On Norway's coast, soon died the transient ray. A tyrant race, who own'd no country, came, 410 Deep to intrench themselves their only aim; With lust of rapine fever'd and athirst, With the unhallowed rage of game accurst ; Against each spring of action, on the breast For wisest ends, by Nature's hand imprest, Stern war they waged; and blindly ween'd, alone On brutal dread, to fix their cruel throne. The wise and good, with indignation fired,
Silent from their unhallowed board retired;
The Base and Cunning staid, and, slaves avow'd, 429 Submiss to every insult smiling bow'd.
Yet while they smiled and bow'd the abject head, In chains unfelt their Tyrant Lords they led : Their av'rice, watching as a bird of prey, O'er every weakness, o'er each vice held swayi Till secret art assumed the thwarting face, And dictate bold; and ruin and disgrace Closed the unworthy scene. Now trampled low Beneath the injured native, and the foe From Belgia lured by India's costly prey, -436 Thy glorious structure, Gama, prostrate lay; And lies in desolated awful gloom,
Dread and instructive as a ruin'd tomb.
Nor less on Tago's than on India's coast Was ancient Lusian Virtue stain'd and lost: On Tago's banks, heroic ardor's foes, A soft, luxurious, tinsel'd race, arose ;
Of lofty boastful look and pompous shew, Triumphant tyrants o'er the weak and low : Yet wildly sarting from the gaming board At every distant brandish of the sword; Already conquer'd by uncertain dread,
Imploring peace with feeble hands outspread ;-- Such peace as trembling suppliants still obtain, Such peace they found beneath the yoke of Spain; And the wide empires of the East no more Poured their redundant horns on Lisboa's shore.
Alas, my Friend, how vain the fairest boast Of human pride! how soon is Empire lost! The pile by ages rear'd to awe the world, By one degenerate race to ruin hurl'd!
And shall the Briton view that downward race With eye unmoved, and no sad likeness trace! Ah heaven! in every scene, by memory brought, My fading country rushes on my thought.
From Lisboa now the frequent vesper bell Vibrates o'er Tago's stream with solemn knell. Turn'd by the call my pensive eye surveys That mighty scene of Hist'ry's shame and praise. Methinks I hear the yells of horror rise
From slaughter'd thousands shrieking to the skies, As factious rage or blinded zeal of yore
Roll'd their dire chariot wheels through streams of
Now throbs of other glow my soul employ ;.
I hear the triumph of a nation's joy, From bondage rescued and the foreign sword, And Independence and the Throne restored!
Hark, what low sound from Cintra rock! the air Trembles with horror; fainting lightnings glare; Shrill crows the cock, the dogs give dismal yell ;40 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 shew 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! 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-496 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; By magazines and ars'nals mounded round, Whose yet unfinished grandeur proudly boasts The fairest hope of either India's coasts, And bids the Muse's eye in vision roam Through mighty scenes in ages long to come.
Forgive, fair Thames, the song of truth that pays To Tago's empress-stream superior praise; O'er every vauntful river be it thine
To boast the guardian shield of laws divine; But yield to Tagus all the sovereign state By Nature's gift bestow'd and partial Fate, The sea-like port and central sway to pour Her fleets, by happiest course, on every shore.
When from the sleep of ages dark and dead, Thy Genius, Commerce, rear'd her infant head, Her cradle bland on Tago's lap she chose, And soon to wandering childhood sprightly rose; And when to green and youthful vigor grown On Tago's breast she fixt her central throne ; Far from the hurricane's resistless sweep That tears with thundering rage the Carib deep; Far from the foul-winged Winter that deforms 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, named Fortunate of old, First on her Ocean's bosom fair unfold:
Thy world, Columbus, spreads its various breast, Proud to be first by Lisboa's waves carest; And Afric woos and leads her easy way To the fair regions of the rising day. If Turkey's drugs invite or silken pride, Thy straits, Alcides, give the ready tide;
And turn the prow, and soon each shore expands ♫s From Gallia's coast to Europe's northern lands.
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 isles 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 promised the returning day Of Lisboa's honors, fairer than her prime
Lost by a rude unletter'd Age's crime- Now 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 »
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