The anteroom of Mystery,
As, through its westward-facing door,
I see the vast Atlantic lie
In splendor 'neath a sunset sky.

Above its distant, glittering rim
Streams o'er the waves a flood of gold,
To gild the mountains, bare and grim,
Which guard this exit, as of old,--
The sombre sentries of two seas,
The Pillars reared by Hercules;--

Gibraltar,--on the northern shore,
By conquering Moors once proudly trod,--
And, to the south a league or more,
Huge Abyla, the "Mount of God",
Whence burdened Atlas watched with ease
The Gardens of Hesperides.

How many slow-paced centuries passed,
Before brave sailors dared to creep
Beyond the gloom these monsters cast,
And venture on the unknown deep,
At last resolving to defy
The "God-established" termini!

Yet no fierce gods opposed their path;
No lurid bolt or arrow sped
To crush them with celestial wrath,
And number them among the dead;