PICTURE VI.

While Turkish queens, dejected, pine,

Compell'd sweet freedom to resign;

And taught one virtue, to obey,

Lament some eastern tyrant's sway,

Queen of our hearts, bright Isabell!

A happier lot to you has fell,

Who makes a nation's bliss your own,

And share the rich Castilian throne.

Exalted thus, beyond all fame,

Assist, fair lady, that proud aim

Which would your native reign extend

To the wide world's remotest end.

From science, fed by busy thought,

New wonders to my view are brought:

The vast abyss beyond our shore

I deem impassable no more.

Let those that love to dream or sleep

Pretend no limits to the deep:

I see beyond the rolling main

Abounding wealth reserv'd for Spain.

From Nature's earliest days conceal'd,

Men of their own these climates yield,

And scepter'd dames, no doubt, are there,

Queens like yourself, but not so fair.

But what should most provoke desire

Are the fine pearls that they admire,

And diamonds bright and coral green

More fit to grace a Spanish queen.

Their yellow shells, and virgin gold,

And silver, for our trinkets sold,

Shall well reward this toil and pain,

And bid our commerce shine again.

As men were forc'd from Eden's shade

By errors that a woman made,

Permit me at a woman's cost

To find the climates that we lost.

He that with you partakes command,

The nation's hope, great Ferdinand,

Attends, indeed, to my request,

But wants no empires in the west.

Then, queen, supply the swelling sail,

For eastward breathes the steady gale

That shall the meanest barque convey

To regions richer than Cathay.

Arriv'd upon that flowery coast

Whole towns of golden temples boast,

While these bright objects strike our view

Their wealth shall be reserv'd for you.

Each swarthy king shall yield his crown,

And smiling lay their sceptres down,

When they, not tam'd by force of arms,

Shall hear the story of your charms.

Did I an empty dream pursue

Great honour still must wait on you,

Who sent the lads of Spain to keep

Such vigils on the untravell'd deep,

Who fix'd the bounds of land and sea,

Trac'd Nature's works through each degree,

Imagin'd some unheard of shore

But prov'd that there was nothing more.

Yet happier prospects, I maintain,

Shall open on your female reign,

While ages hence with rapture tell

How much they owe to Isabell!