His pale survivors, earth to earth, Weeping consigned his poor remains, and placed Beneath the sod where all he loved was laid.
Then shaping a rude vessel from the woods, They sought their country o'er the waves, and left Those scenes once more to deepest solitude.
The beauteous ponciana hung its head 440 O'er the gray stone; but never human eye Had mark'd the spot, or gazed upon the grave Of the unfortunate, but for the voice Of ENTERPRISE, that spoke, from Sagre's towers, Through ocean's perils, storms, and unknown wastes-- Speed we to Asia! Here, Discovery, pause!-- Then from the tomb of him who first was cast Upon this Heaven-appointed isle, thy gaze Uplift, and far beyond the Cape of Storms 450 Pursue De Gama's tract.

Mark the rich shores Of Madagascar, till the purple East Shines in luxuriant beauty wide disclosed.
But cease thy song, presumptuous Muse!--a bard, In tones whose patriot sound shall never die, Has struck his deep shell, and the glorious theme Recorded.
Say, what lofty meed awaits The triumph of his victor conch, that swells Its music on the yellow Tagus' side, 460 As when Arion, with his glittering harp And golden hair, scarce sullied from the main, Bids all the high rocks listen to his voice Again! Alas, I see an aged form, An old man worn by penury, his hair Blown white upon his haggard cheek, his hand Emaciated, yet the strings with thrilling touch Soliciting; but the vain crowds pass by: His very countrymen, whose fame his song Has raised to heaven, in stately apathy 470 Wrapped up, and nursed in pride's fastidious lap, Regard not.

As he plays, a sable man Looks up, but fears to speak, and when the song Has ceased, kisses his master's feeble hand.
Is that cold wasted hand, that haggard look, Thine, Camoens?
Oh, shame upon the world! And is there none, none to sustain thee found, But he, himself unfriended, who so far Has followed, severed from his native isles, To scenes of gorgeous cities, o'er the sea, 480 Thee and thy broken fortunes! GOD of worlds! Oh, whilst I hail the triumph and high boast Of social life, let me not wrong the sense Of kindness, planted in the human heart By man's great Maker, therefore I record Antonio's faithful, gentle, generous love To his heartbroken master, that might teach, High as it bears itself, a polished world More charity.

490 DISCOVERY, turn thine eyes! COLUMBUS' toiling ship is on the deep, Stemming the mid Atlantic.
Waste and wild The view! On the same sunshine o'er the waves The murmuring mariners, with languid eye, Ev'n till the heart is sick, gaze day by day! At midnight in the wind sad voices sound! When the slow morning o'er the offing dawns, Heartless they view the same drear weltering waste 500 Of seas: and when the sun again goes down Silent, hope dies within them, and they think Of parting friendship's last despairing look! See too, dread prodigy, the needle veers Her trembling point--will Heaven forsake them too! But lift thy sunk eye, and thy bloodless look, Despondence! Milder airs at morning breathe:-- Below the slowly-parting prow the sea Is dark with weeds; and birds of land are seen To wing the desert tract, as hasting on 510 To the green valleys of their distant home.
Yet morn succeeds to morn--and nought around Is seen, but dark weeds floating many a league, The sun's sole orb, and the pale hollowness Of heaven's high arch streaked with the early clouds.
Watchman, what from the giddy mast?
A shade Appears on the horizon's hazy line.
Land! land! aloud is echoed; but the spot Fades as the shouting crew delighted gaze-- 520 It fades, and there is nothing--nothing now But the blue sky, the clouds, and surging seas! As one who, in the desert, faint with thirst, Upon the trackless and forsaken sands Sinks dying; him the burning haze deceives, As mocking his last torments, while it seems, To his distempered vision, like th' expanse Of lucid waters cool: so falsely smiles Th' illusive land upon the water's edge, To the long-straining eye showing what seems 530 Its headlands and its distant trending shores;-- But all is false, and like the pensive dream Of poor imagination, 'mid the waves Of troubled life, decked with unreal hues, And ending soon in emptiness and tears.
'Tis midnight, and the thoughtful chief, retired From the vexed crowd, in his still cabin hears The surge that rolls below; he lifts his eyes, And casts a silent anxious look without.
It is a light--great God--it is a light! 540 It moves upon the shore!--Land--there is land! He spoke in secret, and a tear of joy Stole down his cheek, when on his knees he fell.
Thou, who hast been his guardian in wastes Of the hoar deep, accept his tears, his prayers; While thus he fondly hopes the purer light Of thy great truths on the benighted world Shall beam! The lingering night is past;--the sun Shines out, while now the red-cross streamers wave 550 High up the gently-surging bay.

From all Shouts, songs, and rapturous thanksgiving loud, Burst forth: Another world, entranced they cry, Another living world!--Awe-struck and mute The gazing natives stand, and drop their spears, In homage to the gods! So from the deep They hail emerging; sight more awful far Than ever yet the wondering voyager Greeted;--the prospect of a new-found world, 560 Now from the night of dark uncertainty At once revealed in living light! How beats The heart! What thronging thoughts awake! Whence sprung The roaming nations?
From that ancient race That peopled Asia--Noah's sons?
How, then, Passed they the long and lone expanse between Of stormy ocean, from the elder earth Cut off, and lost, for unknown ages, lost In the vast deep?
But whilst the awful view 570 Stands in thy sight revealed, Spirit, awake To prouder energies! Even now, in thought, I see thee opening bold Magellan's tract![185] The straits are passed! Thou, as the seas expand, Pausest a moment, when beneath thine eye Blue, vast, and rocking, through its boundless rule, The long Pacific stretches.