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 human eye had seen before, mountains with lovely waters streaming down. Firs and pines and trees of various form, and beautiful flowers, adorned the heights. Ascending the river which poured itself into the bay, I was astonished at the cool shade, the crystal-clear water, the number of singing birds. It seemed as if I never could quit a spot so delightful—as if a thousand tongues would fail to describe it—as if the spell-bound hand would refuse to write."

Here were materials for Chateaubriands and Lamartines, yet, excepting the great national epic of Portugal, the influences of the new discoveries on literature as distinct from science were not very remarkable. It has been observed that Camoens, like Lucretius, gives us a picture of the water-spout; and no doubt his "cloud of woven vapour whirling round and round and sending down a thin tube to the sea" is at least as graphic as the Roman's "column reaching down from heaven to ocean." But, though Camoens tauntingly bids the learned "try to explain the wonderful things hidden from the world," the spirit of Lucretius was abroad. Before the poet's life closed (1579) Bacon was eighteen years of age; and that "experience," which against "so-called science" he had praised as "the sailor's only guide," was on its way