Northward the Admiral followed that long coast
Past Masafuera--then began his flight
Across the great uncharted shining sea.
And surely there was never stranger voyage.
The winds were gentle toward him, and no more
The dreadful laughter of the tempest shrilled,
Or down upon them pounced the hurricane.
Therefore Magalhaens, giving thanks to God,
Named it Pacific, and the lonely sea.
Still bore him westward where his heart would be.
Alone with all the stars of Christendom
He set his course,--if he had known his fate
Would he have stayed his hand? Before the end
Fate the old witch, who often loves to turn
A man's words on him, kept the ships becalmed
Even to thirst and famine; when instead
They fed on leather, gnawed wood, and ate mice
As did the Patagonian giants, when
They begged such vermin for a savage feast.
Then Fate, her jest outworn, blew them to shore
On the green islands called the Isles of Thieves,
And brought them to more islands--and still more,
A kingdom of bright lands in sunny seas.
Here did the Admiral land, and raise the Cross
Above that heathen realm,--and here went down
In battle for strange allies in strange lands.
So ended his adventure.
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