exist in view of each other. The one reposes in the noontide of her splendor; the other waxes strong in the shade. But, little by little, air and space are wanting to each, for her development. Rome begins to perplex Carthage, and Carthage is an eyesore to Rome. Seated on opposite banks of the Mediterranean, the two cities look each other in the face. The sea no longer keeps them apart. Europe and Africa weigh upon each other. Like two clouds surcharged with electricity, they impend. With their contact must come the thundershock.

The catastrophe of this stupendous drama is at hand. What actors are met! Two Races,-that of merchants and mariners, that of laborers and soldiers; two Nations,--the one dominant by gold, the other by steel; two Republics, the one theocratic, the other aristocratic. Rome and Carthage! Rome with her army, Carthage with her fleet; Carthage, old, rich, and crafty,Rome, young, poor, and robust; the past, and the future; the spirit of discovery, and the spirit of conquest; the genius of

THE EMPTY SLEEVE.

commerce, the demon of war; the East and the South on one side, the West and the North on the other; in short, two worlds, -the civilization of Africa, and the civilization of Europe. They measure each other from head to foot. They gather all their forces. Gradually the war kindles. The world takes fire. These colossal powers are locked in deadly strife. Carthage has crossed the Alps; Rome, the seas. The two Nations, personified in two men, Hannibal and Scipio, close with each other, wrestle, and grow infuriate. The duel is desperate. It is a struggle for life. Rome wavers. She utters that cry of anguish-Hannibal at the gates! But she rallies,-collects all her strength for one last, appalling effort,--throws herself upon Carthage, and sweeps her from the face of the earth!

THE EMPTY SLEEVE.

BY

Y the moon's pale light, to a gazing throng,
Let me tell one tale, let me sing one song;
"Tis a tale devoid of an aim or a plan,
"Tis a simple song of a one-armed man.

Till this very hour, who would ever believe,
What a tell-tale thing is an empty sleeve,
What a weird, queer thing, is an empty sleeve!

It tells in a silent tone to all,

Of a country's need and a country's call,
Of a kiss and a tear for a child and a wife,
And a hurried march for a nation's life.
Till this very hour, who could e'er believe
What a tell-tale thing is an empty sleeve,
What a weird, queer thing, is an empty sleeve!

It tells of a battle-field of gore,

Of the sabre's clash, of the cannon's roar,
Of the deathly charge, of the bugle-note,
Of a gurgling sound in a freeman's throat,
Of the whirring grape, of the fiery shell,
Of a scene that mimics the scenes of hell.

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50

ODE ON THE PASSIONS.

Till this very hour, would you ever believe,
What a weird, queer thing, is an empty sleeve!

Though it points to myriad wounds and scars,
Yet it tells that the flag with the stripes and stars,
In God's own chosen time did take

Each place of the rag with the rattlesnake ;
And that through all time, that flag shall wave
O'er the land where there breathes no cowering slave.
To the top of the skies let us all then heave

One proud hurrah for the empty sleeve,
For the one-armed man with the empty sleeve.

ODE ON THE PASSIONS.-WILLIAM COLLINS.

WHEN Music, Heavenly maid, was young,

While yet in early Greece she sung,

The Passions oft, to hear her shell,
Thronged around her magic cell;
Exulting, trembling, raging, fainting,
Possessed beyond the Muse's painting,
By turns, they felt the glowing mind
Disturbed, delighted, raised, refined:
Till once, 'tis said, when all were fired,
Filled with fury, rapt, inspired,
From the supporting myrtles round
They snatched her instruments of sound;
And, as they oft had heard apart
Sweet lessons of her forceful art,
Each for Madness ruled the hour-
Would prove his own expressive power.

First, Fear, his hand, its skill to try,

Amid the chords bewildered laid;
And back recoiled, he knew not why,

Even at the sound himself had made.

Next, Anger rushed, his eyes on fire,
In lightnings owned his secret stings: