ST. STEPHEN'S cloistered hall was proud <br />In learning's pomp that day, <br />For there a robed and stately crowd <br />Pressed on in long array. <br />A mariner with simple chart <br />Confronts that conclave high, <br />While strong ambition stirs his heart. <br />And burning thoughts of wonder part <br />From lip and sparkling eye. <br /> <br />In whispered tones they speak. <br />And lines upon their tablets trace, What hath he said ? With frowning face, <br />Which flush each ashen cheek; <br />The Inquisition's mystic doom <br />Sits on their brows severe. <br />And bursting forth in visioned gloom. <br />Sad heresy from burning tomb <br />Groans on the startled ear. <br /> <br />Courage, thou Genoese! Old Time <br />Thy splendid dream shall crown; <br />Yon Western Hemisphere sublime, <br />Where unshorn forests frown, <br />Bold streams untamed by helm or prow, <br />And rocks of gold and diamonds, thou <br />To thankless Spain shalt show. <br /> <br />Courage, World-finder! Thou hast need! <br />In Fate's unfolding scroll, <br />Dark woes and ingrate wrongs I read, <br />That rack the noble soul, <br />On! on! Creation's secrets probe, <br />Then drink thy cup of scorn, <br />And wrapped in fallen Caesar's robe, <br />Sleep like that master of the globe, <br />All glorious, — yet forlorn.<br /><br />Lydia Howard Huntley Sigourney<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/columbus-7/
