VASCO NUNEZ DE BALBOA.

New Zealand Tablet, Volume I, Issue 30, 22 November 1873, Page 12

VASCO NUNEZ DE BALBOA.

Ok a laud remote and nameless

—The West.

Shone the golden orb of day, Painting weird fantastic shadows Over mountains dark and gray. On the topmost heights that reared its Minarets of shattered stone, Overlooking hill and valley, Stood a warrior, still and lone. Far below him lay a vision, Never seen nor dreamed before, Of a beauteous Eden lying By a dim uncertain shore. O'er this region beauty-haunted Dwelt his raptured soul in awe — Rapt, transported, half-enchanted, By the wonders which he saw.

Mountains rising to the heavens From the centre of our land — Valleys, bathed in endless summer, Dreaming in their mystic band ; Sweeping in majestic grandeur To the limits of tLe sky, Lay these -western realirs of Thule, Newly opened to his eye. Stately palms that swayed and battled With the rnusio-breathiug wind — ■ Silver pines that fringed the summits Of the craggy peaks behind, In the red and hazy sunlight, Waving dimly, fitfully, Tossed their plumes in verdant billows O'er a visionary sea. Through arroyos dark and dismal Poured the torrent's foaming tide, Winding in a train of silver Down the mountain's massive side. In the misty realms to westward I*7 a golden-tinted streak, Where the glowing Bunlight left its Image on the ocean's cheek. As his burning glances lighted On that lone, mysterious sea, Overcome by strange emotions, To the earth he bent his knee — While the languid breeze that wafted Summer odours on the air, Soared into the gates of heaven Freighted with a thankful prayer. Ere his orisons were ended, Warlike forms around him stood, Gazing with ecstatic rapture On that radiant solitude ; While their faces vainly questioned, In a voice without a tone, Of the scenes that lay before them — Regions hitherto unknown. Were these realms a blest elysium Where the soul of man might rest, While the peaceful waves of Lethe Pulsed for ever in his breast ? •And that dim and distant ocean —

Did its waters far outpour Into regions vast and formless, Limitless, without a shore ? This and more they stood divining Of that land without a uame, While their dreams revealed a morrow That should laurel them with fame. Wearily the sad Pacific,

Beating on its rocky shore, For the warrior-chief Balboa Chants a dirge for evermore.

William Hamill.