But look! the morn Is kindled on the shadowy offing; streaks Of clear cold light on Sagres' battlements Are cast, where Henry watches, listening still To the unwearied surge; and turning still His anxious eyes to the horizon's bounds.
A sail appears; it swells, it shines: more high Seen through the dusk it looms; and now the hull 80 Is black upon the surge, whilst she rolls on Aloft--the weather-beaten ship--and now Streams by the watch-tower! Zarco,[182] from the deep What tidings?
The loud storm of night prevailed, And swept our vessel from Bojador's rocks Far out to sea; a sylvan isle[183] received Our sails; so willed the ALMIGHTY--He who speaks, And all the waves are still! 90 Hail, HENRY cried, The omen: we have burst the sole barrier, (Prosper our wishes, Father of the world!) We speed to Asia.
Soon upon the deep The brave ship speeds again.

Bojador's rocks Arise at distance, frowning o'er the surf, That boils for many a league without.

Its course The ship holds on; till lo! the beauteous isle, That shielded late the sufferers from the storm, 100 Springs o'er the wave again.

Here they refresh Their wasted strength, and lift their vows to Heaven, But Heaven denies their further search; for ah! What fearful apparition, palled in clouds, For ever sits upon the Western wave, Like night, and in its strange portentous gloom Wrapping the lonely waters, seems the bounds Of Nature?
Still it sits, day after day, The same mysterious vision.

Holy saints! Is it the dread abyss where all things cease?
110 Or haply hid from mortal search, thine isle, Cipango, and that unapproached seat Of peace, where rest the Christians whom the hate Of Moorish pride pursued?
Whate'er it be, Zarco, thy holy courage bids thee on To burst the gloom, though dragons guard the shore,[184] Or beings more than mortal pace the sands.
The favouring gales invite; the bowsprit bears Right onward to the fearful shade; more black The cloudy spectre towers; already fear 120 Shrinks at the view aghast and breathless.