Now throbs of other glow my soul employ; From bondage rescued and the foreign sword, Hark, what low sound from Cintra rock the air Trembles with horror; fainting lightnings glare ; Shrill crows the cock, the dogs give dismal yell; And with the whirlwind's roar full comes the swell; Convulsive staggers, rock th' eternal ground, And heave the Tagus from his bed profound; A dark red cloud the towers of Lisboa veils ; Ah, heaven, what dreadful groan the rising gales Bring light; and Lisboa smoaking in the dust Lies fall'n. The wide-spread ruins, still august, Still show the footsteps where the dreadful God Of earthquake, cloath'd in howling darkness, trod; Where 'mid foul weeds the heaps of marble tell From what proud height the spacious temples fell; And penury and sloth of squalid mien Beneath the roofless palace walls are seen In savage hovels, where the tap'stried floor Was trod by Nobles and by Kings before; How like, alas, her Indian empire's state ! How like the city's and the nation's fate l Yet Time points forward to a brighter day; Points to the domes that stretch their fair array Through the brown ruins, lifting to the sky A loftier brow and mien of promise high; Points to the river-shore where wide and grand The Courts of Commerce and her walks expand, As an Imperial palace to retain The Universal Queen, and fix her reign; Where pleas'd she hears the groaning oar resound; Forgive, fair Thames, the song of truth that pays To boast the guardian shield of laws divine; When from the sleep of ages dark and dead, And rolls the northern main with storms on storms; Beneath salubrious skies, to summer gales She gives the ventrous and returning sails: The smiling isles, nam'd Fortunate of old, Thy world, Columbus, spreads its various breast, To the fair regions of the rising day. When Heaven decreed low to the dust to bring That lofty oak, Assyria's boastful King, Deep, said the angel voice, the roots secure With bands of brass, and let the life endure, For yet his head shall rise.—And deep remain The living roots of Lisboa's ancient reign, Deep in the castled isle on Asia's strand, And firm in fair Brazilia's wealthy land. And say, while ages roll their length'ning train, Shall Nature's gifts to Tagus still prove vain, An idle waste -A dawn of brightest ray Has boldly promis'd the returning day Of Lisboa's honors, fairer than her prime Lost by a rude unletter'd Age's crimeNow Heaven-taught Science and her liberal band Of Arts, and dictates by experience plann'd, Beneath the smiles of a benignant Queen Boast the fair opening of a reign serene, Of omen high,-And Camoens' Ghost no more Wails the neglected Muse on Tago's shore; No more his tears the barbarous Age upbraid : To Tago's banks; and earnest to adorn The Hero's brows, he weaves the Elysian crown, From Maxen field, the deathless wreath he weaves; That long his toil unfinish'd may remain ! The view how grateful to the liberal mind, Through sunken rocks and rav'nous whirlpools tost, Where, while combining storms the decks o'erwhelm, The crew, in mutiny, from every mast Tearing it's strength, and yielding to the blast; |