Then from that shore they sailed, and southward bent, And as the long days lengthened, till the nights Were but star-circled midnight intervals, They wondered of what race and by what seas They should find kings at the antipodes.
Where a great river flowed into the sea They found sea-lions,--on another isle Strange geese, milk-white and sable, with no wings, Who swam instead of flying, and they called The place the Isle of Penguins.
Then they found A desolate harbor called San Juliano, Where the fierce flame of mutiny broke forth, Spaniard on Portuguese turned treacherously Till in the red midwinter sunrise towered The place of execution, and an end Was made of the two traitors. Outward flashed the sail And left the sea-birds there to tell the tale.
Beyond there lay a bleak and misty shore, And in the fog a wild gigantic form White-haired, a savage, called a greeting to them. Friendly the huge men were, and took these men, Bearded and strange, for kinfolk of their god, Setebos, from his home beyond the moon, And from their great shoes filled with straw for warmth Magalhaens named them men of Patagonia.
Westward they steered, and buffeted by winds, They found a narrow channel, where the fleet Halted for council. One returned to Spain Laden with falsehood and with mutiny. On sailed the others valiantly, their hearts Remembering their Admiral's haughty words Flung at his craven captain, "I will see This great voyage to the end, though we should eat The leather from the yards!" And thus they reached The end of that strait path of Destiny, And saw beyond the shining Western Sea.
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.