Harper's New Monthly Magazine, Vol III, No 13, 1851. Various

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      Great are the scenes, with dreadful beauty crown'd

      And barbarous wealth, that see, each circling year,

      Returning suns and double seasons pass:

      Rocks rich in gems, and mountains big with mines,

      That on the high equator ridgy rise,

      Whence many a bursting stream auriferous plays;

      Majestic woods, of every vigorous green,

      Stage above stage, high waving o'er the hills,

      Or to the far horizon wide-diffus'd,

      A boundless deep immensity of shade.

      Here lofty trees, to ancient song unknown,

      The noble sons of potent heat and floods

      Prone-rushing from the clouds, rear high to heaven

      Their thorny stems, and broad around them throw

      Meridian gloom. Here, in eternal prime,

      Unnumber'd fruits, of keen, delicious taste

      And vital spirit, drink amid the cliffs,

      And burning sands that bank the shrubby vales,

      Redoubled day; yet in their rugged coats

      A friendly juice to cool its rage contain.

      Bear me, Pomona! to thy citron groves;

      To where the lemon and the piercing lime,

      With the deep orange, glowing through the green,

      Their lighter glories blend. Lay me reclin'd

      Beneath the spreading tamarind, that shakes,

      Fann'd by the breeze, its fever-cooling fruit.

      Deep in the night the massy locust sheds,

      Quench my hot limbs; or lead me through the maze,

      Embowering, endless, of the Indian fig;

      Or thrown at gayer ease, on some fair brow,

      Let me behold, by breezy murmurs cool'd,

      Broad o'er my head the verdant cedar wave,

      And high palmettos lift their graceful shade.

      Oh! stretch'd amid these orchards of the sun,

      Give me to drain the cocoa's milky bowl,

      And from the palm to draw its freshening wine;

      More bounteous far than all the frantic juice

      Which Bacchus pours. Nor, on its slender twigs

      Low-bending, be the full pomegranate scorn'd;

      Nor, creeping through the woods, the gelid race

      Of berries. Oft in humble station dwells

      Unboastful worth, above fastidious pomp.

      Witness, thou best ananas, thou the pride

      Of vegetable life, beyond whate'er

      The poets imag'd in the golden age:

      Quick let me strip thee of thy tufty coat,

      Spread thy ambrosial stores, and feast with Jove!

      From these the prospect varies. Plains immense

      Lie stretch'd below, interminable meads,

      And vast savannas, where the wandering eye,

      Unfix'd, is in a verdant ocean lost.

      Another Flora there, of bolder hues

      And richer sweets, beyond our garden's pride,

      Plays o'er the fields, and showers with sudden hand

      Exuberant Spring; for oft these valleys shift

      Their green-embroidered robe to fiery brown,

      And swift to green again, as scorching suns,

      Or streaming dews and torrent rains, prevail.

      Along these lonely regions, where, retir'd

      From little scenes of art, great Nature dwells

      In awful solitude, and naught is seen

      But the wild herds that own no master's stall,

      Prodigious rivers roll their fattening seas;

      On whose luxuriant herbage, half-conceal'd,

      Like a fall'n cedar, far diffus'd his train,

      Cas'd in green scales, the crocodile extends.

      The flood disparts: behold! in plaited mail,

      Behemoth rears his head. Glanc'd from his side,

      The darted steel in idle shivers flies:

      He fearless walks the plain, or seeks the hills;

      Where, as he crops his varied fare, the herds,

      In widening circle round, forget their food,

      And at the harmless stranger wondering gaze.

      Peaceful, beneath primeval trees that cast

      Their ample shade o'er Niger's yellow stream.

      And where the Ganges rolls his sacred wave,

      Or 'mid the central depth of blackening woods

      High-rais'd in solemn theater around,

      Leans the huge elephant; wisest of brutes!

      Oh, truly wise! with gentle might endow'd,

      Though powerful, not destructive. Here he sees

      Revolving ages sweep the changeful earth,

      And empires rise and fall; regardless he

      Of what the never-resting race of men

      Project: thrice happy! could he 'scape their guile,

      Who mine, from cruel avarice, his steps,

      Or with his towery grandeur swell their state,

      The pride of kings! or else his strength pervert,

      And bid him rage amid the mortal fray,

      Astonish'd at the madness of mankind.

      Wide o'er the winding umbrage of the floods,

      Like vivid blossoms glowing from afar,

      Thick-swarm the brighter birds. For Nature's hand.

      That with a sportive vanity has deck'd

      The plumy nations, there her gayest hues

      Profusely pours. But, if she bids them shine,

      Array'd in all the beauteous beams of day,

      Yet frugal still, she humbles them in song.

      Nor envy we the gaudy robes they lent

      Proud Montezuma's realm, whose legions cast

      A boundless radiance waving on the sun,

      While philomel is ours; while in our shades,

      Through the soft silence of the listening night,

      The sober-suited songstress trills her lay.

      But come, my muse, the desert-barrier burst,

      A wild expanse of lifeless sand and sky,

      And, swifter than the toiling caravan,

      Shoot o'er the vale of Sennaar, ardent climb

      The Nubian mountains, and the secret bounds

      Of jealous Abyssinia boldly pierce.

      Thou art no ruffian, who beneath the mask

      Of social commerce com'st to rob their wealth,

      No holy fury thou, blaspheming Heaven.

      With consecrated steel to stab their peace,

      And through the land, yet red from civil wounds,

      To spread the purple tyranny of Rome.

      Thou, СКАЧАТЬ