| |
| ST. STEPHEN’S cloistered hall was proud | |
| In learning’s pomp that day, | |
| For there a robed and stately crowd | |
| Pressed on in long array. | |
| A mariner with simple chart | 5 |
| Confronts that conclave high, | |
| While strong ambition stirs his heart, | |
| And burning thoughts of wonder part | |
| From lip and sparkling eye. | |
| |
| What hath he said? With frowning face, | 10 |
| In whispered tones they speak, | |
| And lines upon their tablets trace, | |
| Which flush each ashen cheek; | |
| The Inquisition’s mystic doom | |
| Sits on their brows severe, | 15 |
| And bursting forth in visioned gloom, | |
| Sad heresy from burning tomb | |
| Groans on the startled ear. | |
| |
| Courage, thou Genoese! Old Time | |
| Thy splendid dream shall crown, | 20 |
| Yon western hemisphere sublime, | |
| Where unshorn forests frown, | |
| The awful Andes’ cloud-rapt brow, | |
| The Indian hunter’s bow, | |
| Bold streams untamed by helm or prow, | 25 |
| And rocks of gold and diamonds there | |
| To thankless Spain shalt show. | |
| |
| Courage, World-finder! Thou hast need! | |
| In Fate’s unfolding scroll, | |
| Dark woes and ingrate wrongs I read, | 30 |
| That rack the noble soul. | |
| On! On! Creation’s secrets probe, | |
| Then drink thy cup of scorn, | |
| And wrapped in fallen Cæsar’s robe, | |
| Sleep like that master of the globe, | 35 |
| All glorious, yet forlorn. | |
| |
