To fifteen sail your charge shall be augmented: Hasten to Palos, and prepare again To sail in quest of this fine golden country, The Ophir, never known to Solomon; Which shall be held the brightest gem we have, The richest diamond in the crown of Spain. PICTURE XVII. Columbus in Chains[A] [A] During his third voyage, while in San Domingo, such unjust representations were made of his conduct to the Court of Spain, that a new admiral, Bovadilla, was appointed to supersede him, who sent Columbus home in irons.--_Freneau's note._ Are these the honours they reserve for me, Chains for the man that gave new worlds to Spain! Rest here, my swelling heart!--O kings, O queens, Patrons of monsters, and their progeny, Authors of wrong, and slaves to fortune merely! Why was I seated by my prince's side, Honour'd, caress'd like some first peer of Spain? Was it that I might fall most suddenly From honour's summit to the sink of scandal! 'Tis done, 'tis done!--what madness is ambition! What is there in that little breath of men, Which they call Fame, that should induce the brave To forfeit ease and that domestic bliss Which is the lot of happy ignorance, Less glorious aims, and dull humility?-- Whoe'er thou art that shalt aspire to honour, And on the strength and vigour of the mind Vainly depending, court a monarch's favour, Pointing the way to vast extended empire; First count your pay to be ingratitude, Then chains and prisons, and disgrace like mine! Each wretched pilot now shall spread his sails, And treading in my footsteps, hail new worlds, Which, but for me, had still been empty visions. PICTURE XVIII. Columbus at Valladolid[A] [A] After he found himself in disgrace with the Court of Spain, he retired to Vallodolid, a town of Old Castile, where he died, it is said, more of a broken heart than any other disease, on the 20th of May, 1506.--_Freneau's note._ 1 How sweet is sleep, when gain'd by length of toil! No dreams disturb the slumbers of the dead-- To snatch existence from this scanty soil, Were these the hopes deceitful fancy bred; And were her painted pageants nothing more Than this life's phantoms by delusion led? 2 The winds blow high: one other world remains; Once more without a guide I find the way; In the dark tomb to slumber with my chains-- Prais'd by no poet on my funeral day, Nor even allow'd one dearly purchas'd claim-- My new found world not honour'd with my name. 3 Yet, in this joyless gloom while I repose, Some comfort will attend my pensive shade, When memory paints, and golden fancy shows My toils rewarded, and my woes repaid; When empires rise where lonely forests grew, Where Freedom shall her generous plans pursue. 4