Steer, bold mariner, on! albeit witlings deride thee, And the steersman drop idly his hand at the helm. Ever and ever to westward! there must the coast be discovered, If it but lie distinct, luminous lie in thy mind. Trust to the God that leads thee, and follow the sea that is silent; Did it not yet exist, now would it rise from the flood. Nature with Genius stands united in league everlasting; What is promised by one, surely the other performs. FRIEDRICH VON SCHILLER. The fleet reached the Canaries without misadventure, but when the shores of Ferro sank from sight, the sailors gave themselves up for lost. Their terror increased day by day; the compass behaved strangely, the boats became entangled in vast meadows of floating seaweed; and finally the trade-winds wafted them so steadily westward that they became convinced they could never return. By October 4 there were ominous signs of mutiny, and finally, on the 11th, affairs reached a crisis. THE TRIUMPH[2] From "Psalm of the West" [Dawn, October 12, 1492] Santa Maria, well thou tremblest down the wave, Thy Pinta far abow, thy Niña nigh astern: Columbus stands in the night alone, and, passing grave, Yearns o'er the sea as tones o'er under-silence yearn. Heartens his heart as friend befriends his friend less brave, Makes burn the faiths that cool, and cools the doubts that burn:-- "'Twixt this and dawn, three hours my soul will smite With prickly seconds, or less tolerably With dull-blade minutes flatwise slapping me. Wait, Heart! Time moves.--Thou lithe young Western Night, Just-crownèd king, slow riding to thy right, Would God that I might straddle mutiny Calm as thou sitt'st yon never-managed sea, Balk'st with his balking, fliest with his flight, Giv'st supple to his rearings and his falls, Nor dropp'st one coronal star above thy brow Whilst ever dayward thou art steadfast drawn! Yea, would I rode these mad contentious brawls No damage taking from their If and How, Nor no result save galloping to my Dawn! "My Dawn? my Dawn? How if it never break? How if this West by other Wests is pieced, And these by vacant Wests on Wests increased-- One Pain of Space, with hollow ache on ache Throbbing and ceasing not for Christ's own sake?-- Big perilous theorem, hard for king and priest: _Pursue the West but long enough, 'tis East!_ Oh, if this watery world no turning take! Oh, if for all my logic, all my dreams, Provings of that which is by that which seems, Fears, hopes, chills, heats, hastes, patiences, droughts, tears, Wife-grievings, slights on love, embezzled years, Hates, treaties, scorns, upliftings, loss and gain,-- This earth, no sphere, be all one sickening plane!