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Page 24
* * * * *
THE ENCHANTED ISLAND.
BY THE AUTHOR OF THE SKETCH-BOOK.
Break, Phantsie, from thy cave of cloud,
And wave thy purple wings,
Now all thy figures are allowed,
And various shapes of things.
Create of airy forms a stream;
It must have blood and nought of phlegm;
And though it be a walking dream,
Yet let it like an odor rise
To all the senses here,
And fall like sleep upon their eyes,
Or music on their ear.--BEN JONSON.
"There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamed of in our
philosophy," and among these may be placed that marvel and mystery of
the seas, the island of St. Brandan. Every school-boy can enumerate and
call by name the Canaries, the Fortunate Islands of the ancients; which,
according to some ingenious speculative minds, are mere wrecks and
remnants of the vast island of Atalantis, mentioned by Plato, as having
been swallowed up by the ocean. Whoever has read the history of those
isles, will remember the wonders told of another island, still more
beautiful, seen occasionally from their shores, stretching away in the
clear bright west, with long shadowy promontories, and high, sun-gilt
peaks. Numerous expeditions, both in ancient and modern days, have
launched forth from the Canaries in quest of that island; but, on their
approach, mountain and promontory have gradually faded away, until
nothing has remained but the blue sky above, and the deep blue water
below. Hence it was termed by the geographers of old, Aprositus, or the
Inaccessible; while modern navigators have called its very existence in
question, pronouncing it a mere optical illusion, like the Fata Morgana
of the Straits of Messina; or classing it with those unsubstantial
regions known to mariners as Cape Flyaway, and the Coast of Cloud Land.
Let not, however, the doubts of the worldly-wise sceptics of modern days
rob us of all the glorious realms owned by happy credulity in days of
yore. Be assured, O reader of easy faith!--thou for whom I delight to
labor--be assured, that such an island does actually exist, and has,
from time to time, been revealed to the gaze, and trodden by the feet,
of favored mortals. Nay, though doubted by historians and philosophers,
its existence is fully attested by the poets, who, being an inspired
race, and gifted with a kind of second sight, can see into the mysteries
of nature, hidden from the eyes of ordinary mortals. To this gifted race
it has ever been a region of fancy and romance, teeming with all kinds
of wonders. Here once bloomed, and perhaps still blooms, the famous
garden of the Hesperides, with its golden fruit. Here, too, was the
enchanted garden of Armida, in which that sorceress held the Christian
paladin, Rinaldo, in delicious but inglorious thraldom; as is set forth
in the immortal lay of Tasso. It was on this island, also, that Sycorax,
the witch, held sway, when the good Prospero, and his infant daughter
Miranda, were wafted to its shores. The isle was then
---"full of noises,
Sounds, and sweet airs, that give delight, and hurt not."
Who does not know the tale, as told in the magic page of Shakspeare?
In fact, the island appears to have been, at different times, under the
sway of different powers, genii of earth, and air, and ocean; who made
it their shadowy abode; or rather, it is the retiring place of old
worn-out deities and dynasties, that once ruled the poetic world,
but are now nearly shorn of all their attributes. Here Neptune and
Amphitrite hold a diminished court, like sovereigns in exile. Their
ocean-chariot lies bottom upward, in a cave of the island, almost a
perfect wreck, while their pursy Tritons and haggard Nereids bask
listlessly, like seals about the rocks. Sometimes they assume a shadow
of their ancient pomp, and glide in state about the glassy sea; while
the crew of some tall Indiaman, that lies becalmed with flapping sails,
hear with astonishment the mellow note of the Triton's shell swelling
upon the ear, as the invisible pageant sweeps by. Sometimes the quondam
monarch of the ocean is permitted to make himself visible to mortal
eyes, visiting the ships that cross the line, to exact a tribute from
new-comers; the only remnant of his ancient rule, and that, alas!
performed with tattered state, and tarnished splendor.
On the shores of this wondrous island, the mighty kraken heaves his
bulk, and wallows many a rood; here, too, the sea-serpent lies coiled
up, during the intervals of his much-contested revelations to the
eyes of true believers; and here it is said, even the Flying Dutchman
finds a port and casts his anchor, and furls his shadowy sail, and
takes a short repose from his eternal wanderings.
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