The Poetical Works of William Lisle Bowles, Vol. 1

Fly, Son of Terror, fly!

Back o'er the burning desert he is fled! 360

In heaps the gory dead

And livid in the trenches lie!

His dazzling files no more

Flash on the Syrian sands,

As when from Egypt's ravaged shore,

Aloft their gleamy falchions swinging,

Aloud their victor p?ans singing,

Their onward way the Gallic legions took.

Despair, dismay, are on his altered look,

Yet hate indignant lowers; 370

Whilst high on Acre's granite towers

The shade of English Richard seems to stand;

And frowning far, in dusky rows,

A thousand archers draw their bows!

They join the triumph of the British band,

And the rent watch-tower echoes to the cry,

Heard o'er the rolling surge-They fly, they fly!

Now the hostile fires decline,

Now through the smoke's deep volumes shine;

Now above the bastions gray 380

The clouds of battle roll away;

Where, with calm, yet glowing mien,

Britain's victorious youth is seen!

He lifts his eye,

His country's ensigns wave through smoke on high,

Whilst the long-mingled shout is heard-They fly, they fly!

Hoary Carmel, witness thou,

And lift in conscious pride thy brow;

As when upon thy cloudy plain

Baal's prophets cried in vain! 390

They gashed their flesh, and leaped, and cried,

From morn till lingering even-tide.

Then stern Elijah on his foes

Strong in the might of Heaven arose!-

On Carmel's top he stood,

And while the blackening clouds and rain

Came sounding from the Western main,

Raised his right hand that dropped with impious blood.

Ancient Kishon prouder swell,

On whose banks they bowed, they fell, 400

The mighty ones of yore, when, pale with dread,

Inglorious Sisera fled!

So let them perish, Holy Lord,

Who for oppression lift the sword;

But let all those who, armed for freedom, fight,

"Be as the sun who goes forth in his might."

[160] Alluding to the harps found in the caverns of Thebes.

[161] Migdol was a fortress which guarded the pass of Egypt; Baal-zephon, a sea idol, generally considered the guardian of the coast.

[162] The Cushites inhabited the granite rocks stretching along the Red Sea.

[163] When the Egyptians found the ark, their expression was, "Let us rejoice, we have found the lost Osiris," or Noah.

[164] The deluge or devastating storm.

[165] The desert of Ariana, where the army of Cyrus perished.

[166] Ammon, according to Sir Isaac Newton, was the first artificer who built large ships, and passed the Straits.

[167] The entrance into the Red Sea was called the Gate of Affliction.

[168] Temple of Solomon.

[169] Alluding to the story of Patagonians bursting their cords when taken.

[170] Pillars of Hercules.

[171] Moloch, whose rites of blood are well known, was worshipped along the coast of Syria.

[172] The island described by Plato; by some supposed to be America.

* * *

BOOK THE THIRD.

My heart has sighed in secret, when I thought

That the dark tide of time might one day close,

England, o'er thee, as long since it has closed

On Egypt and on Tyre: that ages hence,

From the Pacific's billowy loneliness,

Whose tract thy daring search revealed, some isle

Might rise in green-haired beauty eminent,

And like a goddess, glittering from the deep,

Hereafter sway the sceptre of domain

From pole to pole; and such as now thou art, 10

Perhaps New-Holland be. For who shall say

What the Omnipotent Eternal One,

That made the world, hath purposed! Thoughts like these,

Though visionary, rise; and sometimes move

A moment's sadness, when I think of thee,

My country, of thy greatness, and thy name,

Among the nations; and thy character,-

Though some few spots be on thy flowing robe,-

Of loveliest beauty: I have never passed

Through thy green hamlets on a summer's morn, 20

Nor heard thy sweet bells ring, nor seen the youths

And smiling maidens of thy villages,

Gay in their Sunday tire, but I have said,

With passing tenderness-Live, happy land,

Where the poor peasant feels his shed, though small,

An independence and a pride, that fill

His honest heart with joy-joy such as they

Who crowd the mart of men may never feel!

Such, England, is thy boast. When I have heard

The roar of ocean bursting 'round thy rocks, 30

Or seen a thousand thronging masts aspire,

Far as the eye could reach, from every port

Of every nation, streaming with their flags

O'er the still mirror of the conscious Thames,-

Yes, I have felt a proud emotion swell

That I was British-born; that I had lived

A witness of thy glory, my most loved

And honoured country; and a silent prayer

Would rise to Heaven, that Fame and Peace, and Love

And Liberty, might walk thy vales, and sing 40

Their holy hymns, while thy brave arm repelled

Hostility, even as thy guardian cliffs

Repel the dash of that dread element

Which calls me, lingering on the banks of Thames,

On to my destined voyage, by the shores

Of Asia, and the wreck of cities old,

Ere yet we burst into the wilder deep

With Gama; or the huge Atlantic waste

With bold Columbus stem; or view the bounds

Of field-ice, stretching to the southern pole, 50

With thee, benevolent, lamented Cook!

Tyre be no more! said the Almighty voice:

But thou too, Monarch of the world,[173] whose arm

Rent the proud bulwarks of the golden queen

Of cities, throned upon her subject seas,

Art thou too fall'n?

The whole earth is at rest:

"They break forth into singing:" Lebanon

Waves all his hoary pines, and seems to say,

No feller now comes here; Hell from beneath 60

Is moved to meet thy coming; it stirs up

The dead for thee; the chief ones of the earth,

Tyre and the nations, they all speak and say-

Art thou become like us! Thy pomp brought down

E'en to the dust! The noise of viols ceased,

The worm spread under thee, the crawling worm

To cover thee! How art thou fall'n from heaven,

Son of the morning! In thy heart thou saidst,

I will ascend to Heaven; I will exalt

My throne above the stars of God! Die-die, 70

Blasphemer! As a carcase under foot,

Defiled and trodden, so be thou cast out!

And she, the great, the guilty Babel-she

Who smote the wasted cities, and the world

Made as a wilderness-she, in her turn,

Sinks to the gulf oblivious at the voice

Of Him who sits in judgment on her crimes!

Who, o'er her palaces and buried towers,

Shall bid the owl hoot, and the bittern scream;

And on her pensile groves and pleasant shades 80

Pour the deep waters of forgetfulness.

On that same night, when with a cry she fell,

(Like her own mighty idol dashed to earth,)

There was a strange eclipse, and long laments

Were heard, and muttering thunders o'er the towers

Of the high palace where his wassail loud

Belshazzar kept, mocking the God of heaven,

And flushed with impious mirth; for Bel had left

With sullen shriek his golden shrine, and sat,

With many a gloomy apparition girt, 90

Nisroch and Nebo chief, in the dim sphere

Of mooned Astoreth, whose orb now rolled

In darkness:-They their earthly empire mourned;

Meantime the host of Cyrus through the night

Silent advanced more nigh; and at that hour,

In the torch-blazing hall of revelry,

The fingers of a shadowy hand distinct

Came forth, and unknown figures marked the wall,

Searing the eye-balls of the starting king:

Tyre is avenged; Babel is fall'n, is fall'n! 100

Bel and her gods are shattered!

Prince, to thee

Called by the voice of God to execute

His will on earth, and raised to Persia's throne,

Cyrus, all hearts pay homage. Touched with tints

Most clear by the historian's magic art,

Thy features wear a gentleness and grace

Unlike the stern cold aspect and the frown

Of the dark chiefs of yore, the gloomy clan

Of heroes, from humanity and love 110

Removed: To thee a brighter character

Belongs-high dignity, unbending truth-

Yet Nature; not that lordly apathy

Which confidence and human sympathy

Represses, but a soul that bids all hearts

Smiling approach. We almost burn in thought

To kiss the hand that loosed Panthea's chains,

And bless him with a parent's, husband's tear,

Who stood a guardian angel in distress

To the unfriended, and the beautiful, 120

Consigned a helpless slave. Thy portrait, touched

With tints of softest light, thus wins all hearts

To love thee; but severer policy,

Cyrus, pronounces otherwise: she hears

No stir of commerce on the sullen marge

Of waters that along thy empire's verge

Beat cheerless; no proud moles arise; no ships,

Freighted with Indian wealth, glide o'er the main

From cape to cape. But on the desert sands

Hurtles thy numerous host, seizing, in thought 130

Rapacious, the rich fields of Hindostan,

As the poor savage fells the blooming tree

To gain its tempting fruit; but woe the while!

For in the wilderness the noise is lost

Of all thy archers;-they have ceased;-the wind

Blows o'er them, and the voice of judgment cries:

So perish they who grasp with avarice

Another's blessed portion, and disdain

That interchange of mutual good, that crowns

The slow, sure toil of commerce. 140

It was thine,

Immortal son of Macedon! to hang

In the high fane of maritime renown

The fairest trophies of thy fame, and shine,

Then only like a god, when thy great mind

Swayed in its master council the deep tide

Of things, predestining th' eventful roll

Of commerce, and uniting either world,

Europe and Asia, in thy vast design.

Twas when the victor, in his proud career, 150

O'er ravaged Hindostan, had now advanced

Beyond Hydaspes; on the flowery banks

Of Hyphasis, with banners thronged, his camp

Was spread. On high he bade the altars rise,

The awful records to succeeding years

Of his long march of glory, and to point

The spot where, like the thunder rolled away,

His army paused. Now shady eve came down;

The trumpet sounded to the setting sun,

That looked from his illumed pavilion, calm 160

Upon the scene of arms, as if, all still,

And lovely as his parting light, the world

Beneath him spread; nor clangours, nor deep groans,

Were heard, nor victory's shouts, nor sighs, nor shrieks,

Were ever wafted from a bleeding land,

After the havoc of a conqueror's sword.

So calm the sun declined; when from the woods,

That shone to his last beam, a Brahmin old

Came forth. His streaming beard shone in the ray,

That slanted o'er his feeble frame; his front 170

Was furrowed. To the sun's last light he cast

A look of sorrow, then in silence bowed

Before the conqueror of the world. At once

All, as in death, was still. The victor chief

Trembled, he knew not why; the trumpet ceased

Its clangor, and the crimson streamer waved

No more in folds insulting to the Lord

Of the reposing world. The pallid front

Of the meek man seemed for a moment calm,

Yet dark and thronging thoughts appeared to swell 180

His beating heart. He paused-and then abrupt:

Victor, avaunt! he cried,

Hence! and the banners of thy pride

Bear to the deep! Behold on high

Yon range of mountains mingled with the sky!

It is the place

Where the great Father of the human race

Rested, when all the world and all its sounds

Ceased; and the ocean that surrounds

The earth, leaped from its dark abode 190

Beneath the mountains, and enormous flowed,

The green earth deluging! List, soldier, list!

And dread His might no mortal may resist.

Great Bramah rested, hushed in sleep,

When Hayagraiva[174] came,

With mooned horns and eyes of flame,

And bore the holy Vedas[175] to the deep.

Far from the sun's rejoicing ray,

Beneath the huge abyss, the buried treasures lay.

Then foamed the billowy desert wide, 200

And all that breathed-they died,

Sunk in the rolling waters: such the crime

And violence of earth. But he above,

Great Vishnu, moved with pitying love,

Preserved the pious king, whose ark sublime

Floated, in safety borne:

For his stupendous horn,

Blazing like gold, and many a rood

Extended o'er the dismal flood,

The precious freight sustained, till on the crest 210

Of Himakeel,[176] yon mountain high,

That darkly mingles with the sky,

Where many a griffin roams, the hallowed ark found rest.

And Heaven decrees that here

Shall cease thy slaughtering spear:

Enough we bleed, enough we weep,

Hence, victor, to the deep!

Ev'n now along the tide

I see thy ships triumphant ride:

I see the world of trade emerge 220

From ocean's solitude! What fury fires

My breast! The flood, the flood retires,[177]

And owns its future sovereign! Urge

Thy destined way; what countless pennants stream!

(Or is it but the shadow of a dream?)

Ev'n now old Indus hails

Thy daring prows in long array,

That o'er the lone seas gliding,

Around the sea-gods riding,

Speed to Euphrates' shores their destined way. 230

Fill high the bowl of mirth!

From west to east the earth

Proclaims thee Lord; shall the blue main

Confine thy reign?

But tremble, tyrant; hark in many a ring,

With language dread

Above thy head,

The dark Assoors[178] thy death-song sing.

What mortal blow

Hath laid the king of nations low? 240

No hand: his own despair.-

But shout, for the canvas shall swell to the air,

Thy ships explore

Unknown Persia's winding shore,

While the great dragon rolls his arms in vain.

And see, uprising from the level main,

A new and glorious city springs;-

Hither speed thy woven wings,

That glance along the azure tide;

Asia and Europe own thy might;- 250

The willing seas of either world unite:

Thy name shall consecrate the sands,

And glittering to the sky the mart of nations stands.

He spoke, and rushed into the thickest wood.

With flashing eyes the impatient monarch cried-

Yes, by the Lybian Ammon and the gods

Of Greece, thou bid'st me on, the self-same track

My spirit pointed; and, let death betide,

My name shall live in glory!

At his word 260

The pines descend; the thronging masts aspire;

The novel sails swell beauteous o'er the curves

Of Indus; to the Moderators' song[179]

The oars keep time, while bold Nearchus guides

Aloft the gallies. On the foremost prow

The monarch from his golden goblet pours

A full libation to the gods, and calls

By name the mighty rivers, through whose course

He seeks the sea. To Lybian Ammon loud

The songs ascend; the trumpets bray; aloft 270

The streamers fly, whilst on the evening wave

Majestic to the main the fleet descends.

[173] Nebuchadnezzar, the destroyer of Tyre.

[174] Hayagraiva, the evil spirit of the ocean.

[175] The sacred writings of the Hindus.

[176] Caucasus.

[177] Alluding to the astonishment of Alexander's soldiers, when they first witnessed the effects of the tide.

[178] Assoors, the evil genii of India.

[179] Moderators were people stationed on the poop, to excite with songs the maritime ardour, while the oars kept time.

* * *

BOOK THE FOURTH.

Stand on the gleaming Pharos,[180] and aloud

Shout, Commerce, to the kingdoms of the earth;

Shout, for thy golden portals are set wide,

And all thy streamers o'er the surge, aloft,

In pomp triumphant wave. The weary way

That pale Nearchus passed, from creek to creek

Advancing slow, no longer bounds the track

Of the adventurous mariner, who steers

Steady, with eye intent upon the stars,

To Elam's echoing port. Meantime, more high 10

Aspiring, o'er the Western main her towers

Th' imperial city lifts, the central mart

Of nations, and beneath the calm clear sky,

At distance from the palmy marge, displays

Her clustering columns, whitening to the morn.

Damascus' fleece, Golconda's gems, are there.

Murmurs the haven with one ceaseless hum;

The hurrying camel's bell, the driver's song,

Along the sands resound. Tyre, art thou fall'n?

A prouder city crowns the inland sea, 20

Raised by his hand who smote thee; as if thus

His mighty mind were swayed to recompense

The evil of his march through cities stormed,

And regions wet with blood! and still had flowed

The tide of commerce through the destined track,

Traced by his mind sagacious, who surveyed

The world he conquered with a sage's eye,

As with a soldier's spirit; but a scene

More awful opens: ancient world, adieu!

Adieu, cloud-piercing pillars, erst its bounds; 30

And thou, whose aged head once seemed to prop

The heavens, huge Atlas, sinking fast, adieu!

What though the seas with wilder fury rave,

Through their deserted realm; though the dread Cape,[181]

Sole-frowning o'er the war of waves below,

That bar the seaman's search, horrid in air

Appear with giant amplitude; his head

Shrouded in clouds, the tempest at his feet,

And standing thus terrific, seem to say,

Incensed-Approach who dare! What though the fears 40

Of superstition people the vexed space

With spirits unblessed, that lamentations make

To the sad surge beyond-yet Enterprise,

Not now a darkling Cyclop on the sands

Striding, but led by Science, and advanced

To a more awful height, on the wide scene

Looks down commanding.

Does a shuddering thought

Of danger start, as the tumultuous sea

Tosses below! Calm Science, with a smile, 50

Displays the wondrous index, that still points,

With nice vibration tremulous, to the Pole.

And such, she whispers, is the just man's hope

In this tempestuous scene of human things;

Even as the constant needle to the North

Still points; so Piety and meek-eyed Faith

Direct, though trembling oft, their constant gaze

Heavenward, as to their lasting home, nor fear

The night, fast closing on their earthly way.

And guided by this index, thou shall pass 60

The world of seas secure. Far from all land,

Where not a sea-bird wanders; where nor star,

Nor moon appears, nor the bright noonday sun,

Safe in the wildering storm, as when the breeze

Of summer gently blows; through day, through night,

Where sink the well-known stars, and others rise

Slow from the South, the victor bark shall ride.

Henry! thy ardent mind first pierced the gloom

Of dark disastrous ignorance, that sat

Upon the Southern wave, like the deep cloud 70

That lowered upon the woody skirts, and veiled

From mortal search, with umbrage ominous,

Madeira's unknown isle. But look! the morn

Is kindled on the shadowy offing; streaks

Of clear cold light on Sagres' battlements

Are cast, where Henry watches, listening still

To the unwearied surge; and turning still

His anxious eyes to the horizon's bounds.

A sail appears; it swells, it shines: more high

Seen through the dusk it looms; and now the hull 80

Is black upon the surge, whilst she rolls on

Aloft-the weather-beaten ship-and now

Streams by the watch-tower!

Zarco,[182] from the deep

What tidings?

The loud storm of night prevailed,

And swept our vessel from Bojador's rocks

Far out to sea; a sylvan isle[183] received

Our sails; so willed the Almighty-He who speaks,

And all the waves are still! 90

Hail, Henry cried,

The omen: we have burst the sole barrier,

(Prosper our wishes, Father of the world!)

We speed to Asia.

Soon upon the deep

The brave ship speeds again. Bojador's rocks

Arise at distance, frowning o'er the surf,

That boils for many a league without. Its course

The ship holds on; till lo! the beauteous isle,

That shielded late the sufferers from the storm, 100

Springs o'er the wave again. Here they refresh

Their wasted strength, and lift their vows to Heaven,

But Heaven denies their further search; for ah!

What fearful apparition, palled in clouds,

For ever sits upon the Western wave,

Like night, and in its strange portentous gloom

Wrapping the lonely waters, seems the bounds

Of Nature? Still it sits, day after day,

The same mysterious vision. Holy saints!

Is it the dread abyss where all things cease? 110

Or haply hid from mortal search, thine isle,

Cipango, and that unapproached seat

Of peace, where rest the Christians whom the hate

Of Moorish pride pursued? Whate'er it be,

Zarco, thy holy courage bids thee on

To burst the gloom, though dragons guard the shore,[184]

Or beings more than mortal pace the sands.

The favouring gales invite; the bowsprit bears

Right onward to the fearful shade; more black

The cloudy spectre towers; already fear 120

Shrinks at the view aghast and breathless. Hark!

'Twas more than the deep murmur of the surge

That struck the ear; whilst through the lurid gloom

Gigantic phantoms seem to lift in air

Their misty arms; yet, yet-bear boldly on-

The mist dissolves;-seen through the parting haze,

Romantic rocks, like the depictured clouds,

Shine out; beneath a blooming wilderness

Of varied wood is spread, that scents the air;

Where fruits of "golden rind," thick interspersed 130

And pendent, through the mantling umbrage gleam

Inviting. Cypress here, and stateliest pine,

Spire o'er the nether shades, as emulous

Of sole distinction where all nature smiles.

Some trees, in sunny glades alone their head

And graceful stem uplifting, mark below

The turf with shadow; whilst in rich festoons

The flowery lianes braid their boughs; meantime

Choirs of innumerous birds of liveliest song

And brightest plumage, flitting through the shades, 140

With nimble glance are seen; they, unalarmed,

Now near in airy circles sing, then speed

Their random flight back to their sheltering bowers,

Whose silence, broken only by their song,

From the foundation of this busy world,

Perhaps had never echoed to the voice,

Or heard the steps, of Man. What rapture fired

The strangers' bosoms, as from glade to glade

They passed, admiring all, and gazing still

With new delight! 'Tis solitude around; 150

Deep solitude, that on the gloom of woods

Prim?val fearful hangs: a green recess

Now opens in the wilderness; gay flowers

Of unknown name purple the yielding sward;

The ring-dove murmurs o'er their head, like one

Attesting tenderest joy; but mark the trees,

Where, slanting through the gloom, the sunshine rests!

Beneath, a moss-grown monument appears,

O'er which the green banana gently waves

Its long leaf; and an aged cypress near 160

Leans, as if listening to the streamlet's sound,

That gushes from the adverse bank; but pause-

Approach with reverence! Maker of the world,

There is a Christian's cross! and on the stone

A name, yet legible amid its moss,-

Anna!

In that remote, sequestered spot,

Shut as it seemed from all the world, and lost

In boundless seas, to trace a name, to mark

The emblems of their holy faith, from all 170

Drew tears; while every voice faintly pronounced,

Anna! But thou, loved harp! whose strings have rung

To louder tones, oh! let my hand, awhile,

The wires more softly touch, whilst I rehearse

Her name and fate, who in this desert deep,

Far from the world, from friends, and kindred, found

Her long and last abode; there where no eye

Might shed a tear on her remains; no heart

Sigh in remembrance of her fate:-

She left 180

The Severn's side, and fled with him she loved

O'er the wide main; for he had told her tales

Of happiness in distant lands, where care

Comes not; and pointing to the golden clouds

That shone above the waves, when evening came,

Whispered-Oh, are there not sweet scenes of peace,

Far from the murmurs of this cloudy mart,-

Where gold alone bears sway,-scenes of delight,

Where love may lay his head upon the lap

Of innocence, and smile at all the toil 190

Of the low-thoughted throng, that place in wealth

Their only bliss! Yes, there are scenes like these.

Leave the vain chidings of the world behind,

Country, and hollow friends, and fly with me

Where love and peace in distant vales invite.

What wouldst thou here! Oh, shall thy beauteous look

Of maiden innocence, thy smile of youth, thine eyes

Of tenderness and soft subdued desire,

Thy form, thy limbs-oh, madness!-be the prey

Of a decrepit spoiler, and for gold?- 200

Perish his treasure with him. Haste with me;

We shall find out some sylvan nook, and then,

If thou shouldst sometimes think upon these hills,

When they are distant far, and drop a tear,

Yes-I will kiss it from thy cheek, and clasp

Thy angel beauties closer to my breast;

And whilst the winds blow o'er us, and the sun

Sinks beautifully down, and thy soft cheek

Reclines on mine, I will infold thee thus,

And proudly cry, My friend-my love-my wife! 210

So tempted he, and soon her heart approved,

Nay wooed, the blissful dream; and oft at eve,

When the moon shone upon the wandering stream,

She paced the castle's battlements, that threw

Beneath their solemn shadow, and, resigned

To fancy and to tears, thought it most sweet

To wander o'er the world with him she loved.

Nor was his birth ignoble, for he shone

'Mid England's gallant youth in Edward's reign:

With countenance erect, and honest eye 220

Commanding (yet suffused in tenderness

At times), and smiles that like the lightning played

On his brown cheek,-so gently stern he stood,

Accomplished, generous, gentle, brave, sincere,-

Robert a Machin. But the sullen pride

Of haughty D'Arfet scorned all other claim

To his high heritage, save what the pomp

Of amplest wealth and loftier lineage gave.

Reckless of human tenderness, that seeks

One loved, one honoured object, wealth alone 230

He worshipped; and for this he could consign

His only child, his aged hope, to loathed

Embraces, and a life of tears! Nor here

His hard ambition ended; for he sought,

By secret whispers of conspiracies,

His sovereign to abuse, bidding him lift

His arm avenging, and upon a youth

Of promise close the dark forgotten gates

Of living sepulture, and in the gloom

Inhume the slowly-wasting victim. 240

So

He purposed, but in vain; the ardent youth

Rescued her-her whom more than life he loved,

Ev'n when the horrid day of sacrifice

Drew nigh. He pointed to the distant bark,

And while he kissed a stealing tear that fell

On her pale cheek, as trusting she reclined

Her head upon his breast, with ardour cried-

Be mine, be only mine! the hour invites;

Be mine, be only mine! So won, she cast 250

A look of last affection on the towers

Where she had passed her infant days, that now

Shone to the setting sun. I follow thee,

Her faint voice said; and lo! where in the air

A sail hangs tremulous, and soon her feet

Ascend the vessel's side: The vessel glides

Down the smooth current, as the twilight fades,

Till soon the woods of Severn, and the spot

Where D'Arfet's solitary turrets rose,

Is lost; a tear starts to her eye, she thinks 260

Of him whose gray head to the earth shall bend,

When he speaks nothing-but be all, like death,

Forgotten. Gently blows the placid breeze,

And oh! that now some fairy pinnace light

Might flit across the wave (by no seen power

Directed, save when Love upon the prow

Gathered or spread with tender hand the sail),

That now some fairy pinnace, o'er the surge

Silent, as in a summer's dream, might waft

The passengers upon the conscious flood 270

To regions bright of undisturbed joy!

But hark!

The wind is in the shrouds;-the cordage sings

With fitful violence;-the blast now swells,

Now sinks. Dread gloom invests the further wave,

Whose foaming toss alone is seen, beneath

The veering bowsprit.

Oh, retire to rest,

Maiden, whose tender heart would beat, whose cheek

Turn pale to see another thus exposed! 280

Hark! the deep thunder louder peals-Oh, save!-

The high mast crashes; but the faithful arm

Of love is o'er thee, and thy anxious eye,

Soon as the gray of morning peeps, shall view

Green Erin's hills aspiring!

The sad morn

Comes forth; but terror on the sunless wave

Still, like a sea-fiend, sits, and darkly smiles

Beneath the flash that through the struggling clouds

Bursts frequent, half revealing his scathed front, 290

Above the rocking of the waste that rolls

Boundless around.

No word through the long day

She spoke;-another slowly came;-no word

The beauteous drooping mourner spoke. The sun

Twelve times had sunk beneath the sullen surge,

And cheerless rose again:-Ah, where are now

Thy havens, France! But yet-resign not yet-

Ye lost seafarers-oh, resign not yet

All hope-the storm is passed; the drenched sail 300

Shines in the passing beam! Look up, and say-

Heaven, thou hast heard our prayers!

And lo! scarce seen,

A distant dusky spot appears;-they reach

An unknown shore, and green and flowery vales,

And azure hills, and silver-gushing streams,

Shine forth; a Paradise, which Heaven alone,

Who saw the silent anguish of despair,

Could raise in the waste wilderness of waves.

They gain the haven; through untrodden scenes, 310

Perhaps untrodden by the foot of man

Since first the earth arose, they wind. The voice

Of Nature hails them here with music, sweet,

As waving woods retired, or falling streams,

Can make; most soothing to the weary heart,

Doubly to those who, struggling with their fate,

And wearied long with watchings and with grief,

Seek but a place of safety. All things here

Whisper repose and peace; the very birds

That 'mid the golden fruitage glance their plumes, 320

The songsters of the lonely valley, sing-

Welcome from scenes of sorrow, live with us.

The wild wood opens, and a shady glen

Appears, embowered with mantling laurels high,

That sloping shade the flowery valley's side;

A lucid stream, with gentle murmur, strays

Beneath the umbrageous multitude of leaves,

Till gaining, with soft lapse, the nether plain,

It glances light along its yellow bed;-

The shaggy inmates of the forest lick 330

The feet of their new guests, and gazing stand.

A beauteous tree upshoots amid the glade

Its trembling top; and there upon the bank

They rest them, while each heart o'erflows with joy.

Now evening, breathing richer odours sweet,

Came down: a softer sound the circling seas,

The ancient woods resounded, while the dove,

Her murmurs interposing, tenderness

Awaked, yet more endearing, in the hearts

Of those who, severed wide from human kind, 340

Woman and man, by vows sincere betrothed,

Heard but the voice of Nature. The still moon

Arose-they saw it not-cheek was to cheek

Inclined, and unawares a stealing tear

Witnessed how blissful was that hour, that seemed

Not of the hours that time could count. A kiss

Stole on the listening silence; ne'er till now

Here heard; they trembled, ev'n as if the Power

That made the world, that planted the first pair

In Paradise, amid the garden walked:- 350

This since the fairest garden that the world

Has witnessed, by the fabling sons of Greece

Hesperian named, who feigned the watchful guard

Of the scaled Dragon, and the Golden Fruit.

Such was this sylvan Paradise; and here

The loveliest pair, from a hard world remote,

Upon each other's neck reclined; their breath

Alone was heard, when the dove ceased on high

Her plaint; and tenderly their faithful arms

Infolded each the other. 360

Thou, dim cloud,

That from the search of men these beauteous vales

Hast closed, oh, doubly veil them! But alas,

How short the dream of human transport! Here,

In vain they built the leafy bower of love,

Or culled the sweetest flowers and fairest fruit.

The hours unheeded stole! but ah, not long-

Again the hollow tempest of the night

Sounds through the leaves; the inmost woods resound;

Slow comes the dawn, but neither ship nor sail 370

Along the rocking of the windy waste

Is seen: the dash of the dark-heaving wave

Alone is heard. Start from your bed of bliss,

Poor victims! never more shall ye behold

Your native vales again; and thou, sweet child!

Who, listening to the voice of love, hast left

Thy friends, thy country,-oh, may the wan hue

Of pining memory, the sunk cheek, the eye

Where tenderness yet dwells, atone (if love

Atonement need, by cruelty and wrong 380

Beset), atone ev'n now thy rash resolves!

Ah, fruitless hope! Day after day, thy bloom

Fades, and the tender lustre of thy eye

Is dimmed: thy form, amid creation, seems

The only drooping thing.

Thy look was soft,

And yet most animated, and thy step

Light as the roe's upon the mountains. Now,

Thou sittest hopeless, pale, beneath the tree

That fanned its joyous leaves above thy head, 390

Where love had decked the blooming bower, and strewn

The sweets of summer: Death is on thy cheek,

And thy chill hand the pressure scarce returns

Of him, who, agonised and hopeless, hangs

With tears and trembling o'er thee. Spare the sight,-

She faints-she dies!-

He laid her in the earth,

Himself scarce living, and upon her tomb

Beneath the beauteous tree where they reclined,

Placed the last tribute of his earthly love. 400

INSCRIPTION FOR THE GRAVE OF ANNA D'ARFET.

O'er my poor Anna's lowly grave

No dirge shall sound, no knell shall ring;

But angels, as the high pines wave,

Their half-heard "Miserere" sing.

No flowers of transient bloom at eve

The maidens on the turf shall strew;

Nor sigh, as the sad spot they leave,

Sweets to the sweet! a long adieu!

But in this wilderness profound,

O'er her the dove shall build her nest; 410

And ocean swell with softer sound

A requiem to her dreams of rest!

Ah! when shall I as quiet be,

When not a friend, or human eye,

Shall mark beneath the mossy tree

The spot where we forgotten lie!

To kiss her name on the cold stone,

Is all that now on earth I crave;

For in this world I am alone-

Oh, lay me with her in the grave! 420

Robert a Machin, 1344.

Miserere nobis, Domine.

He placed the rude inscription on her stone,

Which he with faltering hands had graved, and soon

Himself beside it sunk-yet ere he died,

Faintly he spoke: If ever ye shall hear,

Companions of my few and evil days,

Again the convent's vesper bells, oh! think

Of me; and if in after-times the search

Of men should reach this far removed spot,

Let sad remembrance raise an humble shrine,

And virgin choirs chaunt duly o'er our grave: 430

Peace, peace! His arm upon the mournful stone

He dropped; his eyes, ere yet in death they closed,

Turned to the name, till he could see no more

Anna. His pale survivors, earth to earth,

Weeping consigned his poor remains, and placed

Beneath the sod where all he loved was laid.

Then shaping a rude vessel from the woods,

They sought their country o'er the waves, and left

Those scenes once more to deepest solitude.

The beauteous ponciana hung its head 440

O'er the gray stone; but never human eye

Had mark'd the spot, or gazed upon the grave

Of the unfortunate, but for the voice

Of Enterprise, that spoke, from Sagre's towers,

Through ocean's perils, storms, and unknown wastes-

Speed we to Asia!

Here, Discovery, pause!-

Then from the tomb of him who first was cast

Upon this Heaven-appointed isle, thy gaze

Uplift, and far beyond the Cape of Storms 450

Pursue De Gama's tract. Mark the rich shores

Of Madagascar, till the purple East

Shines in luxuriant beauty wide disclosed.

But cease thy song, presumptuous Muse!-a bard,

In tones whose patriot sound shall never die,

Has struck his deep shell, and the glorious theme

Recorded.

Say, what lofty meed awaits

The triumph of his victor conch, that swells

Its music on the yellow Tagus' side, 460

As when Arion, with his glittering harp

And golden hair, scarce sullied from the main,

Bids all the high rocks listen to his voice

Again! Alas, I see an aged form,

An old man worn by penury, his hair

Blown white upon his haggard cheek, his hand

Emaciated, yet the strings with thrilling touch

Soliciting; but the vain crowds pass by:

His very countrymen, whose fame his song

Has raised to heaven, in stately apathy 470

Wrapped up, and nursed in pride's fastidious lap,

Regard not. As he plays, a sable man

Looks up, but fears to speak, and when the song

Has ceased, kisses his master's feeble hand.

Is that cold wasted hand, that haggard look,

Thine, Camoens? Oh, shame upon the world!

And is there none, none to sustain thee found,

But he, himself unfriended, who so far

Has followed, severed from his native isles,

To scenes of gorgeous cities, o'er the sea, 480

Thee and thy broken fortunes!

God of worlds!

Oh, whilst I hail the triumph and high boast

Of social life, let me not wrong the sense

Of kindness, planted in the human heart

By man's great Maker, therefore I record

Antonio's faithful, gentle, generous love

To his heartbroken master, that might teach,

High as it bears itself, a polished world

More charity. 490

Discovery, turn thine eyes!

Columbus' toiling ship is on the deep,

Stemming the mid Atlantic.

Waste and wild

The view! On the same sunshine o'er the waves

The murmuring mariners, with languid eye,

Ev'n till the heart is sick, gaze day by day!

At midnight in the wind sad voices sound!

When the slow morning o'er the offing dawns,

Heartless they view the same drear weltering waste 500

Of seas: and when the sun again goes down

Silent, hope dies within them, and they think

Of parting friendship's last despairing look!

See too, dread prodigy, the needle veers

Her trembling point-will Heaven forsake them too!

But lift thy sunk eye, and thy bloodless look,

Despondence! Milder airs at morning breathe:-

Below the slowly-parting prow the sea

Is dark with weeds; and birds of land are seen

To wing the desert tract, as hasting on 510

To the green valleys of their distant home.

Yet morn succeeds to morn-and nought around

Is seen, but dark weeds floating many a league,

The sun's sole orb, and the pale hollowness

Of heaven's high arch streaked with the early clouds.

Watchman, what from the giddy mast?

A shade

Appears on the horizon's hazy line.

Land! land! aloud is echoed; but the spot

Fades as the shouting crew delighted gaze- 520

It fades, and there is nothing-nothing now

But the blue sky, the clouds, and surging seas!

As one who, in the desert, faint with thirst,

Upon the trackless and forsaken sands

Sinks dying; him the burning haze deceives,

As mocking his last torments, while it seems,

To his distempered vision, like th' expanse

Of lucid waters cool: so falsely smiles

Th' illusive land upon the water's edge,

To the long-straining eye showing what seems 530

Its headlands and its distant trending shores;-

But all is false, and like the pensive dream

Of poor imagination, 'mid the waves

Of troubled life, decked with unreal hues,

And ending soon in emptiness and tears.

'Tis midnight, and the thoughtful chief, retired

From the vexed crowd, in his still cabin hears

The surge that rolls below; he lifts his eyes,

And casts a silent anxious look without.

It is a light-great God-it is a light! 540

It moves upon the shore!-Land-there is land!

He spoke in secret, and a tear of joy

Stole down his cheek, when on his knees he fell.

Thou, who hast been his guardian in wastes

Of the hoar deep, accept his tears, his prayers;

While thus he fondly hopes the purer light

Of thy great truths on the benighted world

Shall beam!

The lingering night is past;-the sun

Shines out, while now the red-cross streamers wave 550

High up the gently-surging bay. From all

Shouts, songs, and rapturous thanksgiving loud,

Burst forth: Another world, entranced they cry,

Another living world!-Awe-struck and mute

The gazing natives stand, and drop their spears,

In homage to the gods!

So from the deep

They hail emerging; sight more awful far

Than ever yet the wondering voyager

Greeted;-the prospect of a new-found world, 560

Now from the night of dark uncertainty

At once revealed in living light!

How beats

The heart! What thronging thoughts awake! Whence sprung

The roaming nations? From that ancient race

That peopled Asia-Noah's sons? How, then,

Passed they the long and lone expanse between

Of stormy ocean, from the elder earth

Cut off, and lost, for unknown ages, lost

In the vast deep? But whilst the awful view 570

Stands in thy sight revealed, Spirit, awake

To prouder energies! Even now, in thought,

I see thee opening bold Magellan's tract![185]

The straits are passed! Thou, as the seas expand,

Pausest a moment, when beneath thine eye

Blue, vast, and rocking, through its boundless rule,

The long Pacific stretches. Nor here cease

Thy search, but with De Quiros[186] to the South

Still urge thy way, if yet some continent

Stretch to its dusky pole, with nations spread, 580

Forests, and hills, and streams.

So be thy search

With ampler views rewarded, till, at length,

Lo, the round world is compassed! Then return

Back to the bosom of the tranquil Thames,

And hail Britannia's victor ship,[187] that now

From many a storm restored, winds its slow way

Silently up the current, and so finds,

Like to a time-worn pilgrim of the world,

Rest, in that haven where all tempests cease. 590

[180] The Pharos was not erected by Alexander, but Alexandria is here supposed to be finished.

[181] Cape Bojador.

[182] John Gongalez Zarco was employed by Prince Henry to conduct the enterprise of discovery along the Western coast of Africa.

[183] Porto Santo.

[184] I have called the three islands of Madeiras the Hesperides, who, in ancient mythology, are the three daughters of Atlas; as I consider the orange-trees and mysterious shade, with the rocks discerned through it on a nearer approach, to be the best solution of the fable of the golden fruit, the dragon, and the three daughters of Atlas.

[185] Magellan's ship first circumnavigated the globe, passing through the straits, called by his name, into the South Sea, and proceeding West to the East Indies. He himself, like our revered Cooke, perished in the enterprise.

[186] De Quiros first discovered the New Hebrides, in the South Sea; afterwards explored by Cooke, who bears testimony to the accuracy of De Quiros. These islands were supposed part of a great continent stretching to the South pole, called Terra Australis incognita.

[187] Drake's ship, in which he sailed round the world; she was laid up at Deptford-hence Ben Johnson, in Every Man in his Humour, "O Coz, it cannot be altered, go not about it; Drake's old ship at Deptford may sooner circle the world again."

* * *

BOOK THE FIFTH.

Such are thy views, Discovery! The great world

Rolls to thine eye revealed; to thee the Deep

Submits its awful empire; Industry

Awakes, and Commerce to the echoing marts

From east to west unwearied pours her wealth.

Man walks sublimer; and Humanity,

Matured by social intercourse, more high,

More animated, lifts her sovereign mien,

And waves her golden sceptre. Yet the heart

Asks trembling, is no evil found! Oh, turn, 10

Meek Charity, and drop a human tear

For the sad fate of Afric's injured sons,

And hide, for ever hide, the sight of chains,

Anguish, and bondage! Yes, the heart of man

Is sick, and Charity turns pale, to think

How soon, for pure religion's holy beam,

Dark crimes, that sullied the sweet day, pursued,

Like vultures, the Discoverer's ocean tract,

Screaming for blood, to fields of rich Peru,

Or ravaged Mexico, while Gold more Gold! 20

The caverned mountains echoed, Gold more Gold!

Then see the fell-eyed, prowling buccaneer,

Grim as a libbard! He his jealous look

Turns to the dagger at his belt, his hand

By instinct grasps a bloody scymitar,

And ghastly is his smile, as o'er the woods

He sees the smoke of burning villages

Ascend, and thinks ev'n now he counts his spoil.

See thousands destined to the lurid mine,

Never to see the sun again; all names 30

Of husband, sire, all tender charities

Of love, deep buried with them in that grave,

Where life is as a thing long passed; and hope

No more its sickly ray, to cheer the gloom,

Extends.

Thou, too, dread Ocean, toss thine arms,

Exulting, for the treasures and the gems

That thy dark oozy realm emblaze; and call

The pale procession of the dead, from caves

Where late their bodies weltered, to attend 40

Thy kingly sceptre, and proclaim thy might!

Lord of the Hurricane! bid all thy winds

Swell, and destruction ride upon the surge,

Where, after the red lightning flash that shows

The labouring ship, all is at once deep night

And long suspense, till the slow dawn of day

Gleams on the scattered corses of the dead,

That strew the sounding shore!

Then think of him,

Ye who rejoice with those you love, at eve, 50

When winds of winter shake the window-frame,

And more endear your fire, oh, think of him,

Who, saved alone from the destroying storm,

Is cast on some deserted rock; who sees

Sun after sun descend, and hopeless hears;

At morn the long surge of the troubled main,

That beats without his wretched cave; meantime

He fears to wake the echoes with his voice,

So dread the solitude!

Let Greenland's snows 60

Then shine, and mark the melancholy train

There left to perish, whilst the cold pale day

Declines along the further ice, that binds

The ship, and leaves in night the sinking scene.

Sad winter closes on the deep; the smoke

Of frost, that late amusive to the eye

Rose o'er the coast, is passed, and all is now

One torpid blank; the freezing particles

Blown blistering, and the white bear seeks her cave.

Ill-fated outcasts, when the morn again 70

Shall streak with feeble beam the frozen waste,

Your air-bleached and unburied carcases

Shall press the ground, and, as the stars fade off,

Your stony eyes glare 'mid the desert snows!

These triumphs boast, fell Demon of the Deep!

Though never more the universal shriek

Of all that perish thou shalt hear, as when

The deep foundations of the guilty earth

Were shaken at the voice of God, and man

Ceased in his habitations; yet the sea 80

Thy might tempestuous still, and joyless rule,

Confesses. Ah! what bloodless shadows throng

Ev'n now, slow rising from their oozy beds,

From Mete,[188] and those gates of burial

That guard the Erythr?an; from the vast

Unfathomed caverns of the Western main

Or stormy Orcades; whilst the sad shell

Of poor Arion,[189] to the hollow blast

Slow seems to pour its melancholy tones,

And faintly vibrate, as the dead pass by. 90

I see the chiefs, who fell in distant lands,

The prey of murderous savages, when yells,

And shouts, and conch, resounded through the woods.

Magellan and De Solis seem to lead

The mournful train. Shade of Perouse! oh, say

Where, in the tract of unknown seas, thy bones

Th' insulting surge has swept?

But who is he,

Whose look, though pale and bloody, wears the trace

Of pure philanthropy? The pitying sigh 100

Forbid not; he was dear to Britons, dear

To every beating heart, far as the world

Extends; and my faint faltering touch ev'n now

Dies on the strings, when I pronounce thy name,

Oh, lost, lamented, generous, hapless Cook!

But cease the vain complaint; turn from the shores,

Wet with his blood, Remembrance: cast thine eyes

Upon the long seas, and the wider world,

Displayed from his research. Smile, glowing Health!

For now no more the wasted seaman sinks, 110

With haggard eye and feeble frame diseased;

No more with tortured longings for the sight

Of fields and hillocks green, madly he calls

On Nature, when before his swimming eye

The liquid long expanse of cheerless seas

Seems all one flowery plain. Then frantic dreams

Arise; his eye's distemper'd flash is seen

From the sunk socket, as a demon there

Sat mocking, till he plunges in the flood,

And the dark wave goes o'er him. 120

Nor wilt thou,

O Science! fail to deck the cold morai[190]

Of him who wider o'er earth's hemisphere

Thy views extended. On, from deep to deep,

Thou shalt retrace the windings of his track;

From the high North to where the field-ice binds

The still Antarctic. Thence, from isle to isle,

Thou shalt pursue his progress; and explore

New-Holland's eastern shores,[191] where now the sons

Of distant Britain, from her lap cast out, 130

Water the ground with tears of penitence,

Perhaps, hereafter, in their destined time,

Themselves to rise pre-eminent. Now speed,

By Asia's eastern bounds, still to the North,

Where the vast continents of either world

Approach: Beyond, 'tis silent boundless ice,

Impenetrable barrier, where all thought

Is lost; where never yet the eagle flew,

Nor roamed so far the white bear through the waste.

But thou, dread Power! whose voice from chaos called140

The earth, who bad'st the Lord of light go forth,

Ev'n as a giant, and the sounding seas

Roll at thy fiat: may the dark deep clouds,

That thy pavilion shroud from mortal sight,

So pass away, as now the mystery,

Obscure through rolling ages, is disclosed;

How man, from one great Father sprung, his race

Spread to that severed continent! Ev'n so,

Father, in thy good time, shall all things stand

Revealed to knowledge. 150

As the mind revolves

The change of mighty empires, and the fate

Of him whom Thou hast made, back through the dusk

Of ages Contemplation turns her view:

We mark, as from its infancy, the world

Peopled again, from that mysterious shrine

That rested on the top of Ararat,

Highest of Asian mountains; spreading on,

The Cushites from their mountain caves descend;

Then before God the sons of Ammon stood 160

In their gigantic might, and first the seas

Vanquished: But still from clime to clime the groan

Of sacrifice, and Superstition's cry,

Was heard; but when the Dayspring rose of heaven,

Greece's hoar forests echoed, The great Pan

Is dead! From Egypt, and the rugged shores

Of Syrian Tyre, the gods of darkness fly;

Bel is cast down, and Nebo, horrid king,

Bows in imperial Babylon: But, ah!

Too soon, the Star of Bethlehem, whose ray 170

The host of heaven hailed jubilant, and sang,

Glory to God on high, and on earth peace,

With long eclipse is veiled.

Red Papacy

Usurped the meek dominion of the Lord

Of love and charity: vast as a fiend

She rose, Heaven's light was darkened with her frown,

And the earth murmured back her hymns of blood,

As the meek martyr at the burning stake

Stood, his last look uplifted to his God! 180

But she is now cast down, her empire reft.

They who in darkness walked, and in the shade

Of death, have seen a new and holy light,

As in th' umbrageous forest, through whose boughs,

Mossy and damp, for many a league, the morn

With languid beam scarce pierces, here and there

Touching some solitary trunk, the rest

Dark waving in the noxious atmosphere:

Through the thick-matted leaves the serpent winds

His way, to find a spot of casual sun; 190

The gaunt hy?na through the thicket glides

At eve: then, too, the couched tiger's eye

Flames in the dusk, and oft the gnashing jaws

Of the fell crocodile are heard. At length,

By man's superior energy and toil,

The sunless brakes are cleared; the joyous morn

Shines through the opening leaves; rich culture smiles

Around; and howling to their distant wilds

The savage inmates of the wood retire.

Such is the scene of human life, till want 200

Bids man his strength put forth; then slowly spreads

The cultured stream of mild humanity,

And gentler virtues, and more noble aims

Employ the active mind, till beauty beams

Around, and Nature wears her richest robe,

Adorned with lovelier graces. Then the charms

Of woman, fairest of the works of Heaven,

Whom the cold savage, in his sullen pride,

Scorned as unworthy of his equal love,

With more attractive influence wins the heart 210

Of her protector. Then the names of sire,

Of home, of brother, and of children, grow

More sacred, more endearing; whilst the eye,

Lifted beyond this earthly scene, beholds

A Father who looks down from heaven on all!

O Britain, my loved country! dost thou rise

Most high among the nations! Do thy fleets

Ride o'er the surge of ocean, that subdued

Rolls in long sweep beneath them! Dost thou wear

Thy garb of gentler morals gracefully! 220

Is widest science thine, and the fair train

Of lovelier arts! While commerce throngs thy ports

With her ten thousand streamers, is the tract

Of the undeviating ploughshare white

That rips the reeking furrow, followed soon

By plenty, bidding all the scene rejoice,

Even like a cultured garden! Do the streams

That steal along thy peaceful vales, reflect

Temples, and Attic domes, and village towers!

Is beauty thine, fairest of earthly things, 230

Woman; and doth she gain that liberal love

And homage, which the meekness of her voice,

The rapture of her smile, commanding most

When she seems weakest, must demand from him,

Her master; whose stern strength at once submits

In manly, but endearing, confidence,

Unlike his selfish tyranny who sits

The sultan of his harem!

Oh, then, think

How great the blessing, and how high thy rank 240

Amid the civilised and social world!

But hast thou no deep failings, that may turn

Thy thoughts within thyself! Ask, for the sun

That shines in heaven hath seen it, hath thy power

Ne'er scattered sorrow over distant lands!

Ask of the East, have never thy proud sails

Borne plunder from dismembered provinces,

Leaving the groans of miserable men

Behind! And free thyself, and lifting high

The charter of thy freedom, bought with blood, 250

Hast thou not stood, in patient apathy,

A witness of the tortures and the chains

That Afric's injured sons have known! Stand up;

Yes, thou hast visited the caves, and cheered

The gloomy haunts of sorrow; thou hast shed

A beam of comfort and of righteousness

On isles remote; hast bid the bread-fruit shade

Th' Hesperian regions, and has softened much

With bland amelioration, and with charms

Of social sweetness, the hard lot of man. 260

But weighed in truth's firm balance, ask, if all

Be even. Do not crimes of ranker growth

Batten amid thy cities, whose loud din,

From flashing and contending cars, ascends,

Till morn! Enchanting, as if aught so sweet

Ne'er faded, do thy daughters wear the weeds

Of calm domestic peace and wedded love;

Or turn, with beautiful disdain, to dash

Gay pleasure's poisoned chalice from their lips

Untasted! Hath not sullen atheism, 270

Weaving gay flowers of poesy, so sought

To hide the darkness of his withered brow

With faded and fantastic gallantry

Of roses, thus to win the thoughtless smile

Of youthful ignorance! Hast thou with awe

Looked up to Him whose power is in the clouds,

Who bids the storm rush, and it sweeps to earth

The nations that offend, and they are gone,

Like Tyre and Babylon! Well weigh thyself:

Then shalt thou rise undaunted in the might 280

Of thy Protector, and the gathered hate

Of hostile bands shall be but as the sand

Blown on the everlasting pyramid.

Hasten, O Love and Charity! your work,

Ev'n now whilst it is day; far as the world

Extends may your divinest influence

Be felt, and more than felt, to teach mankind

They all are brothers, and to drown the cries

Of superstition, anarchy, or blood!

Not yet the hour is come: on Ganges' banks 290

Still superstition hails the flame of death,

Behold, gay dressed, as in her bridal tire,

The self-devoted beauteous victim slow

Ascend the pile where her dead husband lies:

She kisses his cold cheeks, inclines her breast

On his, and lights herself the fatal pile

That shall consume them both!

On Egypt's shore,

Where Science rose, now Sloth and Ignorance

Sleep like the huge Behemoth in the sun! 300

The turbaned Moor still stains with strangers' blood

The inmost sands of Afric. But all these

The light shall visit, and that vaster tract

From Fuego to the furthest Labrador,

Where roam the outcast Esquimaux, shall hear

The voice of social fellowship; the chief

Whose hatchet flashed amid the forest gloom,

Who to his infants bore the bleeding scalp

Of his fall'n foe, shall weep unwonted tears!

Come, Faith; come, Hope; come, meek-eyed Charity! 310

Complete the lovely prospect: every land

Shall lift up one hosannah; every tongue

Proclaim thee Father, infinite, and wise,

And good. The shores of palmy Senegal

(Sad Afric's injured sons no more enslaved)

Shall answer Hallelujah, for the Lord

Of truth and mercy reigns;-reigns King of kings;-

Hosannah-King of kings-and Lord of lords!

So may His kingdom come, when all the earth,

Uniting thus as in one hymn of praise, 320

Shall wait the end of all things. This great globe,

His awful plan accomplished, then shall sink

In flames, whilst through the clouds, that wrap the place

Where it had rolled, and the sun shone, the voice

Of the Archangel, and the trump of God,

Amid heaven's darkness rolling fast away,

Shall sound!

Then shall the sea give up its dead;-

But man's immortal mind, all trials past

That shook his feverish frame, amidst the scenes 330

Of peril and distemper, shall ascend

Exulting to its destined seat of rest,

And "justify His ways" from whom it sprung.

[188] Mete, in the Arabic, according to Bruce, signifies "the place of burial." The entrance of the Red Sea was so called, from the dangers of the navigation. See Bruce.

[189] Alluding to the pathetic poem of the Shipwreck, whose author, Falconer, described himself under the name of Arion, and who was afterwards lost in the "Aurora."

[190] "Morai" is a grave.

[191] Botany Bay.

* * *

THE MISSIONARY.

Amor patri? ratione potentior omni.

* * *

PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION.[192]

It is not necessary to relate the causes which induced me to publish this poem without a name.

The favour with which it has been received may make me less diffident in avowing it; and, as a second edition has been generally called for, I have endeavoured to make it, in every respect, less unworthy of the public eye.

I have availed myself of every sensible objection, the most material of which was the circumstance, that the Indian maid, described in the first book, had not a part assigned to her of sufficient interest in the subsequent events of the poem, and that the character of the Missionary was not sufficiently professional.

The single circumstance that a Spanish commander, with his army in South America, was destroyed by the Indians, in consequence of the treachery of his page, who was a native, and that only a priest was saved, is all that has been taken from history. The rest of this poem, the personages, father, daughter, wife, et cet. (with the exception of the names of Indian warriors) is imaginary. The time is two months. The first four books include as many days and nights. The rest of the time is occupied by the Spaniards' march, the assembly of warriors, et cet.

The place in which the scene is laid, was selected because South America has of late years received additional interest, and because the ground was at once new, poetical, and picturesque.

From old-fashioned feelings, perhaps, I have admitted some a?rial agents, or what is called machinery. It is true that the spirits cannot be said to accelerate or retard the events; but surely they may be allowed to show a sympathy with the fate of those, among whom poetical fancy has given them a prescriptive ideal existence. They may be further excused, as relieving the narrative, and adding to the imagery.

The causes which induced me to publish this poem without a name, induced me also to attempt it in a versification to which I have been least accustomed, which, to my ear, is most uncongenial, and which is, in itself, most difficult. I mention this, in order that, if some passages should be found less harmonious than they might have been, the candour of the reader may pardon them.

Scene-South America.

Characters.-Valdivia, commander of the Spanish armies-Lautaro, his page, a native of Chili-Anselmo, the missionary-Indiana, his adopted daughter, wife of Lautaro-Zarinel, the wandering minstrel.

Indians.-Attacapac, father of Lautaro-Olola, his daughter, sister of Lautaro-Caupolican, chief of the Indians-Indian warriors.

The chief event of the poem turns upon the conduct of Lautaro; but as the Missionary acts so distinguished a part, and as the whole of the moral depends upon him, it was thought better to retain the title which was originally given to the poem.

[192] Dedicated to the Marquis of Lansdowne.

* * *

THE MISSIONARY.

INTRODUCTION.

When o'er the Atlantic wild, rocked by the blast,

Sad Lusitania's exiled sovereign passed,

Reft of her pomp, from her paternal throne

Cast forth, and wandering to a clime unknown,

To seek a refuge on that distant shore,

That once her country's legions dyed with gore;-

Sudden, methought, high towering o'er the flood,

Hesperian world! thy mighty genius stood;

Where spread, from cape to cape, from bay to bay,

Serenely blue, the vast Pacific lay; 10

And the huge Cordilleras to the skies

With all their burning summits seemed to rise.

Then the stern spirit spoke, and to his voice

The waves and woods replied:-Mountains, rejoice!

Thou solitary sea, whose billows sweep

The margin of my forests, dark and deep,

Rejoice! the hour is come: the mortal blow,

That smote the golden shrines of Mexico,

In Europe is avenged; and thou, proud Spain,

Now hostile hosts insult thy own domain; 20

Now Fate, vindictive, rolls, with refluent flood,

Back on thy shores the tide of human blood,

Think of my murdered millions! of the cries

That once I heard from all my kingdoms rise;

Of Famine's feeble plaint, of Slavery's tear;-

Think, too, if Valour, Freedom, Fame, be dear,

How my Antarctic sons, undaunted, stood,

Exacting groan for groan, and blood for blood;

And shouted, (may the sounds be hailed by thee!)

Tyrants, the virtuous and the brave are free! 30

* * *

CANTO FIRST.

ARGUMENT.

One Day and Part of Night.

Valley in the Andes-Old Indian warrior-Loss of his son and daughter.

Beneath a?rial cliffs, and glittering snows,

The rush-roof of an aged warrior rose,

Chief of the mountain tribes: high overhead,

The Andes, wild and desolate, were spread,

Where cold Sierras shot their icy spires,

And Chillan[193] trailed its smoke and smouldering fires.

A glen beneath, a lonely spot of rest,

Hung, scarce discovered, like an eagle's nest.

Summer was in its prime;-the parrot-flocks

Darkened the passing sunshine on the rocks; 10

The chrysomel[194] and purple butterfly,[195]

Amid the clear blue light, are wandering by;

The humming-bird, along the myrtle bowers,

With twinkling wing, is spinning o'er the flowers,

The woodpecker is heard with busy bill,

The mock-bird sings-and all beside is still,

And look! the cataract that bursts so high,

As not to mar the deep tranquillity,

The tumult of its dashing fall suspends,

And, stealing drop by drop, in mist descends; 20

Through whose illumined spray and sprinkling dews,

Shine to the adverse sun the broken rainbow hues.

Chequering, with partial shade, the beams of noon,

And arching the gray rock with wild festoon,

Here its gay net-work, and fantastic twine,

The purple cogul[196] threads from pine to pine,

And oft, as the fresh airs of morning breathe,

Dips its long tendrils in the stream beneath.

There, through the trunks with moss and lichens white,

The sunshine darts its interrupted light, 30

And, 'mid the cedar's darksome boughs, illumes,

With instant touch, the Lori's scarlet plumes.

So smiles the scene;-but can its smiles impart

Aught to console yon mourning warrior's heart?

He heeds not now, when beautifully bright,

The humming-bird is circling in his sight;

Nor ev'n, above his head, when air is still,

Hears the green woodpecker's resounding bill;

But gazing on the rocks and mountains wild,

Rock after rock, in glittering masses piled 40

To the volcano's cone, that shoots so high

Gray smoke whose column stains the cloudless sky,

He cries, Oh! if thy spirit yet be fled

To the pale kingdoms of the shadowy dead,-

In yonder tract of purest light above,

Dear long-lost object of a father's love,

Dost thou abide; or like a shadow come,

Circling the scenes of thy remembered home,

And passing with the breeze, or, in the beam

Of evening, light the desert mountain stream! 50

Or at deep midnight are thine accents heard,

In the sad notes of that melodious bird,[197]

Which, as we listen with mysterious dread,

Brings tidings from our friends and fathers dead?

Perhaps, beyond those summits, far away,

Thine eyes yet view the living light of day;

Sad, in the stranger's land, thou may'st sustain

A weary life of servitude and pain,

With wasted eye gaze on the orient beam,

And think of these white rocks and torrent stream, 60

Never to hear the summer cocoa wave,

Or weep upon thy father's distant grave.

Ye, who have waked, and listened with a tear,

When cries confused, and clangours rolled more near;

With murmured prayer, when Mercy stood aghast,

As War's black trump pealed its terrific blast,

And o'er the withered earth the armed giant passed!

Ye, who his track with terror have pursued,

When some delightful land, all blood-imbrued,

He swept; where silent is the champaign wide, 70

That echoed to the pipe of yester-tide,

Save, when far off, the moonlight hills prolong

The last deep echoes of his parting gong;

Nor aught is seen, in the deserted spot

Where trailed the smoke of many a peaceful cot,

Save livid corses that unburied lie,

And conflagrations, reeking to the sky;-

Come listen, whilst the causes I relate

That bowed the warrior to the storms of fate,

And left these smiling scenes forlorn and desolate. 80

In other days, when, in his manly pride,

Two children for a father's fondness vied,-

Oft they essayed, in mimic strife, to wield

His lance, or laughing peeped behind his shield;

Oft in the sun, or the magnolia's shade,

Lightsome of heart as gay of look they played,

Brother and sister. She, along the dew,

Blithe as the squirrel of the forest flew;

Blue rushes wreathed her head; her dark-brown hair

Fell, gently lifted, on her bosom bare; 90

Her necklace shone, of sparkling insects made,

That flit, like specks of fire, from sun to shade.

Light was her form; a clasp of silver braced

The azure-dyed ichella[198] round her waist;

Her ancles rung with shells, as unconfined

She danced, and sung wild carols to the wind.

With snow-white teeth, and laughter in her eye,

So beautiful in youth she bounded by.

Yet kindness sat upon her aspect bland,-

The tame alpaca[199] stood and licked her hand; 100

She brought him gathered moss, and loved to deck

With flowery twine his tall and stately neck,

Whilst he with silent gratitude replies,

And bends to her caress his large blue eyes.

These children danced together in the shade,

Or stretched their hands to see the rainbow fade;

Or sat and mocked, with imitative glee,

The paroquet, that laughed from tree to tree;

Or through the forest's wildest solitude,

From glen to glen, the marmozet pursued; 110

And thought the light of parting day too short,

That called them, lingering, from their daily sport.

In that fair season of awakening life,

When dawning youth and childhood are at strife;

When on the verge of thought gay boyhood stands

Tiptoe, with glistening eye and outspread hands;

With airy look, and form and footsteps light,

And glossy locks, and features berry-bright,

And eye like the young eaglet's, to the ray

Of noon unblenching as he sails away; 120

A brede of sea-shells on his bosom strung,

A small stone-hatchet o'er his shoulder slung,

With slender lance, and feathers blue and red,

That, like the heron's[200] crest, waved on his head,-

Buoyant with hope, and airiness, and joy,

Lautaro was a graceful Indian boy:

Taught by his sire, ev'n now he drew the bow,

Or tracked the jagguar on the morning snow;

Startled the condor, on the craggy height;

Then silent sat, and marked its upward flight, 130

Lessening in ether to a speck of white.

But when the impassioned chieftain spoke of war,

Smote his broad breast, or pointed to a scar,-

Spoke of the strangers of the distant main,

And the proud banners of insulting Spain,-

Of the barbed horse and iron horseman spoke,

And his red gods, that, wrapped in rolling smoke,

Roared from the guns;-the boy, with still-drawn breath,

Hung on the wondrous tale, as mute as death;

Then raised his animated eyes, and cried, 140

Oh, let me perish by my father's side!

Once, when the moon, o'er Chillan's cloudless height,

Poured, far and wide, its softest, mildest light,

A predatory band of mailed men

Burst on the stillness of the sheltered glen:

They shouted, Death! and shook their sabres high,

That shone terrific to the moonlight sky;

Where'er they rode, the valley and the hill

Echoed the shrieks of death, till all again was still.

The warrior, ere he sank in slumber deep, 150

Had kissed his son, soft-breathing in his sleep,

Where on a Llama's skin he lay, and said,

Placing his hand, with tears, upon his head,

A?rial nymphs![201] that in the moonlight stray,

O gentle spirits! here awhile delay;

Bless, as ye pass unseen, my sleeping boy,

Till blithe he wakes to daylight and to joy.

If the great spirit will, in future days,

O'er the fall'n foe his hatchet he shall raise,

And, 'mid a grateful nation's high applause, 160

Avenge his violated country's cause!

Now, nearer points of spears, and many a cone

Of moving helmets, in the moonlight shone,

As, clanking through the pass, the band of blood

Sprang, like hy?nas, from the secret wood.

They rush, they seize their unresisting prey,

Ruthless they tear the shrieking boy away;

But, not till gashed by many a sabre wound,

The father sank, expiring, on the ground.

He waked from the dark trance to life and pain, 170

But never saw his darling child again.

Seven snows had fallen, and seven green summers passed,

Since here he heard that son's loved accents last.

Still his beloved daughter soothed his cares,

Whilst time began to strew with white his hairs.

Oft as his painted feathers he unbound,

Or gazed upon his hatchet on the ground,

Musing with deep despair, nor strove to speak,

Light she approached, and climbed to reach his cheek,

Held with both hands his forehead, then her head 180

Drew smiling back, and kissed the tear he shed.

But late, to grief and hopeless love a prey,

She left his side, and wandered far away.

Now in this still and shelter'd glen, that smiled

Beneath the crags of precipices wild,

Wrapt in a stern yet sorrowful repose,

The warrior half forgot his country's woes;

Forgot how many, impotent to save,

Shed their best blood upon a father's grave;

How many, torn from wife and children, pine 190

In the dark caverns of the hopeless mine,

Never to see again the blessed morn;-

Slaves in the lovely land where they were born;

How many at sad sunset, with a tear,

The distant roar of sullen cannons hear,

Whilst evening seems, as dies the sound, to throw

A deadlier stillness on a nation's woe!

So the dark warrior, day succeeding day,

Wore in distempered thought the noons away;

And still, when weary evening came, he sighed, 200

My son, my son! or, with emotion, cried,

When I descend to the cold grave alone,

Who shall be there to mourn for me?-Not one![202]

The crimson orb of day now westering flung

His beams, and o'er the vast Pacific hung;

When from afar a shrilling sound was heard,

And, hurrying o'er the dews, a scout appeared.

The watchful warrior knew the piercing tones,

The signal-call of war, from human bones,-

What tidings? with impatient look, he cried. 210

Tidings of war, the hurrying scout replied;

Then the sharp pipe[203] with shriller summons blew,

And held the blood-red arrow high in view.[204]

CHIEF.

Where speed the foes?

INDIAN.

Along the southern main,

Have passed the vultures of accursed Spain.

CHIEF.

Ruin pursue them on the distant flood,

And be their deadly portion-blood for blood!

INDIAN.

When, round and red, the moon shall next arise,

The chiefs attend the midnight sacrifice 220

In Encol's wood, where the great wizard dwells,

Who wakes the dead man by his thrilling spells;

Thee,[205] Ulmen of the Mountains, they command

To lift the hatchet for thy native land;

Whilst in dread circle, round the sere-wood smoke,

The mighty gods of vengeance they invoke;

And call the spirits of their fathers slain,

To nerve their lifted arm, and curse devoted Spain.

So spoke the scout of war;-and o'er the dew,

Onward along the craggy valley, flew. 230

Then the stern warrior sang his song of death-

And blew his conch, that all the glens beneath

Echoed, and rushing from the hollow wood,

Soon at his side three hundred warriors stood.

WARRIOR.

Children, who for his country dares to die?

Three hundred brandished spears shone to the sky:

We perish, or we leave our country free;

Father, our blood for Chili and for thee!

The mountain-chief essayed his club to wield,

And shook the dust indignant from the shield. 240

Then spoke:-

O Thou! that with thy lingering light

Dost warm the world, till all is hushed in night;

I look upon thy parting beams, O sun!

And say, ev'n thus my course is almost run.

When thou dost hide thy head, as in the grave,

And sink to glorious rest beneath the wave,

Dost thou, majestic in repose, retire,

Below the deep, to unknown worlds of fire!

Yet though thou sinkest, awful, in the main, 250

The shadowy moon comes forth, and all the train

Of stars, that shine with soft and silent light,

Making so beautiful the brow of night.

Thus, when I sleep within the narrow bed,

The light of after-fame around shall spread;

The sons of distant Ocean, when they see

The grass-green heap beneath the mountain tree,

And hear the leafy boughs at evening wave,

Shall pause and say, There sleep in dust the brave!

All earthly hopes my lonely heart have fled! 260

Stern Guecubu,[206] angel of the dead,

Who laughest when the brave in pangs expire;

Whose dwelling is beneath the central fire

Of yonder burning mountain; who hast passed

O'er my poor dwelling, and with one fell blast

Scattered my summer-leaves that clustered round,

And swept my fairest blossoms to the ground;

Angel of dire despair, oh! come not nigh,

Nor wave thy red wings o'er me where I lie;

But thou, O mild and gentle spirit! stand, 270

Angel[207] of hope and peace, at my right hand,

(When blood-drops stagnate on my brow) and guide

My pathless voyage o'er the unknown tide,

To scenes of endless joy, to that fair isle,

Where bowers of bliss, and soft savannahs smile:

Where my forefathers oft the fight renew,

And Spain's black visionary steeds pursue;

Where, ceased the struggles of all human pain,

I may behold thee-thee, my son, again!

He spoke, and whilst at evening's glimmering close 280

The distant mist, like the gray ocean, rose,

With patriot sorrows swelling at his breast,

He sank upon a jagguar's hide to rest.

'Twas night: remote on Caracalla's bay,

Valdivia's army, hushed in slumber, lay.

Around the limits of the silent camp,

Alone was heard the steed's patroling tramp

From line to line, whilst the fixed sentinel

Proclaimed the watch of midnight-All is well!

Valdivia dreamed of millions yet untold, 290

Villrica's gems, and El Dorado's gold!

What different feelings, by the scene impressed,

Rose in sad tumult o'er Lautaro's breast!

On the broad ocean, where the moonlight slept,

Thoughtful he turned his waking eyes, and wept,

And whilst the thronging forms of memory start,

Thus holds communion with his lonely heart:

Land of my fathers, still I tread your shore,

And mourn the shade of hours that are no more;

Whilst night-airs, like remembered voices, sweep, 300

And murmur from the undulating deep.

Was it thy voice, my father! Thou art dead,

The green rush waves on thy forsaken bed.

Was it thy voice, my sister! Gentle maid,

Thou too, perhaps, in the dark cave art laid;

Perhaps, even now, thy spirit sees me stand

A homeless stranger in my native land;

Perhaps, even now, along the moonlight sea,

It bends from the blue cloud, remembering me!

Land of my fathers! yet, oh yet forgive, 310

That with thy deadly enemies I live:

The tenderest ties (it boots not to relate)

Have bound me to their service, and their fate;

Yet, whether on Peru's war-wasted plain,

Or visiting these sacred shores again,

Whate'er the struggles of this heart may be,

Land of my fathers, it shall beat for thee!

[193] A volcano in Chili.

[194] The chrysomela is a beautiful insect of which the young women of Chili make necklaces.

[195] The parrot butterfly, peculiar to this part of America, the largest and most brilliant of its kind.-Papilio psittacus.

[196] A most beautiful climbing plant. The vine is of the size of packthread: it climbs on the trees without attaching itself to them: when it reaches the top, it descends perpendicularly; and as it continues to grow, it extends itself from tree to tree, until it offers to the eye a confused tissue, exhibiting some resemblance to the rigging of a ship.-Molina.

[197] I chanced once to lodge in a village named Upec by the Frenchmen: there, in the night, I heard those birds, not singing, but making a lamentable noise. I saw the barbarians most attentive, and, being ignorant of the whole matter, reproved their folly. But when I smiled a little upon a Frenchman standing by me, a certain old man, severely enough, restrained me with these words: "Hold your peace, lest you hinder us who attentively hearken to the happy tidings of our ancestors; for as often as we hear these birds, so often also are we cheered, and our strength receiveth increase."-Callender's Voyage.

[198] The ichella is a short cloak, of a greenish-blue colour, of wool, fastened before with a silver buckle.-Molina.

[199] The alpaca is perhaps the most beautiful, gentle, and interesting of living animals: one was to be seen in London in 1812.

[200] Ardea cristata.

[201] Every warrior of Chili, according to Molina, has his attendant "nymph" or fairy-the belief in which is nearly similar to the popular and poetical idea of those beings in Europe. Meulen is the benevolent spirit.

[202] I have taken this line from the conclusion of the celebrated speech of the old North American warrior, Logan, "Who is there to mourn for Logan?-not one!"

[203] Their pipes of war are made of the bones of their enemies, who have been sacrificed.

[204] The way in which the warriors are summoned, is something like the "running the cross" in Scotland, which is so beautifully described by Walter Scott. The scouts on this occasion bear an arrow bound with red fillets.

[205] Ulmen is the same as Casique, or chief.

[206] Guecubu is the evil spirit of the Chilians.

[207] They have their evil and good spirits.

* * *

CANTO SECOND.

ARGUMENT.

The Second Day.

Night-Spirit of the Andes-Valdivia-Lautaro-Missionary-The Hermitage.

The night was still and clear, when, o'er the snows,

Andes! thy melancholy Spirit rose,-

A shadow stern and sad: he stood alone,

Upon the topmost mountain's burning cone;

And whilst his eyes shone dim, through surging smoke,

Thus to the spirits of the fire he spoke:-

Ye, who tread the hidden deeps,

Where the silent earthquake sleeps;

Ye, who track the sulphurous tide,

Or on hissing vapours ride,- 10

Spirits, come!

From worlds of subterraneous night;

From fiery realms of lurid light;

From the ore's unfathomed bed;

From the lava's whirlpools red,-

Spirits, come!

On Chili's foes rush with vindictive sway,

And sweep them from the light of living day!

Heard ye not the ravenous brood,

That flap their wings, and scream for blood? 20

On Peru's devoted shore

Their murderous beaks are red with gore;

Yet here, impatient for new prey,

The insatiate vultures track their way.

Let them perish! they, whose bands

Swept remote and peaceful lands!

Let them perish!-on their head,

Descend the darkness of the dead!

Spirits, now your caves forsake:

Hark! ten thousand warriors wake!- 30

Spirits, their high cause defend!-

From your caves ascend! ascend!

As thus the Genius of the Andes spoke,

The trembling mountain heaved with darker smoke;

Lightnings, and phantom-forms, by fits appeared;

His mighty voice far off Osorno heard;

The caverned deeps shook through their vast profound,

And Chimborazzo's height rolled back the sound.

With lifted arm, and towering stature high,

And aspect frowning to the middle sky 40

(Its misty form dilated in the wind),

The phantom stood,-till, less and less defined,

Into thin air it faded from the sight,

Lost in the ambient haze of slow-returning light.

Its feathery-seeming crown, its giant spear,

Its limbs of huge proportion, disappear;

And the bare mountains to the dawn disclose

The same long line of solitary snows.

The morning shines, the military train

Streams far and wide along the tented plain; 50

And plaited cuirasses, and helms of steel,

Throw back the sunbeams, as the horsemen wheel:

Thus, with arms glancing to the eastern light,

Pass, in review, proud steeds and cohorts bright;

For all the host, by break of morrow's gray,

Wind back their march to Penco's northern bay,

Valdivia, fearful lest confederate foes,

Ambushed and dark, his progress might oppose,

Marshals to-day the whole collected force,

File and artillery, cuirassier and horse: 60

Himself yet lingers ere he joins the train,

That moves, in ordered march, along the plain,

While troops, and Indian slaves beneath his eye,

The labours of the rising city ply:[208]

Wide glows the general toil; the mole extends,

The watch-tower o'er the desert surge ascends;

And battlements, and rising ramparts, shine

Above the ocean's blue and level line.

The sun ascended to meridian height,

And all the northern bastions shone in light; 70

With hoarse acclaim, the gong and trumpet rung,

The Moorish slaves aloft their cymbals swung,

When the proud victor, in triumphant state,

Rode forth, in arms, through the portcullis' gate.

With neck high-arching as he smote the ground,

And restless pawing to the trumpet's sound,-

With mantling mane, o'er his broad shoulders spread,

And nostrils blowing, and dilated red,-

The coal-black steed, in rich caparison

Far trailing to the ground, went proudly on. 80

Proudly he tramped, as conscious of his charge,

And turned around his eye-balls, bright and large,

And shook the frothy boss, as in disdain;

And tossed the flakes, indignant, off his mane;

And, with high-swelling veins, exulting pressed

Proudly against the barb his heaving breast.

The fate of empires glowing in his thought,

Thus armed, the tented field Valdivia sought.

On the left side his poised shield he bore,

With quaint devices richly blazoned o'er; 90

Above the plumes, upon his helmet's cone,

Castile's imperial crest illustrious shone;

Blue in the wind the escutcheoned mantle flowed,

O'er the chained mail, which tinkled as he rode.

The barred vizor raised, you might discern

His clime-changed countenance,[209] though pale, yet stern,

And resolute as death,-whilst in his eye

Sat proud Assurance, Fame, and Victory.

Lautaro, now in manhood's rising pride,

Rode, with a lance, attendant at his side, 100

In Spanish mantle gracefully arrayed;

Upon his brow a tuft of feathers played:

His glossy locks, with dark and mantling grace,

Shaded the noonday sunbeams on his face.

Though passed in tears the dayspring of his youth,

Valdivia loved his gratitude and truth:

He, in Valdivia, owned a nobler friend;

Kind to protect, and mighty to defend.

So, on he rode; upon his youthful mien

A mild but sad intelligence was seen; 110

Courage was on his open brow, yet care

Seemed like a wandering shade to linger there;

And though his eye shone, as the eagle's, bright,

It beamed with humid, melancholy light

When now Valdivia saw the embattled line,

Helmets, and swords, and shields, and matchlocks, shine;

Now the long phalanx still and steady stand,

Fixed every eye, and motionless each hand;

Then slowly clustering, into columns wheel,

Each with the red-cross banners of Castile; 120

While trumps, and drums, and cymbals, to his ear

Made music such as soldiers love to hear;

While horsemen checked their steeds, or, bending low

With levelled lances, o'er the saddle-bow,

Rode gallantly at tilt; and thunders broke,

Instant involving van and rear in smoke,

Till winds the obscuring volume rolled away,

And the red file, stretched out in long array,

More radiant moved beneath the beams of day;

While ensigns, arms, and crosses, glittered bright,- 130

Philip![210] he cried, seest thou the glorious sight?

And dost thou deem the tribes of this poor land

Can men, and arms, and steeds, like these, withstand?

Forgive!-the youth replied, and checked a tear,-

The land where my forefathers sleep is dear!-

My native land!-this spot of blessed earth,

The scene where I, and all I love, had birth!

What gratitude fidelity can give

Is yours, my lord!-you shielded-bade me live,

When, in the circuit of the world so wide, 140

I had but one, one only friend beside.

I bowed resigned to fate; I kissed the hand,

Red with the best blood of my father's land![211]

But mighty as thou art, Valdivia, know,

Though Cortes' desolating march laid low

The shrines of rich, voluptuous Mexico;

With carcases, though proud Pizarro strew

The Sun's imperial temple in Peru,

Yet the rude dwellers of this land are brave,

And the last spot they lose will be their grave! 150

A moment's crimson crossed Valdivia's cheek-

Then o'er the plain he spurred, nor deigned to speak,

Waving the youth, at distance, to retire;

None saw the eye that shot terrific fire.

As their commander sternly rode along,

Troop after troop, halted the martial throng;

And all the pennoned trumps a louder blast

Blew, as the Southern World's great victor passed.

Lautaro turned, scarce heeding, from the view,

And from the noise of trumps and drums withdrew; 160

And now, while troubled thoughts his bosom swell,

Seeks the gray Missionary's humble cell.

Fronting the ocean, but beyond the ken

Of public view, and sounds of murmuring men,

Of unhewn roots composed, and gnarled wood,

A small and rustic oratory stood;

Upon its roof of reeds appeared a cross,

The porch within was lined with mantling moss;

A crucifix and hour-glass, on each side-

One to admonish seemed, and one to guide; 170

This, to impress how soon life's race is o'er;

And that, to lift our hopes where time shall be no more.

O'er the rude porch, with wild and gadding stray,

The clustering copu weaved its trellis gay;

Two mossy pines, high bending, interwove

Their aged and fantastic arms above.

In front, amid the gay surrounding flowers,

A dial counted the departing hours,

On which the sweetest light of summer shone,-

A rude and brief inscription marked the stone: 180

To count, with passing shade, the hours,

I placed the dial 'mid the flowers;

That, one by one, came forth, and died,

Blooming, and withering, round its side.

Mortal, let the sight impart

Its pensive moral to thy heart!

Just heard to trickle through a covert near,

And soothing, with perpetual lapse, the ear,

A fount, like rain-drops, filtered through the stone,

And, bright as amber, on the shallows shone. 190

Intent his fairy pastime to pursue,

And, gem-like, hovering o'er the violets blue,

The humming-bird, here, its unceasing song

Heedlessly murmured, all the summer long;

And when the winter came, retired to rest,

And from the myrtles hung its trembling nest.

No sounds of a conflicting world were near;

The noise of ocean faintly met the ear,

That seemed, as sunk to rest the noontide blast,

But dying sounds of passions that were past; 200

Or closing anthems, when, far off, expire

The lessening echoes of the distant choir.

Here, every human sorrow hushed to rest,

His pale hands meekly crossed upon his breast,

Anselmo sat: the sun, with westering ray,

Just touched his temples, and his locks of gray.

There was no worldly feeling in his eye;

The world to him was "as a thing gone by."

Now, all his features lit, he raised his look,

Then bent it thoughtful, and unclasped the book; 210

And whilst the hour-glass shed its silent sand,

A tame opossum[212] licked his withered hand.

That sweetest light of slow-declining day,

Which through the trellis poured its slanting ray,

Resting a moment on his few gray hairs,

Seemed light from heaven sent down to bless his prayers.

When the trump echoed to the quiet spot,

He thought upon the world, but mourned it not;

Enough if his meek wisdom could control,

And bend to mercy, one proud soldier's soul; 220

Enough, if, while these distant scenes he trod,

He led one erring Indian to his God.

Whence comes my son? with kind complacent look

He asked, and closed again the embossed book.

I come to thee for peace, the youth replied:

Oh, there is strife, and cruelty, and pride,

In this sad Christian world! My native land

Was happy, ere the soldier, with his band

Of fell destroyers, like a vulture, came,

And gave its peaceful scenes to blood and flame. 230

When will the turmoil of earth's tempests cease?

Father, I come to thee for peace-for peace!

Seek peace, the father cried, with God above:

In His good time, all will be peace and love.

We mourn, indeed, mourn that all sounds of ill,

Earth's fairest scenes with one deep murmur fill;

That yonder sun, when evening paints the sky,

Sinks, beauteous, on a world of misery;

The course of wide destruction to withstand,

We lift our feeble voice-our trembling hand; 240

But still, bowed low, or smitten to the dust,

Father of mercy, still in Thee we trust!

Through good or ill, in poverty or wealth,

In joy or woe, in sickness or in health,

Meek Piety thy awful hand surveys,

And the faint murmur turns to prayer and praise!

We know-whatever evils we deplore-

Thou hast permitted, and we know no more!

Behold, illustrious on the subject plain,

Some tow'r-crowned city of imperial Spain! 250

Hark! 'twas the earthquake![213] clouds of dust alone

Ascend from earth, where tower and temple shone!

Such is the conqueror's dread path: the grave

Yawns for its millions where his banners wave;

But shall vain man, whose life is but a sigh,

With sullen acquiescence gaze and die?

Alas, how little of the mighty maze

Of Providence our mortal ken surveys!

Heaven's awful Lord, pavilioned in the clouds,

Looks through the darkness that all nature shrouds; 260

And, far beyond the tempest and the night,

Bids man his course hold on to scenes of endless light.

[208] The city Baldivia.

[209] He had served in the wars of Italy.

[210] Lautaro had been baptized by that name.

[211] Valdivia had before been in Chili.

[212] A small and beautiful species, which is domesticated.

[213] No part of the world is so subject to earthquakes as Peru.

* * *

CANTO THIRD.

ARGUMENT.

Evening and Night of the same Day.

Anselmo's story-Converted Indians-Confession of the Wandering Minstrel-Night-Scene.

Come,-for the sun yet hangs above the bay,-

And whilst our time may brook a brief delay

With other thoughts, and, haply with a tear,

An old man's tale of sorrow thou shalt hear.

I wished not to reveal it;-thoughts that dwell

Deep in the lonely bosom's inmost cell

Unnoticed, and unknown, too painful wake,

And, like a tempest, the dark spirit shake,

When, starting from our slumberous apathy,

We gaze upon the scenes of days gone by. 10

Yet, if a moment's irritating flush,

Darkens thy cheek,[214] as thoughts conflicting rush,

When I disclose my hidden griefs, the tale

May more than wisdom or reproof prevail.

Oh, may it teach thee, till all trials cease,

To hold thy course, though sorrowing, yet in peace;

Still looking up to Him, the soul's best stay,

Who Faith and Hope shall crown, when worlds are swept away!

Where fair Seville's Morisco[215] turrets gleam

On Guadilquiver's gently-stealing stream; 20

Whose silent waters, seaward as they glide,

Reflect the wild-rose thickets on its side,

My youth was passed. Oh, days for ever gone!

How touched with Heaven's own light your mornings shone

Even now, when lonely and forlorn I bend,

My weary journey hastening to its end,

A drooping exile on a distant shore,

I mourn the hours of youth that are no more.

The tender thought amid my prayers has part,

And steals, at times, from Heaven my aged heart. 30

Forgive the cause, O God!-forgive the tear,

That flows, even now, o'er Leonora's bier;

For, 'midst the innocent and lovely, none

More beautiful than Leonora shone.

As by her widowed mother's side she knelt,

A sad and sacred sympathy I felt.

At Easter-tide, when the high mass was sung,

And, fuming high, the silver censer swung;

When rich-hued windows, from the arches' height,

Poured o'er the shrines a soft and yellow light; 40

From aisle to aisle, amid the service clear,

When "Adoremus" swelled upon the ear.

(Such as to Heaven thy rapt attention drew

First in the Christian churches of Peru),

She seemed, methought, some spirit of the sky,

Descending to that holy harmony.

But wherefore tell, when life and hope were new,

How by degrees the soul's first passion grew!

I loved her, and I won her virgin heart;

But fortune whispered, we a while must part. 50

The minster tolled the middle hour of night,

When, waked to agony and wild affright,

I heard those words, words of appalling dread-

"The Holy Inquisition!"-from the bed

I started; snatched my dagger, and my cloak-

Who dare accuse me!-none, in answer, spoke.

The demons seized, in silence, on their prey,

And tore me from my dreams of bliss away.

How frightful was their silence, and their shade,

In torch-light, as their victim they conveyed, 60

By dark-inscribed, and massy-windowed walls,

Through the dim twilight of terrific halls;

(For thou hast heard me speak of that foul stain

Of pure religion, and the rights of Spain;)

Whilst the high windows shook to night's cold blast,

And echoed to the foot-fall as we passed!

They left me, faint and breathless with affright,

In a cold cell, to solitude and night;

Oh! think, what horror through the heart must thrill

When the last bolt was barred, and all at once was still! 70

Nor day nor night was here, but a deep gloom,

Sadder than darkness, wrapped the living tomb.

Some bread and water, nature to sustain,

Duly was brought when eve returned again;

And thus I knew, hoping it were the last,

Another day of lingering life was passed.

Five years immured in that deep den of night,

I never saw the sweet sun's blessed light.

Once as the grate, with sullen sound, was barred,

And to the bolts the inmost cavern jarred, 80

Methought I heard, as clanged the iron door,

A dull and hollow echo from the floor;

I stamped; the vault, and winding caves around,

Returned a long and melancholy sound.

With patient toil I raised a massy stone,

And looked into a depth of shade unknown;

The murky twilight of the lurid place

Helped me, at length, a secret way to trace:

I entered; step by step explored the road,

In darkness, from my desolate abode; 90

Till, winding through long passages of night,

I saw, at distance, a dim streak of light:-

It was the sun-the bright, the blessed beam

Of day! I knelt-I wept;-the glittering stream

Rolled on beneath me, as I left the cave,

Concealed in woods above the winding wave.

I rested on a verdant bank a while,

I saw around the summer landscape smile;

I gained a peasant's hut; nor dared to leave,

Till, with slow step, advanced the glimmering eve. 100

Remembering still affection's fondest hours,

I turned my footsteps to the city towers;

In pilgrim's dress, I traced the streets unknown:

No light in Leonora's lattice shone.

The morning came; the busy tumult swells;

Knolling to church, I heard the minster bells;

Involuntary to that scene I strayed,

Disguised, where first I saw my faithful maid.

I saw her, pallid, at the altar stand,

And yield, half-shrinking, her reluctant hand; 110

She turned her head; she saw my hollow eyes,

And knew me, wasted, wan, in my disguise;

She shrieked, and fell;-breathless, I left the fane

In agony-nor saw her form again;

And from that day her voice, her look were given,

Her name, her memory, to the winds of heaven.

Far off I bent my melancholy way,

Heart-sick and faint, and, in this gown of gray,

From every human eye my sorrows hid,

Unknown, amidst the tumult of Madrid. 120

Grief in my heart, despair upon my look,

With no companion save my beads and book,

My morsel with Affliction's sons to share,

To tend the sick and poor, my only care,

Forgotten, thus I lived; till day by day

Had worn nigh thirteen years of grief away.

One winter's night, when I had closed my cell,

And bid the labours of the day farewell,

An aged crone approached, with panting breath,

And bade me hasten to the house of death. 130

I came. With moving lips intent to pray,

A dying woman on a pallet lay;

Her lifted hands were wasted to the bone,

And ghastly on her look the lamp-light shone;

Beside the bed a pious daughter stands

Silent, and, weeping, kisses her pale hands.

Feebly she spoke, and raised her languid head,

Forgive, forgive!-they told me he was dead!-

But in the sunshine of that dreadful day,

That gave me to another's arms away, 140

I saw him, like a ghost, with deadly stare;

I saw his wasted eye-balls' ghastly glare;

I saw his lips (oh, hide them, God of love!)

I saw his livid lips, half-muttering, move,

To curse the maid-forgetful of her vow:-

Perhaps he lives to curse-to curse me now!

He lives to bless! I cried; and, drawing nigh,

Held up the crucifix; her heavy eye

She raised, and scarce pronounced-Does he yet live?

Can he his lost, his dying child forgive? 150

Will God forgive-the Lord who bled-will He?-

Ah, no, there is no mercy left for me!

Words were but vain, and colours all too faint,

That awful moment of despair to paint.

She knew me; her exhausted breath, with pain,

Drawing, she pressed my hand, and spoke again:

By a false guardian's cruel wiles deceived,

The tale of fraudful falsehood I believed,

And thought thee dead; he gave the stern command,

And bade me take the rich Antonio's hand. 160

I knelt, implored, embraced my guardian's knees;

Ruthless inquisitor, he held the keys

Of the dark torture-house.[216] Trembling for life,

Yes, I became a sad, heart-broken wife!

Yet curse me not; of every human care

Already my full heart has had its share:

Abandoned, left in youth to want and woe,

Oh! let these tears, that agonising flow,

Witness how deep ev'n now my heart is rent!

Yet one is lovely-one is innocent! 170

Protect, protect, (and faint in death she smiled)

When I am dead, protect my orphan child!

The dreadful prison, that so long detained

My wasting life, her dying words explained.

The wretched priest, who wounded me by stealth,

Bartered her love, her innocence for wealth!

I laid her bones in earth; the chanted hymn

Echoed along the hollow cloister dim;

I heard, far off, the bell funereal toll,

And sorrowing said: Now peace be with her soul! 180

Far o'er the Western Ocean I conveyed,

And Indiana called the orphan maid;

Beneath my eye she grew, and, day by day,

Seemed, grateful, every kindness to repay.

Renouncing Spain, her cruelties and crimes,

Amid untutored tribes, in distant climes,

'Twas mine to spread the light of truth, or save

From stripes and torture the poor Indian slave.

I saw thee, young and innocent, alone,

Cast on the mercies of a race unknown; 190

I saw, in dark adversity's cold hour,

Thy virtues blooming, like a winter's flower;

From chains and slavery I redeemed thy youth,

Poured on thy mental sight the beams of truth;

By thy warm heart and mild demeanour won,

Called thee my other child-my age's son.

I need not tell the sequel;-not unmoved

Poor Indiana heard thy tale, and loved;

Some sympathy a kindred fate might claim;

Your years, your fortunes, and your friend the same; 200

Both early of a parent's care bereft,

Both strangers in a world of sadness left;

I marked each slowly-struggling thought; I shed

A tear of love paternal on each head;

And, while I saw her timid eyes incline,

Blessed the affection that had made her thine!

Here let the murmurs of despondence cease:

There is a God-believe-and part in peace!

Rich hues illumed the track of dying day

As the great sun sank in the western bay, 210

And only its last light yet lingering shone,

Upon the highest palm-tree's feathery cone;

When at a distance on the dewy plain,

In mingled group appeared an Indian train;

Men, women, children, round Anselmo press,

Farewell! they cried. He raised his hand to bless,

And said: My children, may the God above

Still lead you in the paths of peace and love;

To-morrow, we must part;-when I am gone,

Raise on this spot a cross, and place a stone, 220

That tribes unborn may some memorial have,

When I far off am mouldering in the grave,

Of that poor messenger, who tidings bore

Of Gospel-mercy to your distant shore.

The crowd retired; along the twilight gray,

The condor kept its solitary way,

The fire-flies shone, when to the hermit's cell

Who hastens but the minstrel Zarinel!

In foreign lands, far from his native home,

'Twas his, a gay, romantic youth, to roam, 230

With a light cittern o'er his shoulders slung,

Where'er he passed he played, and loved, and sung;

And thus accomplished, late had joined the train

Of gallant soldiers on the southern plain.

Father, he cried, uncertain of the fate

That may to-morrow's toilsome march await,

For long will be the road, I would confess

Some secret thoughts that on my bosom press.

They are of one I left, an Indian maid,

Whose trusting love my careless heart betrayed. 240

Say, may I speak?

Say on, the father cried,

Nor be to penitence all hope denied.

Then hear, Anselmo! From a very child

I loved all fancies marvellous and wild;

I turned from truth, to listen to the lore

Of many an old and fabling troubadour.

Thus, with impassioned heart, and wayward mind,

To dreams and shapes of shadowy things resigned,

I left my native vales and village home, 250

Wide o'er the world a minstrel boy to roam.

I never shall forget the day, the hour,

When, all my soul resigned to Fancy's power,

First, from the snowy Pyrenees, I cast

My labouring vision o'er the landscape vast,

And saw beneath my feet long vapours float,

Streams, mountains, woods, and ocean's mist remote.

There once I met a soldier, poor and old,

Who tales of Cortes and Bilboa told,

And this new world; he spoke of Indian maids, 260

Rivers like seas, and forests whose deep shades

Had never yet been pierced by morning ray,

And how the green bird mocked, and talked all day.

Imagination thus, in colours new,

This distant world presented to my view;

Young, and enchanted with the fancied scene,

I crossed the toiling seas that roared between,

And with ideal images impressed,

Stood on these unknown shores a wondering guest.

Still to romantic phantasies resigned, 270

I left Callao's crowded port behind,

And climbed the mountains which their shadow threw

Upon the lessening summits of Peru.

Some sheep the armed peasants drove before,

That all our food through the wild passes bore,

Had wandered in the frost-smoke of the morn,

Far from the track; I blew the signal horn-

But echo only answered: 'mid the snows,

Wildered and lost, I saw the evening close.

The sun was setting in the crimson west; 280

In all the earth I had no home of rest;

The last sad light upon the ice-hills shone;

I seemed forsaken in a world unknown;

How did my cold and sinking heart rejoice,

When, hark! methought I heard a human voice!

It might be some wild Indian's roving troop,

Or the dread echo of their distant whoop;

Still it was human, and I seemed to find

Again some commerce with remote mankind.

The voice comes nearer, rising through the shade- 290

Is it the song of some rude mountain-maid?

And now I heard the tread of hastening feet,

And, in the western glen, a Llama bleat.

I listened-all is still; but hark! again

Near and more near is heard the welcome strain;

It is a wild maid's carolling, who seeks

Her wandering Llama 'midst the snowy peaks:

Truant, she cried, thy lurking place is found!

With languid touch I waked the cittern's sound,

And soon a maid, by the pale light, I saw 300

Gaze breathless with astonishment and awe:

What instant terrors to her fancy rose,

Ha! is it not the Spirit of the snows!

But when she saw me, weary, cold, and weak,

Stretch forth my hand (for now I could not speak),

She pitied, raised me from the snows, and led

My faltering footsteps to her father's shed;

The Llama followed with her tinkling bell;

The dwelling rose within a craggy dell,

O'erhung with icy summits. To be brief, 310

She was the daughter of an aged chief;

He, by her gentle voice to pity won,

Showed mercy, for himself had lost a son.

The father spoke not; by the pine-wood blaze,

The daughter stood, and turned a cake of maize;

And then, as sudden shone the light, I saw

Such features as no artist hand might draw.

Her form, her face, her symmetry, her air,

Father! thy age must such recital spare:-

She saved my life; and kindness, if not love, 320

Might sure in time the coldest bosom move!

Mine was not cold; she loved to hear me sing,

And sometimes touched with playful hand the string;

And when I waked some melancholy strain,

She wept, and smiled, and bade me sing again.

So many a happy day, in this deep glen,

Far from the noise of life, and sounds of men,

Was passed! Nay, father, the sad sequel hear:

'Twas now the leafy spring-time of the year-

Ambition called me: true, I knew to part

Would break her generous, warm, and trusting heart;

True, I had vowed, but now estranged and cold,

She saw my look, and shuddered to behold:-

She would go with me, leave the lonely glade

Where she grew up, but my stern voice forbade;

She hid her face and wept: Go then away,

(Father, methinks, ev'n now, I hear her say)

Go to thy distant land, forget this tear,

Forget these rocks, forget I once was dear;

Fly to the world, o'er the wide ocean fly, 240

And leave me unremembered here to die!

Yet to my father should I all relate,

Death, instant death, would be a traitor's fate!

Nor fear, nor pity moved my stubborn mind,

I left her sorrows and the scene behind;

I sought Valdivia on the southern plain,

And joined the careless military train;

Oh! ere I sleep, thus, lowly on my knee,

Father, I absolution crave from thee!

Anselmo spoke, with look and voice severe: 250

Yes, thoughtless youth, my absolution hear.

First, by deep penitence the wrong atone,

Then absolution ask from God alone!

Yet stay, and to my warning voice attend,

And hear me as a father, and a friend.

Let Truth severe be wayward Fancy's guide,

Let stern-eyed Conscience o'er each thought preside;

The passions, that on noblest natures prey,

Oh! cast them, like corroding bonds, away!

Disdain to act mean falsehood's coward part, 360

And let religion dignify thine art.

If, by thy bed, thou seest at midnight stand

Pale Conscience, pointing, with terrific hand,

To deeds of darkness done, whilst, like a corse,

To shake thy soul, uprises dire Remorse;

Fly to God's mercy, fly, ere yet too late-

Perhaps one hour marks thy eternal fate;

Let the warm tear of deep contrition flow,

The heart obdurate melt, like softening snow,

The last vain follies of thy youth deplore, 370

Then go, in secret weep, and sin no more!

The stars innumerous in their watches shone-

Anselmo knelt before the cross alone.

Ten thousand glowing orbs their pomp displayed,

Whilst, looking up, thus silently he prayed:-

Oh! how oppressive to the aching sense,

How fearful were this vast magnificence,

This prodigality of glory, spread

Above a poor and dying emmet's head,

That toiled his transient hour upon the shore 380

Of mortal life, and then was seen no more;

If man beheld, on his terrific throne,

A dark, cold, distant Deity, alone!

Felt no relating, no endearing tie,

That Hope might upwards raise her glistening eye,

And think, with deep unutterable bliss,

In yonder radiant realm my kingdom is!

More glorious than those orbs that silent roll,

Shines Heaven's redeeming mercy on the soul-

Oh, pure effulgence of unbounded love! 390

In Thee, I think-I feel-I live-I move;

Yet when, O Thou, whose name is Love and Light,

When will thy Dayspring on these realms of night

Arise! Oh! when shall severed nations raise

One hallelujah of triumphant praise,

Tibet on Fars, Andes on Atlas call,

And "roll the loud hosannah" round the ball!

Soon may Thy kingdom come, that love, and peace,

And charity, may bid earth's chidings cease!

Meantime, in life or death, through good or ill, 400

Thy poor and feeble servant, I fulfil,

As best I may, Thy high and holy will,

Till, weary, on the world my eyelids close,

And I enjoy my long and last repose!

[214] Indians of Chili are of the lightest class, called by some "white Indians."

[215]-Of Moorish architecture.

[216] Seville was the first place in Spain in which the Inquisition was established, in 1481.

CANTO FOURTH.

ARGUMENT.

Assembly of Indian warriors-Caupolican, Ongolmo, Teucapel, Mountain-chief-Song of the Indian Wizard-White woman and child.

Far in the centre of the deepest wood,

The assembled fathers of their country stood.

'Twas midnight now; the pine-wood fire burned red,

And to the leaves a shadowy glimmer spread;

The struggling smoke, or flame with fitful glance,

Obscured, or showed, some dreadful countenance;

And every warrior, as his club he reared,

With larger shadow, indistinct, appeared;

While more terrific, his wild locks and mien,

And fierce eye, through the quivering smoke, was seen. 10

In sea-wolf's skin, here Mariantu stood;

Gnashed his white teeth, impatient, and cried, blood!

His lofty brow, with crimson feathers bound,

Here, brooding death, the huge Ongolmo frowned;

And, like a giant of no earthly race,

To his broad shoulders heaved his ponderous mace.

With lifted hatchet, as in act to fell,

Here stood the young and ardent Teucapel.

Like a lone cypress, stately in decay,

When time has worn its summer boughs away, 20

And hung its trunk with moss and lichens sere,

The Mountain-warrior rested on his spear.

And thus, and at this hour, a hundred chiefs,

Chosen avengers of their country's griefs;

Chiefs of the scattered tribes that roam the plain,

That sweeps from Andes to the western main,

Their country-gods, around the coiling smoke,

With sacrifice, and silent prayers, invoke.

For all, at first, were silent as the dead;

The pine was heard to whisper o'er their head, 30

So stood the stern assembly; but apart,

Wrapped in the spirit of his fearful art,

Alone, to hollow sounds of hideous hum,

The wizard-seer struck his prophetic drum.

Silent they stood, and watched with anxious eyes,

What phantom-shape might from the ground arise;

No voices came, no spectre-form appeared;

A hollow sound, but not of winds, was heard

Among the leaves, and distant thunder low,

Which seemed like moans of an expiring foe. 40

His crimson feathers quivering in the smoke,

Then, with loud voice, first Mariantu spoke:

Hail we the omen! Spirits of the slain,

I hear your voices! Mourn, devoted Spain!

Pale-visaged tyrants! still, along our coasts,

Shall we despairing mark your iron hosts!

Spirits of our brave fathers, curse the race

Who thus your name, your memory disgrace!

No; though yon mountain's everlasting snows

In vain Almagro's[217] toilsome march oppose; 50

Though Atacama's long and wasteful plain

Be heaped with blackening carcases in vain;

Though still fresh hosts those snowy summits scale,

And scare the Llamas with their glittering mail;

Though sullen castles lour along our shore;

Though our polluted soil be drenched with gore;

Insolent tyrants! we, prepared to die,

Your arms, your horses, and your gods, defy!

He spoke: the warriors stamped upon the ground,

And tore the feathers that their foreheads bound. 60

Insolent tyrants! burst the general cry,

We, met for vengeance-we, prepared to die,

Your arms, your horses, and your gods, defy!

Then Teucapel, with warm emotion, cried:

This hatchet never yet in blood was dyed;

May it be buried deep within my heart,

If living from the conflict I depart,

Till loud, from shore to shore, is heard one cry,

See! in their gore where the last tyrants lie!

The Mountain-warrior: Oh, that I could raise 70

The hatchet too, as in my better days,

When victor on Maypocha's banks I stood;

And while the indignant river rolled in blood,

And our swift arrows hissed like rushing rain,

I cleft Almagro's iron helm in twain!

My strength is well-nigh gone! years marked with woe

Have o'er me passed, and bowed my spirit low!

Alas, I have no son! Beloved boy,

Thy father's last, best hope, his pride, his joy!

Oh, hadst thou lived, sole object of my prayers, 80

To guard my waning life, and these gray hairs,

How bravely hadst thou now, in manhood's pride,

Swung the uplifted war-club by my side!

But the Great Spirit willed not! Thou art gone;

And, weary, on this earth I walk alone;

Thankful if I may yield my latest breath,

And bless my country in the pangs of death!

With words deliberate, and uplifted hand,

Mild to persuade, yet dauntless to command,

Raising his hatchet high, Caupolican 90

Surveyed the assembled chiefs, and thus began:

Friends, fathers, brothers, dear and sacred names!

Your stern resolve each ardent look proclaims;

On then to conquest; let one hope inspire,

One spirit animate, one vengeance fire!

Who doubts the glorious issue! To our foes

A tenfold strength and spirit we oppose.

In them no god protects his mortal sons,

Or speaks, in thunder, from their roaring guns.

Nor come they children of the radiant sky; 100

But, like the wounded snake, to writhe and die.

Then, rush resistless on their prostrate bands,

Snatch the red lightning from their feeble hands,

And swear to the great spirits, hovering near,

Who now this awful invocation hear,

That we shall never see our household hearth,

Till, like the dust, we sweep them from the earth.

But vain our strength, that idly, in the fight,

Tumultuous wastes its ineffectual might,

Unless to one the hatchet we confide; 110

Let one our numbers, one our counsels guide.

And, lo! for all that in this world is dear,

I raise this hatchet, raise it high, and swear,

Never again to lay it down, till we,

And all who love this injured land, are free!

At once the loud acclaim tumultuous ran:

Our spears, our life-blood, for Caupolican!

With thee, for all that in this world is dear,

We lift our hatchets, lift them high, and swear,

Never again to lay them down, till we, 120

And all who love this injured land, are free!

Then thus the chosen chief: Bring forth the slave,

And let the death-dance recreate the brave.

Two warriors led a Spanish captive, bound

With thongs; his eyes were fixed upon the ground.

Dark cypresses the mournful spot inclose:

High in the midst an ancient mound arose,

Marked on each side with monumental stones,

And white beneath with skulls and scattered bones.

Four poniards, on the mound, encircling stood, 130

With points erect, dark with forgotten blood.

Forthwith, with louder voice, the chief commands:

Bring forth the lots, unbind the captive's hands;

Then north, towards his country, turn his face,

And dig beneath his feet a narrow space.[218]

Caupolican uplifts his axe, and cries:

Gods, of our land be yours this sacrifice!-

Now, listen, warriors!-and forthwith commands

To place the billets in the captive's hands-

Soldier, cast in the lot! 140

With looks aghast,

The captive in the trench a billet cast.

Soldier, declare, who leads the arms of Spain,

Where Santiago frowns upon the plain?

CAPTIVE.

Villagra!

WARRIOR.

Earth upon the billet heap;

So may a tyrant's heart be buried deep!

The dark woods echoed to the long acclaim,

Accursed be his nation and his name! 150

WARRIOR.

Captive, declare who leads the Spanish bands,

Where the proud fortress shades Coquimbo's sands.

CAPTIVE.

Ocampo!

WARRIOR.

Earth upon the billet heap;

So may a tyrant's heart be buried deep!

The dark woods echoed to the long acclaim,

Accursed be his nation and his name!

WARRIOR.

Cast in the lot.

Again, with looks aghast,

The captive in the trench a billet cast. 160

Pronounce his name who here pollutes the plain,

The leader of the mailed hosts of Spain!

CAPTIVE.

Valdivia!

At that name a sudden cry

Burst forth, and every lance was lifted high.

WARRIOR.

Valdivia!

Earth upon the billet heap;

So may a tyrant's heart be buried deep!

The dark woods echoed to the long acclaim,

Accursed be his nation and his name! 170

And now loud yells, and whoops of death resound;

The shuddering captive ghastly gazed around,

When the huge war-club smote him to the ground.

Again deep stillness hushed the listening crowd,

While the prophetic wizard sang aloud.

SONG TO THE GOD OF WAR.

By thy habitation dread,

In the valley of the dead,

Where no sun, nor day, nor night,

Breaks the red and dusky light;

By the grisly troops, that ride, 180

Of slaughtered Spaniards, at thy side,-

Slaughtered by the Indian spear,

Mighty Epananum,[219] hear!

Hark, the battle! Hark, the din!

Now the deeds of Death begin!

The Spaniards come, in clouds! above,

I hear their hoarse artillery move!

Spirits of our fathers slain,

Haste, pursue the dogs of Spain!

The noise was in the northern sky! 190

Haste, pursue! They fly-they fly!

Now from the cavern's secret cell,

Where the direst phantoms dwell,

See they rush,[220] and, riding high,

Break the moonlight as they fly;

And, on the shadowed plain beneath,

Shoot, unseen, the shafts of Death!

O'er the devoted Spanish camp,

Like a vapour, dark and damp,

May they hover, till the plain 200

Is hid beneath the countless slain;

And none but silent women tread

From corse to corse, to seek the dead!

The wavering fire flashed with expiring light,

When shrill and hollow, through the cope of night,

A distant shout was heard; at intervals,

Increasing on the listening ear it falls.

It ceased; when, bursting from the thickest wood,

With lifted axe, two gloomy warriors stood;

Wan in the midst, with dark and streaming hair, 210

Blown by the winds upon her bosom bare,

A woman, faint from terror's wild alarms,

And folding a white infant in her arms,

Appeared. Each warrior stooped his lance to gaze

On her pale looks, seen ghastlier through the blaze.

Save! she exclaimed, with harrowed aspect wild;

Oh, save my innocent, my helpless child!

Then fainting fell, as from death's instant stroke;

Caupolican, with stern inquiry, spoke:

Whence come, to interrupt our awful rite, 220

At this dread hour, the warriors of the night?

From ocean.

Who is she who fainting lies,

And now scarce lifts her supplicating eyes?

The Spanish ship went down; the seamen bore,

In a small boat, this woman to the shore:

They fell beneath our hatchets,-and again,

We gave them back to the insulted main.[221]

The child and woman-of a race we hate-

Warriors, 'tis yours, here to decide their fate. 230

Vengeance! aloud fierce Mariantu cried:

Let vengeance on the race be satisfied!

Let none of hated Spanish blood remain,

Woman or child, to violate our plain!

Amid that dark and bloody scene, the child

Stretched to the mountain-chief his hands and smiled.

A starting tear of pity dimmed the eye

Of the old warrior, though he knew not why.

Oh, think upon your little ones! he cried,

Nor be compassion to the weak denied. 240

Caupolican then fixed his aspect mild

On the white woman and her shrinking child,

Then firmly spoke:-

White woman, we were free,

When first thy brethren of the distant sea

Came to our shores! White woman, theirs the guilt!

Theirs, if the blood of innocence be spilt!

Yet blood we seek not, though our arms oppose

The hate of foreign and remorseless foes;

Thou camest here a captive, so abide, 250

Till the Great Spirit shall our cause decide.

He spoke: the warriors of the night obey;

And, ere the earliest streak of dawning day,

They lead her from the scene of blood away.

[217] The first Spaniard who visited Chili. He entered it by the dreadful passage of the snows of the Andes; but afterwards the passage was attempted through the desert of Atacama.

[218] The reader is referred to Molina for a particular description of the war sacrifice, which is very striking and poetical.

[219] Name of the War-deity.

[220] Terrific imaginary beings, called "man-animals," that leave their caves by night, and scatter pestilence and death as they fly.-See Molina.

[221] "Render them back upon the insulted ocean."-Coleridge.

* * *

CANTO FIFTH.

ARGUMENT.

Ocean Cave-Spanish Captive-Wild Indian Maid-Genius of Andes, and Spirits.

'Tis dawn:-the distant Andes' rocky spires,

One after one, have caught the orient fires.

Where the dun condor shoots his upward flight,

His wings are touched with momentary light.

Meantime, beneath the mountains' glittering heads,

A boundless ocean of gray vapour spreads,

That o'er the champaign, stretching far below,

Moves now, in clustered masses, rising slow,

Till all the living landscape is displayed

In various pomp of colour, light, and shade, 10

Hills, forests, rivers, lakes, and level plain,

Lessening in sunshine to the southern main.

The Llama's fleece fumes with ascending dew;

The gem-like humming-birds their toils renew;

And there, by the wild river's devious side,

The tall flamingo, in its crimson pride,

Stalks on, in richest plumage bright arrayed,

With snowy neck superb,[222] and legs of lengthening shade.

Sad maid, for others may the valleys ring,

For other ears the birds of morning sing; 20

For other eyes the palms in beauty wave,

Dark is thy prison in the ocean-cave!

Amid that winding cavern's inmost shade,

A dripping rill its ceaseless murmur made:

Masses of dim-discovered crags aloof,

Hung, threatening, from the vast and vaulted roof:

And through a fissure, in its glimmering height,

Seen like a star, appeared the distant light;

Beneath the opening, where the sunbeams shine,

Far down, the rock-weed hung its slender twine. 30

Here, pale and bound, the Spanish captive lay,

Till morn on morn, in silence, passed away;

When once, as o'er her sleeping child she hung,

And sad her evening supplication sung;

Like a small gem, amidst the gloom of night,

A glow-worm shot its green and trembling light,-

And, 'mid the moss and craggy fragments, shed

Faint lustre o'er her sleeping infant's head;

And hark! a voice-a woman's voice, its sound

Dies in faint echoes, 'mid the vault profound: 40

Let us pity the poor white maid![223]

She has no mother near!

No friend to dry her tear!

Upon the cold earth she is laid:

Let us pity the poor white maid!

It seemed the burden of a song of woe;

And see, across the gloom an Indian girl move slow!

Her nearer look is sorrowful, yet mild,

Her hanging locks are wreathed with rock-weed wild;

Gently she spoke, Poor Christian, dry thy tear: 50

Art thou afraid? all are not cruel here.

Oh! still more wretched may my portion be,

Stranger, if I could injure thine and thee!

And, lo! I bring, from banks and thickets wild,

Wood-strawberries, and honey for thy child.

Whence, who art thou, who, in this fearful place,

Does comfort speak to one of Spanish race?

INDIAN.

It is an Indian maid, who chanced to hear

Thy tale of sorrow, as she wandered near:

I loved a white man once; but he is flown, 60

And now I wander heartless and alone.

I traced the dark and winding way beneath:

But well I know to lead thee hence were death.

Oh, say! what fortunes cast thee o'er the wave,

On these sad shores perhaps to find a grave?

SPANISH WOMAN.

Three years have passed since a fond husband left

Me and this infant, of his love bereft;

Him I have followed; need I tell thee more,

Cast helpless, friendless, hopeless, on this shore.

INDIAN.

Oh! did he love thee, then? Let death betide, 70

Yes, from this cavern I will be thy guide.

Nay, do not shrink! from Caracalla's bay,

Ev'n now, the Spaniards wind their march this way.

As late in yester eve I paced the shore

I heard their signal-guns at distance roar.

Wilt thou not follow? He will shield thy child,-

The Christian's God,-through passes dark and wild

He will direct thy way! Come, follow me;

Oh, yet be loved, be happy, and be free!

But I, an outcast on my native plain, 80

The poor Olola ne'er shall smile again!

So guiding from the cave, when all was still,

And pointing to the furthest glimmering hill,

The Indian led, till, on Itata's side,

The Spanish camp and night-fires they descried:

Then on the stranger's neck that wild maid fell,

And said, Thy own gods prosper thee, farewell!

The owl[224] is hooting overhead; below,

On dusky wing, the vampire-bat sails slow.

Ongolmo stood before the cave of night, 90

Where the great wizard sat:-a lurid light

Was on his face; twelve giant shadows frowned,

His mute and dreadful ministers, around.

Each eye-ball, as in life, was seen to roll,

Each lip to move; but not a living soul

Was there, save bold Ongolmo and the seer.

The warrior half advanced his lifted spear,

Then spoke: Dread master of the mighty lore!

Say, shall the Spaniards welter in their gore?

Let these dark ministers the answer tell, 100

Replied the master of the mighty spell.

Then every giant-shadow, as it stood,

Lifted on high a skull that dropped with blood.

Yet more, the impatient warrior cried; yet more!

Say, shall I live, and drink the tyrant's gore?

'Twas silence. Speak! he cried: none made reply.

At once strange thunder shook the distant sky,

And all was o'er; the grisly shapes are flown,

And the grim warrior stands in the wild woods alone.

St Pedro's church had rung its midnight chimes, 110

And the gray friars were chanting at their primes,

When winds, as of a rushing hurricane,

Shook the tall windows of the towered fane;-

Sounds more than earthly with the storm arose,

And a dire troop are passed to Andes' snows,

Where mighty spirits in mysterious ring

Their dread prophetic incantations sing,

Round Chillan's crater-smoke, whose lurid light

Streams high against the hollow cope of night.

Thy genius, Andes, towering o'er the rest, 120

Rose vast, and thus a phantom-shape addressed:

Who comes so swift amid the storm?

Ha! I know thy bloodless form,

I know thee, angel, who thou art,

By the hissing of thy dart!

'Tis Death, the king! the rocks around,

Hark! echo back the fearful sound;-

'Tis Death, the king! away, away!

The famished vulture scents its prey.

Spectre, hence! we cannot die- 130

Thy withering weapons we defy;

Dire and potent as thou art!

Then spoke the phantom of the uplifted dart:

Spirits who in darkness dwell,

I heard far off your secret spell!

Enough, on yonder fatal shore,

My fiends have drank your children's gore;

Lo! I come, and doom to fate

The murderers, and the foe you hate!

Of all who shook their hostile spears, 140

And marked their way through blood and tears,

(Now sleeping still on yonder plain)

But one-one only shall remain,

Ere thrice the morn shall shine again.

Then sang the mighty spirits. Thee, they sing,

Hail to thee, Death, all hail to Death, the king!

The penguin flaps her wings in gore,

Devoted Spain, along the shore.

Whence that shriek? with ghastly eyes,

Thy victor-chief abandoned lies! 150

Victor of the southern world,

Whose crimson banners were unfurled

O'er the silence of the waves,-

O'er a land of bleeding slaves!

Victor, where is now thy boast;

Thine iron steeds, thy mailed host?

Hark! hark! even now I hear his cries!-

Spirits, hence!-he dies! he dies!

[222] The neck of the flamingo is white, and its wings of rich and beautiful crimson.

[223] From Mungo Park.

[224] The owl is an object of peculiar dread to the Indian of Chili.

* * *

CANTO SIXTH.

ARGUMENT.

The City of Conception-The City of Penco-Castle-Lautaro-Wild Indian Maid-Zarinel-Missionary.

The second moon had now begun to wane,

Since bold Valdivia left the southern plain;

Goal of his labours, Penco's port and bay,

Far gleaming to the summer sunset lay.

The wayworn veteran, who had slowly passed

Through trackless woods, or o'er savannahs vast,

With hope impatient sees the city spires

Gild the horizon, like ascending fires.

Now well-known sounds salute him, as more near

The citadel and battlements appear; 10

The approaching trumpets ring at intervals;

The trumpet answers from the rampart walls,

Where many a maiden casts an anxious eye,

Some long-lost object of her love to espy,

Or watches, as the evening light illumes

The points of lances, or the passing plumes.

The grating drawbridge and the portal-arch,

Now echo to the long battalion's march;

Whilst every eye some friend remembered greets,

Amid the gazing crowd that throngs the streets. 20

As bending o'er his mule, amid the throng,

Pensive and pale, Anselmo rode along,

How sacred, 'mid the noise of arms, appeared

His venerable mien and snowy beard!

Whilst every heart a silent prayer bestowed,

Slow to the convent's massy gate he rode:

Around, the brothers, gratulating, stand,

And ask for tidings of the southern land.

As from the turret tolls the vesper bell,

He seeks, a weary man, his evening cell, 30

No sounds of social cheer, no beds of state,

Nor gorgeous canopies his coming wait;

But o'er a little bread, with folded hands,

Thanking the God that gave, a while he stands;

Then, while all thoughts of earthly sorrow cease,

Upon his pallet lays him down in peace.

The scene how different, where the castle-hall

Rings to the loud triumphant festival:

A hundred torches blaze, and flame aloof,

Long quivering shadows streak the vaulted roof,- 40

Whilst, seen far off, the illumined windows throw

A splendour on the shore and seas below.

Amid his captains, in imperial state,

Beneath a crimson canopy, elate,

Valdivia sits-and, striking loud the strings,

The wandering ministrel of Valentia sings.

For Chili conquered, fill the bowl again!

For Chili conquered, raise the heroic strain!

Lautaro left the hall of jubilee

Unmarked, and wandered by the moonlit sea: 50

He heard far off, in dissonant acclaim,

The song, the shout, and his loved country's name.

As swelled at times the trump's insulting sound,

He raised his eyes impatient from the ground;

Then smote his breast indignantly, and cried,

Chili! my country; would that I had died

On the sad night of that eventful day

When on the ground my murdered father lay!

I should not then, dejected and alone,

Have thought I heard his injured spirit groan. 60

Ha! was it not his form-his face-his hair?

Hold, soldier! stern, inhuman soldier, spare!

Ha! is it not his blood? Avenge, he cries,

Avenge, my son, these wounds! He faints-he dies!

Leave me, dread shadow! Can I then forget

My father's look-his voice? He beckons yet!

Now on that glimmering rock I see him stand:

Avenge! he cries, and waves his dim-seen hand!

Thus mused the youth, distempered and forlorn,

When, hark! the sound as of a distant horn 70

Swells o'er the surge! he turned his look around,

And still, with many a pause, he heard the sound:

It came from yonder rocks; and, list! what strain

Breaks on the silence of the sleeping main?

I heard the song of gladness;

It seemed but yesterday,

But it turned my thoughts to madness,

So soon it died away:

I sound my sea-shell; but in vain I try

To bring back that enchanting harmony! 80

Hark! heard ye not the surges say,

Oh! heartless maid, what canst thou do?

O'er the moon-gleaming ocean, I'll wander away,

And paddle to Spain in my light canoe!

The youth drew near, by the strange accents led,

Where in a cave, wild sea-weeds round her head,

And holding a large sea-conch in her hand,

He saw, with wildering air, an Indian maiden stand. 100

A tattered poncho o'er her shoulders hung;

On either side her long black locks were flung;

And now by the moon's glimmer, he espies

Her high cheek-bones, and bright but hollow eyes.

Lautaro spoke: Oh! say what cruel wrong

Weighs on thy heart, maiden, what bodes thy song?

She answered not, but blew her shell again;

Then thus renewed the desultory strain:

Yes, yes, we must forget! the world is wide;

My music now shall be the dashing tide: 100

In the calm of the deep I will frolic and swim-

With the breath of the South o'er the sea-blossom[225] skim.

If ever, stranger, on thy way,

Sounds, more than earthly sweet, thy soul should move,

It is the youth! Oh! do not say-

That poor Olola died for love.

Lautaro stretched his hand; she said, Adieu!

And o'er the glimmering rocks like lightning flew.

He followed, and still heard at distance swell

The lessening echoes of that mournful shell. 110

It ceased at once; and now he heard no more

Than the sea's murmur dying on the shore.

Olola!-ha! his sister had that name!

Oh, horrid fancies! shake not thus his frame!

All night he wandered by the desert main,

To catch the melancholy sounds again.

No torches blaze in Penco's castled hall

That echoed to the midnight festival.

The weary soldiers by their toils oppressed,

Had now retired to silence and to rest. 120

The minstrel only, who the song had sung

Of noble Cid, as o'er the strings he hung,

Upon the instrument had fall'n asleep,

Weary, and now was hushed in slumbers deep.

Tracing the scenes long past, in busy dreams

Again he wanders by his native streams;

Or sits, his evening saraband to sing

To the clear Garonne's gentle murmuring.

Cold o'er the fleckered clouds the morning broke

Aslant ere from his slumbers he awoke; 130

Still as he sat, nor yet had left the place,

The first dim light fell on his pallid face.

He wakes-he gazes round-the dawning day

Comes from the deep, in garb of cloudy gray.

The woods with crow of early turkeys ring,

The glancing birds beneath the castle sing,

And the sole sun his rising orb displays,

Radiant and reddening, through the scattered haze.

To recreate the languid sense a while,

When earth and ocean wore their sweetest smile, 140

He wandered to the beach: the early air

Blew soft, and lifted, as it blew, his hair;

Flushed was his cheek; his faded eye, more bright,

Shone with a faint but animated light,

While the soft morning ray seemed to bestow

On his tired mind a transient kindred glow.

As thus, with shadow stretching o'er the sand,

He mused and wandered on the winding strand,

At distance tossed upon the tumbling tide,

A dark and floating substance he espied. 150

He stood, and where the eddying surges beat,

An Indian corse was rolled beneath his feet:

The hollow wave retired with sullen sound;

The face of that sad corse was to the ground;

It seemed a female, by the slender form;

He touched the hand-it was no longer warm;

He turned its face-O God! that eye, though dim,

Seemed with its deadly glare as fixed on him!

How sunk his shuddering sense, how changed his hue,

When poor Olola in that corse he knew! 160

Lautaro, rushing from the rocks, advanced;

His keen eye, like a startled eagle's glanced:

'Tis she!-he knew her by a mark impressed

From earliest infancy beneath her breast.

Oh, my poor sister! when all hopes were past

Of meeting, do we meet-thus meet-at last!

Then full on Zarinel, as one amazed,

With rising wrath and stern suspicion gazed;

For Zarinel still knelt upon the sand,

And to his forehead pressed the dead maid's hand. 170

Speak! whence art thou?

Pale Zarinel, his head

Upraising answered,

Peace is with the dead!

Him dost thou seek who injured thine and thee?

Here-strike the fell assassin-I am he!

Die! he exclaimed, and with convulsive start

Instant had plunged the dagger in his heart,

When the meek father, with his holy book,

And placid aspect, met his frenzied look. 180

He trembled-struck his brow-and, turning round,

Flung the uplifted dagger to the ground.

Then murmured: Father, Heaven has heard thy prayer-

But oh! the sister of my soul lies there!

The Christian's God has triumphed! father, heap

Some earth upon her bones, whilst I go weep!

Anselmo with calm brow approached the place,

And hastened with his staff his faltering pace:

Ho! child of guilt and wretchedness, he cried,

Speak!-Holy father, the sad youth replied, 190

God bade the seas the accusing victim roll

Dead at my feet, to teach my shuddering soul

Its guilt: Oh! father, holy father, pray

That heaven may take the deep, dire curse away!

Oh! yet, Anselmo cried, live and repent,

For not in vain was this dread warning sent;

The deep reproaches of thy soul I spare,

Go! seek Heaven's peace by penitence and prayer.

The youth arose, yet trembling from the shock,

And severed from the dead maid's hair a lock; 200

This to his heart with trembling hand he pressed,

And dried the salt-sea moisture on his breast.

They laid her limbs within the sea-beat grave,

And prayed: Her soul, O blessed Mary, save!

[225] The "sea-blossom," Holothuria, known to seamen by the name of "Portuguese man of war," is among the most striking and beautiful objects in the calms of the Southern ocean.

* * *

CANTO SEVENTH.

ARGUMENT.

Midnight-Valdivia's tent-Missionary-March to the Valley Arauco-First sight of assembled Indians.

The watchman on the tower his bugle blew,

And swelling to the morn the streamers flew;

The rampart-guns a dread alarum gave,

Smoke rolled, and thunder echoed o'er the wave;

When, starting from his couch, Valdivia cried,

What tidings? Of the tribes! a scout replied;

Ev'n now, prepared thy bulwarks to assail,

Their gathering numbers darken all the vale!

Valdivia called to the attendant youth,

Philip, he cried, belike thy words have truth; 10

The formidable host, by holy James,

Might well appal our priests and city dames!

Dost thou not fear? Nay-dost thou not reply?

Now by the rood, and all the saints on high,

I hold it sin that thou shouldst lift thy hand

Against thy brothers in thy native land!

But, as thou saidst, those mighty enemies

Me and my feeble legions would despise.

Yes, by our holy lady, thou shalt ride,

Spectator of their prowess, by my side! 20

Come life, come death, our battle shall display

Its ensigns to the earliest beam of day!

With louder summons ring the rampart-bell,

And haste the shriving father from his cell;

A soldier's heart rejoices in alarms:

And let the trump at midnight sound to arms!

And now, obedient to the chief's commands,

The gray-haired priest before the soldier stands.

Father, Valdivia cried, fierce are our foes,-

The last event of war God only knows;- 30

Let mass be sung; father, this very night

I would attend the high and holy rite.

Yet deem not that I doubt of victory,

Or place defeat or death before mine eye;

It blenches not! But, whatsoe'er befall,

Good father, I would part in peace with all.

So, tell Lautaro-his ingenuous mind

Perhaps may grieve, if late I seemed unkind:-

Hear my heart speak, though far from virtue's way

Ambition's lure hath led my steps astray, 40

No wanton exercise of barbarous power

Harrows my shrinking conscience at this hour.

If hasty passions oft my spirit fire,

They flash a moment and the next expire;

Lautaro knows it. There is somewhat more:

I would not, here-here, on this distant shore

(Should they, the Indian multitudes, prevail,

And this good sword and these firm sinews fail)

Amid my deadly enemies be found,

"Unhouseled, ananealed," upon the ground, 50

A dying man;-thy look, thy reverend age,

Might save my poor remains from barb'rous rage;

And thou may'st pay the last sad obsequies,

O'er the heaped earth where a brave soldier lies:-

So God be with thee!

By the torches' light,

The slow procession moves; the solemn rite

Is chanted: through the aisles and arches dim,

At intervals, is heard the imploring hymn.[226]

Now all is still, that only you might hear- 60

(The tall and slender tapers burning clear,

Whose light Anselmo's palid brow illumes,

Now glances on the mailed soldier's plumes)

Hear, sounding far, only the iron tread,

That echoed through the cloisters of the dead.

Dark clouds are wandering o'er the heaven's wide way;

Now from the camp, at times, a horse's neigh

Breaks on the ear; and on the rampart height

The sentinel proclaims the middle watch of night.

By the dim taper's solitary ray, 70

Tired, in his tent, the sovereign soldier lay.

Meantime, as shadowy dreams arise, he roams

'Mid bright pavilions and imperial domes,

Where terraces, and battlements, and towers,

Glisten in air o'er rich romantic bowers.

Sudden the visionary pomp is past;

The vacant court sounds to the moaning blast;

A dismal vault appears, where, with swoll'n eyes,

As starting from their orbs, a dead man lies.

It is Almagro's[227] corse!-roll on, ye drums, 80

Lo! where the great, the proud Pizarro comes!

Her gold, her richest gems, let Fortune strew

Before the mighty conqueror of Peru!

Ah, turn, and see a dagger in his hand-

With ghastly look-see the assassin stand!

Pizarro falls;[228]-he welters in his gore!

Lord of the western world, art thou no more!

Valdivia, hark!-it was another groan!

Another shadow comes, it is thy own!

Ah, bind not thus his arms!-give, give him breath! 90

Wipe from his bleeding brow those damps of death!

Valdivia, starting, woke. He is alone:

The taper in his tent yet dimly shone.

Lautaro, haste! he cried; Lautaro, save

Thy dying master! Ah! is this the brave,

The haughty victor? Hush, the dream is past!

The early trumpets ring the second blast!

Arm, arm! Ev'n now, the impatient charger neighs!

Again, from tent to tent the trumpet brays!

By torch-light, then, Valdivia gave command, 100

Haste, let Del Oro take a chosen band,

With watchful caution, on his fleetest steed,

A troop observant on the heights to lead.

Now beautiful, beneath the heaven's gray arch,

Appeared the main battalion's moving march;

The banner of the cross was borne before,

And next, with aspect sad, and tresses hoar,

The holy man went thoughtfully and pressed

A crucifix, in silence, to his breast.

Valdivia, all in burnished steel arrayed, 110

Upon whose crest the morn's effulgence played,

Majestic reined his steed, and seemed alone,

Worthy the southern world's imperial throne.

His features through the barred casque that glow,

His pole-axe pendent from the saddle-bow;

His dazzling armour, and the glitter bright

Of his drawn sabre, in the orient light,

Speak him not, now, for knightly tournament

Arrayed, but on emprise of prowess bent,

And deeds of deadly strife. In blooming pride, 120

The attendant youth rode, pensive, by his side.

Their pennoned lances, waving in the wind,

Two hundred clanking horsemen tramped behind,

In iron harness clad. The bugles blew,

And high in air the sanguine ensigns flew.

The arbalasters next, with cross-bows slung,

Marched, whilst the plumed Moors their cymbals swung.

Auxiliar-Indians here, a various train.

With spears and bows, darkened the distant plain;

Drums rolled, and fifes re-echoed shrill and clear, 130

At intervals, as near and yet more near,

While flags and intermingled halberds shine,

The long battalion drew its passing line.

Last rolled the heavy guns, a sable tier,

By Indians drawn, with matchmen in the rear;

And many a straggling mule and sumpter-train

Closed the embattled order on the plain,

Till nought beneath the azure sky appears

But the projecting points of scarce-discovered spears,

Slow up the hill, with floating vapours hoar, 140

Or by the blue lake's long retiring shore,

Now seen distinct, through the disparting haze,

The glittering file its bannered length displays;

Now winding from the woods, again appears

The moving line of matchlocks and of spears.

Part seen, part lost; the long illustrious march

Circling the swamp, now draws its various arch;

And seems, as on it moves, meandering slow,

A radiant segment of a living bow.

Five days the Spaniards, trooping in array, 150

O'er plains and headlands, held their eastern way.

On the sixth early dawn, with shuddering awe

And horror, in the last defile they saw

Ten pendent heads, from which the gore still run,

All gashed, and grim, and blackening in the sun.

These were the gallant troop that passed before,

The Indians' vast encampment to explore,

Led by Del Oro, now with many a wound

Pierced, and a headless trunk upon the ground.

The horses startled, as they tramped in blood; 160

The troops a moment half-recoiling stood.

But boots not now to pause, or to retire;

Valdivia's eye flashed with indignant fire:

Follow! he cried, brave comrades, to the hill!

And instant shouts the pealing valley fill.

And now, up to the hill's ascending crest,

With animated look and beating breast,

He urged his steed; when, wide beneath his eye,

He saw, in long expanse, Arauco's valley lie.

Far as the labouring sight could stretch its glance, 170

One undulating mass of club and lance,

One animated surface seemed to fill

The many-stirring scene from hill to hill:

To the deep mass he pointed with his sword,

Banner, advance! give out "Castile!" the word.

Instant the files advance, the trumpets bray,

And now the host in terrible array,

Ranged on the heights that overlook the plain,

Has halted!

But the task were long and vain 180

To tell what nations, from the seas that roar

Round Patagonia's melancholy shore;

From forests, brown with everlasting shades;

From rocks of sunshine, white with prone cascades;

From snowy summits, where the Llama roams,

Oft bending o'er the cataract as it foams;

From streams whose bridges[229] tremble from the steep;

From lakes, in summer's sweetest light asleep;

Indians, of sullen brow and giant limb,

With clubs terrific, and with aspects grim, 190

Flocked fearless.

When they saw the Spanish line

Arrayed, and front to front, descending shine,

Burst, instant burst, the universal cry,

(Ten thousand spears uplifted to the sky)-

Tyrants, we come to conquer or to die!

Grim Mariantu led the Indian force

A-left; and, rushing to the foremost horse,

Hurled with unerring aim the involving thong,

Then fearless sprang amidst the mailed throng. 200

Valdivia saw the horse, entangled, reel,

And shouting, as he rode, Castile! Castile!

Led on the charge: like a descending flood,

It swept, till every spur was black with blood.

His force a-right, where Harratomac led,

A thousand spears went hissing overhead,

And feathered arrows, of each varying hue,

In glancing arch, beneath the sunbeams flew.

Dire was the strife, when ardent Teucapel

Advancing in the front of carnage fell. 210

At once, Ongolmo, Elicura, rushed,

And swaying their huge clubs together, crushed

Horseman and horse; then bathed their hands in gore,

And limb from limb the panting carcase tore.

Caupolican, where the main battle bleeds,

Hosts and succeeding hosts undaunted leads,

Till, torn and shattered by the ceaseless fire,

Thousands, with gnashing teeth, and clenched spears, expire.

Pierced by a hundred wounds, Ongolmo lies,

And grasps his club terrific as he dies. 220

With breathless expectation, on the height,

Lautaro watched the long and dubious fight:

Pale and resigned the meek man stood, and pressed

More close the holy image to his breast.

Now nearer to the fight Lautaro drew,

When on the ground a warrior met his view,

Upon whose features memory seemed to trace

A faint resemblance of his father's face;

O'er him a horseman, with collected might,

Raised his uplifted sword, in act to smite, 230

When the youth springing on, without a word,

Snatched from a soldier's wearied grasp his sword,

And smote the horseman through the crest: a yell

Of triumph burst, as to the ground he fell.

Lautaro shouted, On! brave brothers, on!

Scatter them like the snow!-the day is won!

Lo, I! Lautaro,-Attacapac's son!

The Indians turn: again the battle bleeds,

Cleft are the helms and crushed the struggling steeds.

The bugle sounds, and faint with toil and heat, 240

Some straggling horsemen to the hills retreat.

Stand, brave companions! bold Valdivia cried,

And shook his sword, in recent carnage dyed;

Oh! droop not-droop not yet-all is not o'er-

Brave, faithful friends, one glorious sally more.

Where is Lautaro! leaps his willing sword

Now to avenge his long-indulgent lord!

He waited not for answer, but again

Spurred to the centre of the horrid plain.

Clubs, arrows, spears, the spot of death inclose, 250

And fainter now the Spanish shouts arose.

'Mid ghastly heaps of many a bleeding corse,

Lies the caparisoned and dying horse.

While still the rushing multitudes assail,

Vain is the fiery tube, the twisted mail!

The Spanish horsemen faint; long yells resound,

As the dragged ensign trails the gory ground:

Shout, for the chief is seized!-a thousand cries

Burst forth-Valdivia! for the sacrifice!

And lo, in silent dignity resigned, 260

The meek Anselmo, led in bonds, behind!

His hand upon his breast, young Zarinel

Amidst a group of mangled Indians fell;

The spear that to his heart a passage found

Left poor Olola's hair within the wound.

Now all is hushed, save where, at times, alone,

Deep midnight listens to a distant moan;

Save where the condors clamour, overhead,

And strike with sounding beaks the helmets of the dead.

[226] It may be necessary here to say, that whenever the Spaniards founded a city, after the immediate walls of defence, their first object was to build a church, and to have, with as much pomp as possible, the ecclesiastical services performed. Hence the cathedrals founded by them in America were of transcendent beauty and magnificence.

[227] Almagro, who first penetrated into Chili, was afterwards strangled.

[228] Pizarro was assassinated.

[229] Rude hanging bridges, constructed by the natives.

* * *

CANTO EIGHTH.

ARGUMENT.

Indian festival for victory-Old Warrior brought in wounded-Recognises his long-lost son, and dies-Discovery-Conclusion with the Old Warrior's funeral, and prophetic oration by the Missionary.

The morn returns, and, reddening, seems to shed

One ray of glory on the patriot-dead.

Round the dark stone, the victor-chiefs behold!

Still on their locks the gouts of gore hang cold!

There stands the brave Caupolican, the pride

Of Chili, young Lautaro, by his side!

Near the grim circle, pendent from the wood,

Twelve hundred Spanish heads are dripping blood.

Shrill sound the notes of death: in festive dance,

The Indian maids with myrtle boughs advance; 10

The tinkling sea-shells on their ancles ring,

As, hailing thus the victor-youth, they sing:-

SONG OF INDIAN MAIDS.

Oh, shout for Lautaro, the young and the brave!

The arm of whose strength was uplifted to save,

When the steeds of the strangers came rushing amain,

And the ghosts of our fathers looked down on the slain!

'Twas eve, and the noise of the battle was o'er,

Five thousand brave warriors were cold in their gore;

When, in front, young Lautaro invincible stood,

And the horses and iron-men rolled in their blood!

As the snows of the mountain are swept by the blast,

The earthquake of death o'er the white men has passed;

Shout, Chili, in triumph! the battle is won,

And we dance round the heads that are black in the sun!

Lautaro, as if wrapt in thought profound,

Oft turned an anxious look inquiring round.

He is not here!-Say, does my father live?

Ere eager voices could an answer give,

With faltering footsteps and declining head,

And slowly by an aged Indian led,

Wounded and weak the mountain chief appears:

Live, live! Lautaro cried, with bursting tears, 20

And fell upon his neck, and, kissing, pressed,

With folding arms, his gray hairs to his breast.

Oh, live! I am thy son-thy long-lost child!

The warrior raised his look, and faintly smiled;

Chili, my country, is avenged! he cried:

My son!-then sunk upon a shield-and died.

Lautaro knelt beside him, as he bowed,

And kissed his bleeding breast, and wept aloud.

The sounds of sadness through the circle ran,

When thus, with lifted axe, Caupolican: 30

What, for our fathers, brothers, children, slain,

Canst thou repay, ruthless, inhuman Spain?

Here, on the scene with recent slaughter red,

To sooth the spirits of the brave who bled,

Raise we, to-day, the war-feast of the dead.

Bring forth the chief in bonds! Fathers, to-day

Devote we to our gods the noblest prey!

Lautaro turned his eyes, and, gazing round,

Beheld Valdivia and Anselmo bound!

One stood in arms, as with a stern despair, 40

His helmet cleft in twain, his temples bare,

Where streaks of blood that dropped upon his mail,

Served but to show his face more deadly pale:

His eyebrows, dark and resolute, he bent,

And stood, composed, to wait the dire event.

Still on the cross his looks Anselmo cast,

As if all thought of this vain world was passed,

And in a world of light, without a shade,

Ev'n now his meek and guileless spirit strayed.

Where stood the Spanish chief, a muttering sound 50

Rose, and each club was lifted from the ground;

When, starting from his father's corse, his sword

Waving before his once-triumphant lord,

Lautaro cried, My breast shall meet the blow:

But save-save him, to whom my life I owe!

Valdivia marked him with unmoving eye,

Then looked upon his bonds, nor deigned reply;

When Harratomac, stealing with slow pace,

And lifting high his iron-jagged mace,

Smote him to earth; a thousand voices rose, 60

Mingled with shouts and yells, So fall our foes!

Lautaro gave to tears a moment's space,

As black in death he marked Valdivia's face,

Then cried-Chiefs, friends, and thou, Caupolican,

Oh, spare this innocent and holy man!

He never sailed, rapacious, o'er the deep,

The gold of blood-polluted lands to heap;

He never gave the armed hosts his aid,

But meekly to the Mighty Spirit prayed,

That in all lands the sounds of woe might cease, 70

And brothers of the wide world dwell in peace!

The victor-youth saw generous sympathy

Already steal to every warrior's eye;

Then thus again: Oh, if this filial tear

Bear witness my own father was most dear;

If this uplifted arm, this bleeding steel

Speak for my country what I felt and feel;

If, at this hour, I meet her high applause,

While my heart beats still ardent in her cause;-

Hear, and forgive these tears that grateful flow, 80

Oh! hear, how much to this poor man I owe!

I was a child-when to my sire's abode,

In Chillan's vale, the armed horsemen rode:

Me, whilst my father cold and breathless lay,

Far off the crested soldiers bore away,

And for a captive sold. No friend was near,

To mark a young and orphan stranger's tear!

This humble man, with kind parental care,

Snatched me from slavery-saved from dark despair;

And as my years increased, protected, fed, 90

And breathed a father's blessings on my head.

A Spanish maid was with him: need I speak?

Behold, affection's tear still wets my cheek!

Years, as they passed, matured in ripening grace

Her form unfolding, and her beauteous face:

She heard my orphan tale; she loved to hear,

And sometimes for my fortunes dropped a tear.

I could have bowed to direst ills resigned,

But wept at looks so sweet, at words so kind.

Valdivia saw me, now in blooming age, 100

And claimed me from the father as his page;

The chief too cherished me, yea, saved my life,

When in Peru arose the civil strife.

Yet still remembering her I loved so well,

Oft I returned to the gray father's cell:

His voice instructed me; recalled my youth

From rude idolatry to heavenly truth:

Of this hereafter; he my darkling mind

Cleared, and from low and sensual thoughts refined.

Then first, with feelings new impressed, I strove 110

To hide the tear of tenderness and love:

Amid the fairest maidens of Peru,

My eyes, my heart, one only object knew:

I lived that object's love and faith to share;

He saw, and blessed us with a father's prayer.

Here, at Valdivia's last and stern command,

I came, a stranger in my native land!

Anselmo (so him call-now most in need-

And standing here in bonds, for whom I plead)

Came, by our chief so summoned, and for aid 120

To the Great Spirit of the Christians prayed:

Here as a son I loved him, but I left

A wife, a child, of my fond cares bereft,

Never to see again; for death awaits

My entrance now in Lima's jealous gates.

Caupolican, didst thou thy father love?

Did his last dying look affection move?

Pity this aged man; unbend thy brow:

He was my father-is my father, now!

Consenting mercy marks each warrior's mien. 130

But who is this, what pallid form is seen,

As crushed already by the fatal blow,

Bound, and with looks white as a wreath of snow,

Her hands upon her breast, scarce drawn her breath,

A Spanish woman knelt, expecting death,

Whilst, borne by a dark warrior at her side,

An infant shrunk from the red plumes, and cried!

Lautaro started:

Injured maid of Spain!

Me!-me! oh, take me to thine arms again! 140

She heard his voice, and, by the scene oppressed,

With one faint sigh fell senseless on his breast.

Caupolican, with warm emotion, cried,

Live, live! Lautaro and his beauteous bride!

Live, aged father!-and forthwith commands

A warrior to unbind Anselmo's hands.

She raised her head: his eyes first met her view,

As round Lautaro's neck her arms she threw,

Ah, no! she feebly spoke; it is not true!

It is some form of the distempered brain! 150

Then hid her face upon his breast again.

Dark flashing eyes, terrific, glared around:

Here, his brains scattered by the deadly wound,

The Spanish chief lay on the gory ground.

With lowering brows, and mace yet drooping blood,

And clotted hair, there Mariantu stood.

Anselmo here, sad, yet in sorrow mild,

Appeared: she cried, A blessing on your child,

And knelt, as slow revived her waking sense,

And then, with looks aghast, Oh bear us hence! 160

Now all the assembled chiefs, assenting, cried,

Live, live! Lautaro and his beauteous bride!

With eager arms Lautaro snatched his boy,

And kissed him in an agony of joy;

Then to Anselmo gave, who strove to speak,

And felt the tear first burning on his cheek:

The infant held his neck with strict embrace,

And kissed his pale emaciated face.

From the dread scene, wet with Valdivia's gore,

His wan and trembling charge Lautaro bore. 170

There was a bank, where slept the summer-light,

A small stream whispering went in mazes bright,

And stealing from the sea, the western wind

Waved the magnolias on the slope inclined:

The woodpecker, in glittering plumage green,

And echoing bill, beneath the boughs was seen;

And, arched with gay and pendent flowers above,

The floripondio[230] its rich trellis wove.

Lautaro bent, with looks of love and joy,

O'er his yet trembling wife and beauteous boy: 180

Oh, by what miracle, beloved! say,

Hast thou escaped the perils of the way

From Lima, where our humble dwelling stood,

To these tumultuous scenes, this vale of blood?

Roused by his voice, as from the sleep of death,

Faint she replied, with slow-recovering breath,

Who shall express, when thou, best friend! wert gone,

How sunk my heart!-deserted and alone!

Would I were with thee! oft I sat and sighed,

When the pale moon shone on the silent tide- 190

At length resolved, I sought thee o'er the seas:

The brave bark cheer'ly went before the breeze,

That arms and soldiers to Valdivia bore,

From Lima bound to Chili's southern shore:

I seized the fair occasion-ocean smiled,

As to the sire I bore his lisping child.

The storm arose: with loud and sudden shock

The vessel sunk, disparting on a rock.

Some mariners, amidst the billows wild,

Scarce saved, in one small boat, me and my child. 200

What I have borne, a captive since that day-

Forgive these tears-I scarce have heart to say!

None pitied, save one gentle Indian maid-

A wild maid-of her looks I was afraid;

Her long black hair upon her shoulders fell,

And in her hand she bore a wreathed shell.

Lautaro for a moment turned aside,

And, Oh, my sister! with faint voice he cried.

Already free from sorrow and alarms,

I clasped in thought a husband in my arms, 210

When a dark warrior, stationed on the height,

Who held his solitary watch by night,

Before me stood, and lifting high his lance,

Exclaimed: No further, on thy life, advance!

Faint, wearied, sinking to the earth with dread,

Back to the dismal cave my steps he led.

Only at eve, within the craggy cleft,

Some water, and a cake of maize, were left.

The thirteenth sun unseen went down the sky;

When morning came, they brought me forth to die; 220

But hushed be every sigh, each boding fear,

Since all I sought on earth, and all I love, is here!

Her infant raised his hands, with glistening eye,

To reach a large and radiant butterfly,

That fluttered near his face; with looks of love,

And truth and tenderness, Lautaro strove

To calm her wounded heart; the holy sire,

His eyes faint-lighted with a transient fire,

Hung o'er them, and to Heaven his prayer addressed,

While, with uplifted hands, he wept and blest. 230

An aged Indian came, with feathers crowned,

And knelt before Lautaro on the ground.

What tidings, Indian?

INDIAN.

When I led thy sire,

Whom late thou saw'st upon his shield expire,

Son of our Ulmen, didst thou mark no trace,

In these sad looks, of a remembered face?

Dost thou remember Izdabel? Look here!

It is thy father's hatchet and his spear.

Friend of my infant days, how I rejoice, 240

Lautaro cried, once more to hear that voice!

Life like a dream, since last we met, has fled-

Oh, my beloved sister, thou art dead!

INDIAN.

I come to guide thee through untrodden ways,

To the lone valley, where thy father's days

Were passed; where every cave and every tree,

From morn to morn, reminded him of thee!

Lautaro cried: Here, faithful Indian, stay;

I have a last sad duty yet to pay.

A little while we part:-thou here remain. 250

He spake, and passed like lightning o'er the plain.

Ah, cease, Castilian maid, thy vain alarms!

See where he comes-his father in his arms!

Now lead, he cried. The Indian, sad and still,

Paced on from wood to vale, from vale to hill;

Her infant tired, and hushed a while to rest,

Smiled, in a dream, upon its mother's breast;

The pensive mother gray Anselmo led;

Behind, Lautaro bore his father dead.

Beneath the branching palms they slept at night; 260

The small birds waked them ere the morning light.

Before their path, in distant view, appeared

The mountain-smoke, that its dark column reared

O'er Andes' summits, in the pale blue sky,

Lifting their icy pinnacles so high.

Four days they onward held their eastern way;

On the fifth rising morn, before them lay

Chillan's lone glen, amid whose windings green,

The Warrior's loved and last abode was seen.

No smoke went up, a stillness reigned around, 270

Save where the waters fell with soothing sound,

Save where the Thenca sang so loud and clear,

And the bright humming-bird was spinning near.

Yet here all human tumults seemed to cease,

And sunshine rested on the spot of peace;

The myrtles bloomed as fragrant and as green

As if Lautaro scarce had left the scene;

And in his ear the falling waters' spray

Seemed swelling with the sounds of yesterday.

Where yonder rock the aged cedars shade, 280

There shall my father's bones in peace be laid.

Beneath the cedar's shade they dug the ground;

The small and sad communion gathered round.

Beside the grave stood aged Izdabel,

And broke the spear, and cried: Farewell, farewell!

Lautaro hid his face, and sighed Adieu!

As the stone hatchet in the grave he threw.

The little child that to its mother clung,

Stretched out its arm, then on her garment hung,

With sidelong looks, half-shrinking, half-amazed, 290

And dropped its flowers, unconscious, as it gazed.

And now Anselmo, his pale brow inclined,

The honoured relics, dust to dust, consigned

With Christian rites, and sung, on bending knee,

"Eternam pacem dona, Domine."

Then rising up he closed the holy book;

And lifting in the beam his lighted look,

(The cross, with meekness, folded on his breast),

Here, too, he cried, my bones in peace shall rest!

Few years remain to me, and never more 300

Shall I behold, O Spain! thy distant shore!

Here lay my bones, that the same tree may wave

O'er the poor Christian's and the Indian's grave.

Oh, may it (when the sons of future days

Shall hear our tale and on the hillock gaze),

Oh, may it teach, that charity should bind,

Where'er they roam, the brothers of mankind!

The time shall come, when wildest tribes shall hear

Thy voice, O Christ! and drop the slaughtering spear.

Yet we condemn not him who bravely stood, 310

To seal his country's freedom with his blood;

And if, in after-times, a ruthless band

Of fell invaders sweep my native land,

May she, by Chili's stern example led,

Hurl back his thunder on the assailant's head;

Sustained by Freedom, strike the avenging blow,

And learn one virtue from her ancient foe!

[230] One of the most beautiful of the beautiful climbing plants of South America.

* * *

END OF VOLUME I.

* * *

EDINBURGH: BALLANTYNE AND COMPANY, PRINTERS.

Transcriber's notes: The following were corrected in text as shown. They are indicated with light dotted underline and pop up on cursor hover.

Pg iv: Alverstock => Alverstoke.

Pg 26: mumuring => murmuring

Pg 86: seene => scene

Pg 100: TRANSATION => TRANSLATION

Pg 152: fell => feel

Pg 206: gallopped => galloped

Pg 230: diffculty => difficulty

Pg 307: Guecuba => Guecubu to match text reference.

Pg 354: arbalaster is probably a variation or arbalester or arbalister: a cross-bowman.

Pg 357: Lautora => Lautaro to be consistent with earlier use.

A few words are hyphenated inconsistently. They are listed here, but remain unchanged.

eventide even-tide

eyeballs eye-balls

eyelids eye-lids

footfall foot-fall

heartbroken heart-broken

hedgerows hedge-rows

outstretched out-stretched