Columbus was a Navigator
that tarried in Italian Lands;
he built three Ships of timber felled
in Iberia to journey in;
Their Sails he wove of fabric fair,
of silver were their lanterns made,
Each Prow was fashioned like no other,
and The Cross upon all Banners laid.
In panoply of Royalty,
in chain-ed rings he Armored him;
his shining Pauldrons Scored with Holy Signs
to Ward all Wounds and harm from him;
His Arquebus was made of Iron,
its Missiles the Color of Ebony;
of Silver was his Habergeon,
his Scabbard of Chalcedony;
his Sword of Steel was valiant,
of night-black his tri-corner tall,
an Eagle-plume upon its crest,
upon his breast an Emerald.
Beneath the Moon and under Star
he wandered far from Eastern strands,
bewildered on enchanted waves
beyond the days of Mortal Lands.
From gnashing of the Serpents' Vice
where shadow lies on foamy hills,
from nether heats and Doldrums' waste
he turned in haste, and roving still
on starless waters far astray
at last he came to night of naught,
and passed, and never sight he saw
of shining shore nor Light he sought.
The winds of Wrath came driving him,
and blindly in the foam he fled
from West to East and errandless,
unheralded he Homeward sped.
There Saint Elmo's Fire came to Him,
and flame was in the darkness lit;
more bright than light of diamond
the Fire upon Her Raven's nest.
Christ's own Grace was bound on him
and crowned him with the Living Light
and dauntless then with burning brow
he turned his prow; and in the night
from New Worlds beyond the Sea
there strong and free a Storm arose,
a wind of power in Tropic-Lands;
by paths that seldom Mortal goes
his Ships it bore with biting breath
as might of Death across the Gray
and long forsaken Seas distressed;
from East to West he passed away.
Through the night he back was borne
on black and roaring waves that ran
o'er Leagues unlit and foundered shores
that drowned before the Days began,
until he heard on strands of Pearl
where ends the World the music long,
where ever-foaming billows roll
the yellow Gold and Jewels won.
He saw the New World silent rise
where twilight lies upon the knees
of Columbia, to North and South
beheld afar beyond the seas.
A Wanderer escaped from Night
to haven Jade he came at last,
to America the green and fair
where keen the air, where pale as glass
beneath the Hills of verdant Shores
a-glimmer in an Inlet sheer
the starlit towers of branching Palms
are mirrored on the Opal mere.
He tarried there from errantry,
and Melodies they taught to him,
and Chieftains old him marvels told,
and Tobacco bold they brought to him.
They clothed him then in flowers-bright,
and Waterfowl before him sent,
as Southward along the the Lowland coast
to hidden Land in awe he went.
He came unto the timeless Jungles
where shining fall the countless Years,
and endless Reigns the Spirit Great
in Western House on Mountain sheer;
and Words unheard were spoken then
of Folk of Men and Godly-kin,
beyond the World were Visions showed
forbid to those that dwell therein.
A Ship then new they built for him
of thatched Trees and of Mine-ed-glass
with shining Prow; no shaven oar
And sail she bore on silver mast:
the Moon it was as lantern light
and banner bright with Saint Elmo's Flame
to gleam thereon by Western nights
Herself was set, Who thither came
and wings Immortal made for him,
and laid on him undying Doom,
to sail the shoreless skies and come
behind the Sun and light of Moon.
From Purgatory's lofty hills
where softly silver fountains fall
his wings him bore, a wandering Light,
beyond the mighty Southern Wall.
From World's End there he turned away,
and yearned again to find afar
his Home through Shadows journeying,
and burning as an Island Star
on High above the Mists he came,
a distant flame before the Sun,
a wonder ere the waking Dawn
where Gold the Heav'nly waters run.
And over all the Earth he passed
and heard at last the weeping sore
of feathered Braves and of Native-maids
In Painful days, in Years to come.
But on him mighty Doom was laid,
till Moon should fade, an orb-ed Star
to pass, and tarry never more
On Hither shores where Mortals are;
for ever still a Herald on
an errand that should never rest
to guide His shining blade afar,
the lone Flame-bearer of the West.