Columbus, having wandered from kingdom to kingdom, at length obtains three ships and sets sail on the Atlantic.  The compass alters from its antient direction; the wind becomes constant and unremitting; night and day he advances, till he is suddenly stopped in his course by a mass of vegetation, extending as far as the eye can reach, and assuming the appearance of a country overwhelmed by the sea.  Alarm and despondence on board.  He resigns himself to the care of Heaven, and proceeds on his voyage; while columns of water move along in his path before him.

Meanwhile the deities of America assemble in council; and one of the Zemi, the gods of the islanders, announces his approach.  “In vain,” says he, “have we guarded the Atlantic for ages.  A mortal has baffled our power; nor will our votaries arm against him.  Yours are a sterner race.  Hence; and, while we have recourse to stratagem, do you array the nations round your altars, and prepare for an exterminating war.”  They disperse while he is yet speaking; and, in the shape of a condor, he directs his flight to the fleet.  His journey described.  He arrives there.  A panic.  A mutiny.  Columbus restores order; continues on his voyage; and lands in a New World.  Ceremonies of the first interview.  Rites of hospitality.  The ghost of Cazziva.

Two months pass away, and an Angel, appearing in a dream to Columbus, thus addresses him:  “Return to Europe; though your Adversaries, such is the will of Heaven, shall let loose the hurricane against you.  A little while shall they triumph; insinuating themselves into the hearts of your followers, and making the World, which you came to bless, a scene of blood and slaughter.  Yet is there cause for rejoicing.  Your work is done.  The cross of Christ is planted here; and, in due time, all things shall be made perfect!"_

CANTO I.
Night—­Columbus on the Atlantic—­the variation of the compass, &c.

Say who first pass’d the portals of the West,
And the great Secret of the Deep possess’d;
Who first the standard of his Faith unfurl’d
On the dread confines of an unknown World;
Sung ere his coming [a]—­and by Heav’n design’d
To lift the veil that cover’d half mankind! [b]—­
’Twas night.  The Moon, o’er the wide wave, disclos’d
Her awful face; and Nature’s self repos’d;
When, slowly rising in the azure sky,
Three white sails shone—­but to no mortal eye. 
Entering a boundless sea.  In slumber cast,
The very ship-boy, on the dizzy mast,
Half breath’d his orisons!  Alone unchang’d,
Calmly, beneath, the great Commander rang’d, [c]
Thoughtful not sad; and, as the planet grew,
His noble form, wrapt in his mantle blue,
Athwart the deck a solemn shadow threw. 
“Thee hath it pleas’d—­Thy will be done!” he said, [d]
Then sought his cabin; and, their capas [Footnote 1] spread,
Around him lay the sleeping as the dead,
When, by his lamp, to that mysterious Guide,