Strange things I see, bright mirror, in thy breast:— There Perseverance stands, and nobly scorns The gabbling tongue of busy calumny; Proud Erudition in a scholar's garb
Derides my plans and grins a jeering smile. Hypocrisy, clad in a doctor's gown, A western continent deems heresy: The princes, kings, and nobles of the land
Smile at my projects, and report me mad: One royal woman only stands my friend, Bright Isabell, the lady of our hearts, Whom avarice prompts to aid my purposes,
And love of toys — weak female vanity!— She gains her point!— three slender barques I see ( Or else the witch's glass deceives mine eye ) Rigg'd trim, and furnish'd out with stores and men,
Fitted for tedious journeys o'er the main: Columbus — ha!— their motions he directs; Their captains come, and ask advice from him, Holding him for the soul of resolution.
Now, now we launch from Palos! prosperous gales Impel the canvas: now the far fam'd streight Is pass'd, the pillars of the son of Jove, Long held the limits of the paths of men:
Ah! what a waste of ocean here begins, And lonely waves, so black and comfortless! Light flies each bounding galley o'er the main; Now Lancerota gathers on our view,
And Teneriffe her clouded summit rears: Awhile we linger at these islands fair That seem the utmost boundaries of the world, Then westward aiming on the unfathom'd deep
Sorrowing, with heavy hearts we urge our way. Now all is discontent — such oceans pass'd, No land appearing yet, dejects the most; Yet, fertile in expedients, I alone
The mask of mild content am forc'd to wear: A thousand signs I see, or feign to see, Of shores at hand, and bottoms underneath, And not a bird that wanders o'er the main,
And not a cloud that traverses the sky But brings me something to support their hopes: All fails at last!— so frequently deceiv'd They growl with anger — mad to look at death
They gnash their teeth, and will be led no more; On me their vengeance turns: they look at me As their conductor to the realms of ruin: Plot after plot discover'd, not reveng'd,
They join against their chief in mutiny: They urge to plunge him in the boiling deep As one, the only one that would pursue Imaginary worlds through boundless seas:—
The scene is chang'd — Fine islands greet mine eye, Cover'd with trees, and beasts, and yellow men; Eternal summer through the vallies smiles And fragrant gales o'er golden meadows play!—
Inchantress,‘ tis enough!— now veil your glass — The curtain falls — and I must homeward pass.
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