Poems (1786) Part 11

But, oh, how far each other pang above 85 Throbs the wild agony of hopeless love; That grief, for which in vain shall comfort shed Her healing balm, or time in pity spread The veil, that throws a shade o'er other care; For here, and here alone, profound despair 90 Casts o'er the suff'ring soul a lasting gloom, And slowly leads her victim to the tomb.

Now rude tumultuous sounds a.s.sail her ear, And soon Alphonso's victor train appear: Then, as with ling'ring step he mov'd along, 95 She saw her father mid' the captive throng; She saw with dire dismay, she wildly flew, Her snowy arms around his form she threw: "He bleeds (she cries) I hear his moan of pain, "My father will not bear the galling chain; 100 "My tender father will his child forsake, "His mourning child, but soon her heart will break.

"Cruel Alphonso, let not helpless age "Feel thy hard yoke, and meet thy barb'rous rage; "Or, oh, if ever mercy mov'd thy soul, 105 "If ever thou hast felt her blest controul, "Grant my sad heart's desire, and let me share "The load, that feeble frame but ill can bear."

While the young victor, as she falt'ring spoke, With fix'd attention, and with ardent look, 110 Hung on her tender glance, that love inspires, The rage of conquest yields to milder fires.

Yet, as he gaz'd enraptur'd on her form, Her virtues awe the heart her beauties warm; And, while impa.s.sion'd tones his love reveal, 115 He asks with holy rites his vows to seal-- "Hop'st thou, she cried, those sacred ties shall join "This bleeding heart, this trembling hand to thine?

"To thine, whose ruthless heart has caus'd my pains, "Whose barb'rous hands the blood of Zamor stains! 120 "Can'st thou--the murd'rer of my peace, controul "The grief that swells, the pang that rends my soul?

"That pang shall death, shall death alone remove, "And cure the anguish of despairing love."

In vain th' enamour'd youth essay'd each art 125 To calm her sorrows, and to sooth her heart; While, in the range of thought, her tender breast Could find no hope, on which her griefs might rest, While her soft soul, which Zamor's image fills, Shrinks from the cruel author of its ills. 130 At length to madness stung by fix'd disdain, The victor gives to rage the fiery rein; And bids her sorrows flow from that fond source Where strong affection feels their keenest force, Whose breast, when most it suffers, only heeds 135 The sharper pangs by which another bleeds: For now his cruel mandate doom'd her sire Stretch'd on the bed of torture, to expire; Bound on the rack, unmov'd the victim lies, Stifling in agony weak nature's sighs. 140 But oh, what form of language can impart The frantic grief that wrung Aciloe's heart, When to the height of hopeless sorrow wrought, The fainting spirit feels a pang of thought, Which never painted in the hues of speech, 145 Lives at the soul, and mocks expression's reach!

At length she trembling cried, "the conflict's o'er, "My heart, my breaking heart can bear no more-- "Yet spare his feeble age--my vows receive, "And oh, in mercy, bid my father live!"-- 150 "Wilt them be mine?" the enamour'd chief replies, "Yes, cruel! see, he dies, my father dies-- "Save, save, my father"--"Dear, angelic maid, "The charm'd Alphonso cried, be swift obey'd: "Unbind his chains--Ah, calm each anxious Pain, 155 "Aciloe's voice no more shall plead in vain; "Plac'd near his child, thy aged sire shall share "Our joys still cherish'd by thy tender care"-- "No more (she cried) will fate that bliss allow, "Before my lips shall breathe the nuptial vow, 160 "Some faithful guide shall lead his aged feet, "To distant scenes that yield a safe retreat; "Where some soft heart, some gentle hand, will shed "The drops of comfort on his h.o.a.ry head: "My Zamor, if thy spirit trembles near, 165 "Forgive!"--she ceas'd, and pour'd her hopeless tear.

Now night descends, and steeps each weary breast, Save sad Aciloe's, in the balm of rest.

Her aged father's beauteous dwelling stood Near the cool shelter of a waving wood: 170 But now the gales that bend its foliage die, Soft on the silver turf its shadows lie; While, slowly wand'ring o'er the scene below, The gazing moon look'd pale as silent woe.

The sacred shade, amid whose fragrant bowers 175 Zamor oft sooth'd with song the evening hours, Pour'd to the lunar orb, his magic lay, More mild, more pensive than her musing ray, That shade with trembling step, the mourner sought, And thus she breath'd her tender, plaintive thought. 180 "Ah where, dear object of these piercing pains, "Where rests thy murder'd form, thy lov'd remains?

"On what sad spot, my Zamor, flow'd the wound "That purpled with thy streaming blood the ground?

"Oh had Aciloe in that hour been nigh, 185 "Had'st thou but fix'd on me thy closing eye; "Told with faint voice, 'twas death's worst pang to part, "And dropp'd thy last, cold tear upon my heart!

"A pang less bitter then would waste this breast, "That in the grave alone shall seek its rest. 190 "Soon as some friendly hand, in mercy leads "My aged father, safe to Chili's meads; "Death shall for ever, seal the nuptial tie, "The heart belov'd by thee is fix'd to die."

She ceas'd, when dimly thro' a flood of tears 195 She sees her Zamor's form, his voice she hears.-- "'Tis he, she cried, he moves upon the gale, "My Zamor's sigh is deep--his look is pale-- "I faint"--his arms receive her sinking frame, He calls his love by every tender name, 200 He stays her fleeting spirit--life anew Warms her cold cheek--his tears her cheek bedew-- "Thy Zamor lives, he cried: as on the ground "I senseless lay, some child of pity bound "My bleeding wounds, and bore me from the plain-- 205 "But thou art lost, and I have liv'd in vain."

"Forgive, she cried, in accents of despair, "Zamor forgive thy wrongs, and oh forbear "The mild reproach that fills thy mournful eye, "The tear that wets thy cheek--I mean to die! 210 "Could I behold my aged sire endure "The pains his wretched child had power to cure?

"Still, still my father, stretch'd in death, I see, "His grey locks trembling, as he gaz'd on me: "My Zamor, soft--breathe not so loud a sigh-- 215 "Some list'ning foe may pityless deny "This parting hour--hark, sure some step I hear, "Zamor again is lost--for now 'tis near"-- She paus'd, when sudden from the shelt'ring wood A venerable form before them stood: 220 "Fear not, soft maid, he cry'd, nor think I come "To seal with deeper miseries thy doom; "To bruise the breaking heart that sorrow rends, "Ah not for this Las Casas. .h.i.ther bends-- "He comes to bid those rising sorrows cease, 225 "To pour upon thy wounds the balm of peace.

"I rov'd with dire Almagro's ruthless train "Thro' scenes of death, to Chili's verdant plain; "Their wish, to bathe that verdant plain in gore, "Then from its bosom drag the golden ore; 230 "But mine, to check the stream of human blood, "Or mingle drops of anguish with the flood.

"When from those fair unconquer'd vales they fled, "This frame was stretch'd upon the languid bed "Of pale disease: when helpless, and alone, 235 "The Chilese spy'd their friend, the murd'rers gone, "With eager fondness round my couch they drew, "And my cold hand with gus.h.i.+ng tears bedew; "By day, they sooth my pains with sweet delight, "And give to watchings the chill hours of night; 240 "For me their tender spirits joy to prove "The cares of pity, and the toils of love.

"Soon as I heard, that o'er this gentle scene, "Where peace and virtue mingled smile serene, "The foe, like clouds that fold the tempest, hung, 245 "I hither flew, my breast with anguish wrung.

"A Chilese band the pathless desert trac'd, "And softly bore me o'er its dreary waste; "Then parting, at my feet they bend, and clasp "These aged knees--my soul yet feels their grasp. 250 "Now o'er the vale with painful step I stray'd, "And reach'd the shelt'ring grove: there, hapless maid, "My list'ning ear has caught thy piercing wail, "My heart has trembled to thy moving tale."-- "And art thou he! the mournful pair exclaim, 255 "How dear to mis'ry's soul, Las Casas' name!

"Spirit benign, who every grief can share, "Whose pity stoops to make the wretch its care; "Weep not for us--in vain thy tear shall flow "For hopeless anguish, and distracting woe"-- 260 "They ceas'd; in accents mild, the saint returns, "Yet let me sooth the pains my bosom mourns: "Come, gentle suff'rers, follow to yon fane, "Where rests Alphonso, with his victor train; "My voice shall urge his soul to gen'rous deeds, 265 "And bid him hear, when truth, and nature pleads."

While in soft tones, Las Casas thus exprest His pious purpose, o'er Aciloe's breast A dawning ray of cheering comfort streams, But faint the hope that on her spirit beams; 270 Faint, as when ebbing life must soon depart, The pulse that trembles, while it warms the heart.

Before Alphonso now the lovers stand; The aged suff'rer join'd the mournful band; While with the look that guardian seraphs wear, 275 When sent to calm the throbs of mortal care, The story of their woes Las Casas told, Then cry'd, "the wretched Zamor here behold-- "Hop'st thou, fond man, a pa.s.sion to controul "Fix'd in the breast, and woven in the soul? 280 "But know, mistaken youth, thy power in vain "Would bind thy victim in the nuptial chain: "That faithful heart will rend the galling tie, "That heart will break, that tender form will die-- "Then by each sacred name to nature dear, 285 "By her strong shriek, her agonizing tear; "By every horror bleeding pa.s.sion knows, "By the wild glance that speaks her frantic woes; "By all the wasting pangs that rend her breast, "By the deep groan that gives her spirit rest! 290 "Let mercy's pleading voice thy bosom move, "And fear to burst the bonds of plighted love"-- He paus'd--now Zamor's moan Alphonso hears, Now sees the cheek of age bedew'd with tears: Palid, and motionless, Aciloe stands, 295 Fix'd was her mournful eye, and clasp'd her hands; Her heart was chill'd--her trembling heart, for there Hope slowly sinks in cold, and dark despair.

Alphonso's soul was mov'd--"No more, he cried, "My hapless flame shall hearts like yours divide. 300 "Live, tender spirit, soft Aciloe, live, "And all the wrongs of mad'ning rage forgive.

"Go from this desolated region far, "These plains, where av'rice spreads the waste of war; "Go, where pure pleasures gild the peaceful scene, 305 "Go where mild virtue sheds her ray serene."

In vain th' enraptur'd maid would now impart, The rising joy that swells, that pains her heart; Las Casas' feet in floods of tears she steeps, Looks on her sire and smiles, then turns, and weeps; 310 Then smiles again, while her flush'd cheek, reveals The mingled tumult of delight she feels.

So fall the crystal showers of fragrant spring, And o'er the pure, clear sky, soft shadows fling; Then paint the drooping clouds from which they flow 315 With the warm colours of the lucid bow.

Now, o'er the barren desert, Zamor leads Aciloe, and her sire, to Chili's meads: There, many a wand'ring wretch, condemn'd to roam By hard oppression, found a shelt'ring home: 320 Zamor to pity, tun'd the vocal sh.e.l.l, Bright'ning the tear of anguish, as it fell.

Did e'er the human bosom throb with pain The heav'nly muse has sought to sooth in vain?

She, who can still with harmony its sighs, 325 And wake the sound, at which affliction dies; Can bid the stormy pa.s.sions backward roll, And o'er their low-hung tempests lift the soul; With magic touch paint nature's various scene Wild on the mountain, in the vale serene; 330 Can tinge the breathing rose with brighter bloom, Or hang the sombrous rock in deeper gloom; Explore the gem, whose pure, reflected ray Throws o'er the central cave a paler day; Or soaring view the comet's fiery frame 335 Rush o'er the sky, and fold the sphere in flame; While the charm'd spirit, as her accents move, Is wrapt in wonder, or dissolv'd in love. 338

PERU.

CANTO THE SIXTH.

THE ARGUMENT.

_The troops of_ Almagro _and_ Alphonso _meet on the plains of Cuzco_-- Manco-Capac _attacks them by night--his army is defeated, and he is forced to fly with its scattered remains_--Cora _goes in search of him-- her infant in her arms--overcome with fatigue, she rests at the foot of a mountain--an earthquake--a band of Indians fly to the mountains for shelter_--Cora discovers her husband--their interview--her death--he escapes with his infant_--Almagro _claims a share of the spoils of Cuzco--his contention with_ Pizarro--_the Spaniards destroy each other_ --Almagro _is taken prisoner, and put to death--his soldiers, in revenge, a.s.sa.s.sinate_ Pizarro _in his palace_--Las Casas _dies_--Gasca, _a Spanish ecclesiastic, arrives in_ Peru--_invested with great power--his virtuous conduct--the annual festival of the Peruvians--their late victories over the Spaniards in Chili--a wish for the restoration of their liberty--the Poem concludes._

PERU.

CANTO THE SIXTH.

At length Almagro, and Alphonso's train, Each peril past, unite on Cusco's plain: _Capac_, who now beheld with anxious woe, Th' increasing numbers of the powerful foe, Resolves to pierce beneath the shroud of night 5 The hostile camp, and brave the vent'rous fight; Tho' weak the wrong'd Peruvians arrowy showers, To the dire weapons stern Iberia pours.

Fierce was th' unequal contest, for the soul When rais'd by some high pa.s.sion's strong controul, 10 New strings the nerves, and o'er the glowing frame Breathes the warm spirit of heroic flame.

But from the scene where raging slaughter burns, The timid muse with pallid horror turns: The sounds of frantic woe she panting hears, 15 Where anguish dims a mother's eye with tears; Or where the maid, who gave to love's soft power Her faithful spirit, weeps the parting hour: And ah, till death shall ease the tender woe, That soul must languish, and those tears must flow; 20 For never with the thrill that rapture proves Shall bless'd affection hail the form she loves; Her eager glance no more that form shall view, Her quiv'ring lip has breath'd the last adieu!

Now night, that pour'd upon her hollow gale 25 The moan of death, withdrew her mournful veil; The sun rose lovely from the sleeping flood, And morning glitter'd o'er the field of blood; Where bath'd in gore, Peruvia's vanquish'd train Lay cold and senseless on the sanguine plain. 30 Capac, their gen'rous chief, whose ardent soul Had sought the rage of battle to controul, Beheld with keen despair his warriors yield, And fled indignant from the conquer'd field.

From Cusco now a wretched throng repair, 35 Who tread mid' slaughter'd heaps in mute despair, O'er some lov'd corse the shroud of earth to spread, And drop the sacred tear that sooths the dead: No shriek was heard, for agony supprest The fond complaints which ease the swelling breast: 40 Each hope for ever lost, they only crave The deep repose which wraps the shelt'ring grave.

So the meek Lama, lur'd by some decoy Of man, from all his unembitter'd joy; Ere while, as free as roves the wand'ring breeze, 45 Meets the hard burden on his bending knees[A]; O'er rocks, and mountains, dark, and waste he goes, Nor shuns the path where no soft herbage grows; Till worn with toil, on earth he prostrate lies, Heeds not the barb'rous lash, but patient dies. 50 Swift o'er the field of death sad Cora flew, Her infant to his mother's bosom grew; She seeks her wretched lord, who fled the plain With the last remnant of his vanquish'd train: Thro' the lone vale, or forest's sombrous shade 55 A dreary solitude, the mourner stray'd; Her timid heart can now each danger dare, Her drooping soul is arm'd by deep despair-- Long, long she wander'd, till oppress'd with toil, Her trembling footsteps track with blood the soil; 60 In vain with moans her distant lord she calls, In vain the bitter tear of anguish falls; Her moan expires along the desert wood, Her tear is mingled with the crimson flood.

Where o'er an ample vale a mountain rose, 65 Low at its base her fainting form she throws; "And here, my child, (she cried, with panting breath) "Here let us wait the hour of ling'ring death: "This famish'd bosom can no more supply "The streams that nourish life, my babe must die! 70 "In vain I strive to cherish for thy sake "My failing strength; but when my heart-strings break, "When my chill'd bosom can no longer warm, "My stiff'ning arms no more enfold thy form, "Soft on this bed of leaves my child shall sleep, 75 "Close to his mother's corse he will not weep: "Oh weep not then, my tender babe, tho' near, "I shall not hear thy moan, nor see thy tear; "Hope not to move me by thy piercing cry, "Nor seek with searching look my answering eye." 80 As thus the dying Cora's plaints arose, O'er the fair valley sudden darkness throws A hideous horror; thro' the wounded air Howl'd the shrill voice of nature in despair; The birds dart screaming thro' the fluid sky, 85 And, dash'd upon the cliff's hard surface die; High o'er their rocky bounds the billows swell, Then to their deep abyss affrighted fell; Earth groaning heaves with dire convulsive throws, While yawning gulphs her central caves disclose: 90 Now rush'd a frighted throng with trembling pace Along the vale, and sought the mountain's base; Purpos'd its perilous ascent to gain, And shun the ruin low'ring o'er the plain.

They reach'd the spot where Cora clasp'd her child, 95 And gaz'd on present death with aspect mild; They pitying paus'd--she lifts her mournful eye, And views her lord!--he hears his Cora's sigh-- He meets her look--their melting souls unite, O'erwhelm'd, and agoniz'd with wild delight-- 100 At length she faintly cried, "we yet must part!

"Short are these rising joys--I feel my heart "My suff'ring heart is cold, and mists arise "That shroud thy image from my closing eyes: "Oh save my child!--our tender infant save, 105 "And shed a tear upon thy Cora's grave"-- The flutt'ring pulse of life now ceas'd to play, And in his arms a pallid corse she lay: O'er her dear form he hung in speechless pain, And still on Cora call'd, but call'd in vain; 110 Scarce could his soul in one short moment bear The wild extreme of transport, and despair.

Now o'er the west in melting softness streams A l.u.s.tre, milder than the morning beams; A purer dawn dispell'd the fearful night, 115 And nature glow'd in all the blooms of light; The birds awake the note that hails the day, And spread their pinions in the purple ray; A zone of gold the wave's still bosom bound, And beauty shed a placid smile around. 120 Then, first awaking from his mournful trance, The wretched Capac cast an eager glance On his lov'd babe; th' unconscious infant smil'd, And showers of softer sorrow bath'd his child.

The hollow voice now sounds in fancy's ear, 125 She sees the dying look, the parting tear, That sought with anxious tenderness to save That dear memorial from the closing grave: He clasps the object of his love's last care, And vows for him the load of life to bear; 130 To rear the blossom of a faded flower, And bid remembrance sooth each ling'ring hour.

He journey'd o'er a dreary length of way, To plains where freedom shed her hallow'd ray; O'er many a pathless wood, and mountain h.o.a.r, 135 To that fair clime her lifeless form he bore.

Ye who ne'er suffer'd pa.s.sions hopeless pain, Deem not the toil that sooths its anguish vain; Its fondness to the mould'ring corse extends, Its faithful tear with the cold ashes blends. 140 Perchance, the conscious spirit of the dead Numbers the drops affection loves to shed; Perchance a sigh of holy pity gives To the sad bosom, where its image lives.

Oh nature! sure thy sympathetic ties 145 Shall o'er the ruins of the grave arise; Undying spring from the relentless tomb, And shed, in scenes of love, a lasting bloom.

Not long Iberia's sullied trophies wave, Her guilty warriors press th' untimely grave; 150 For av'rice, rising from the caves of earth, Wakes all her savage spirit into birth; Bids proud Almagro feel her baleful flame, And Cusco's treasures from Pizarro claim: Pizarro holds the rich alluring prize, 155 With firmer grasp, the fires of discord rise.

Now fierce in hostile rage, each warlike train Purple with issuing gore Peruvia's plain; There, breathing hate, and vengeful death they flood, And bath'd their impious bands in kindred blood; 160 While pensive on each hill, whose lofty brow O'erhung with sable woods the vale below; Peruvia's hapless tribes in scatter'd throngs, Beheld the fiends of strife avenge their wrongs.

Now conquest, bending on her crimson wings, 165 Her sanguine laurel to Pizarro brings; While bound, and trembling in her iron chain, Almagro swells the victor's captive train.

In vain his pleading voice, his suppliant eye, Conjure his conqu'ror, by the holy tie 170 That seal'd their mutual league with sacred force, When first to climes unknown they bent their course; When danger's rising horrors lowr'd afar, The storms of ocean, and the toils of war, The sad remains of wasted life to spare, 175 The shrivell'd bosom, and the silver'd hair:-- But vainly from his lips these accents part, Nor move Pizarro's cold, relentless heart, That never trembled to the suff'rer's sigh, Or view'd the suff'rer's tear with melting eye. 180 Almagro dies--the victor's savage pride To his pale corse funereal rites denied, Chill'd by the heavy dews of night it lay, And wither'd in the sultry beam of day, Till Indian bosoms, touch'd with gen'rous woe, 185 In the pale form forgot the tyrant foe; The last sad duties to his ashes paid, And sooth'd with pity's tear the hov'ring shade.

With unrelenting hate the conqu'ror views Almagro's band, and vengeance still pursues; 190 Condemns the victims of his power to stray In drooping poverty's chill, th.o.r.n.y way; To pine with famine's agony severe, And all the ling'ring forms of death to fear; Till by despair impell'd, the rival train 195 Rush to the haughty victor's glitt'ring fane; Swift on their foe with rage impetuous dart, And plunge their daggers in his guilty heart.

How unavailing now the treasur'd ore That made Peruvia's rifled bosom poor! 200 He falls--no mourner near to breathe a sigh, Catch the last breath, and close the languid eye; Deserted, and refus'd the holy tear That warm affection sheds o'er virtue's bier; Denied those drops that stay the parting breath, 205 That sooth the spirit on the verge of death; Tho' now the pale expiring form would buy With Andes' glitt'ring mines, one faithful sigh!

Now faint with virtue's toil, Las Casas' soul Sought with exulting hope, her heav'nly goal: 210 A bending angel consecrates his tears, And leads his kindred mind to purer spheres.

But, ah! whence pours that stream of lambent light, That soft-descending on the raptur'd sight, Gilds the dark horrors of the raging storm-- 215 It lights on earth--mild vision! gentle form-- 'Tis Sensibility! she stands confest, With trembling step she moves, and panting breast; Wav'd by the gentle breath of pa.s.sing sighs Loose in the air her robe expanded flies; 220 Wet with the dew of tears her soft veil streams, And in her eye the ray of pity beams; No vivid roses her mild cheek illume, Sorrow's wan touch has chas'd the purple bloom: Yet ling'ring there in tender, pensive grace, 225 The softer lily fills the vacant place; And ever as her precious tears bedew Its modest flowers, they shed a paler hue.

To yon deserted grave, lo swift she flies Where her lov'd victim, mild Las Casas lies: 230 Light on the hallow'd turf I see her stand, And slowly wave in air her snowy wand; I see her deck the solitary haunt, With chaplets twin'd from every weeping plant.

Its odours mild the simple vi'let shed, 235 The shrinking lily hung its drooping head; A moaning zephyr sigh'd within the bower, And bent the yielding stem of every flower: "Hither (she cried, her melting tone I hear "It vibrates full on fancy's raptur'd ear) 240 "Ye gentle spirits whom my soul refines, "Where all its animating l.u.s.tre s.h.i.+nes; "Ye who can exquisitely feel the glow "Whose soft suffusion gilds the cloud of woe; "Warm as the colours varying iris pours 245 "That tinge with streaming rays the chilling showers; "Ye to whose yielding hearts my power endears "The transport blended with delicious tears, "The bliss that swells to agony the breast, "The sympathy that robs the soul of rest; 250 "Hither with fond devotion pensive come, "Kiss the pale shrine, and murmur o'er the tomb; "Bend on the hallow'd turf the tear-full eye "And breathe the precious incense of a sigh.

"Las Casas' tear has moisten'd mis'ry's grave, 255 "His sigh has moan'd the wretch it fail'd to save!

"He, while conflicting pangs his bosom tear "Has sought the lonely cavern of despair; "Where desolate she fled, and pour'd her thought, "To the dread verge of wild distraction wrought. 260 "White drops of mercy bath'd his h.o.a.ry cheek, "He pour'd by heav'n inspir'd its accents meek; "In truth's clear mirror bade the mourner's view "Pierce the deep veil which darkling error drew; "And vanquish'd empire with a smile resign, 265 "While brighter worlds in fair perspective s.h.i.+ne."-- She paus'd--yet still the sweet enthusiast bends O'er the cold turf, and still her tear descends; The ever-falling tears her beauties shroud, Till slow she vanish'd in a fleecy cloud. 270

Mild Gasca now, the messenger of peace, Suspends the storm, and bids the tumult cease.

Pure spirit! in Religion's garb he came, And all his bosom felt her holy flame; 'Twas then her vot'ries glory, and their care 275 To bid oppression's harpy talons spare; To bend the crimson banner he unfurl'd, And shelter from his grasp a suff'ring world: Gasca, the guardian minister of woe, Bids o'er her wounds the balms of comfort flow 280 While rich Potosi[B] rolls the copious tide Of wealth, unbounded as the wish of pride; His pure, unsullied soul with high disdain For virtue spurns the fascinating bane; Her seraph form can still his breast allure 285 Tho' drest in weeds, she triumph'd to be poor-- Hopeless ambition's murders to restrain, And virtue's wrongs, he sought Iberia's plain, Without one mean reserve he n.o.bly brings A ma.s.sive treasure, yet unknown to kings: 290 No purple pomp around his dome was spread No gilded roofs hung glitt'ring o'er his head; Yet peace with milder radiance deck'd his bower, And crown'd with dearer joy life's evening hour; While virtue whisper'd to his conscious heart 295 The sweet reflexion of its high desert.

Ah, meek Peruvia, still thy murmur'd sighs Thy stifled groans in fancy's ear arise; Sadd'ning she views thy desolated soul, As slow the circling years of bondage roll, 300 Redeem from tyranny's oppressive power With fond affection's force, one sacred hour; And consecrate its fleeting, precious s.p.a.ce, The dear remembrance of the past to trace.

Call from her bed of dust joy's buried shade; 305 She smiles in mem'ry's lucid robes array'd, O'er thy creative scene[C] majestic moves, And wakes each mild delight thy fancy loves.

But soon the image of thy wrongs in clouds The fair and transient ray of pleasure shrouds; 310 Far other visions melt thy mournful eye, And wake the gus.h.i.+ng tear, th' indignant sigh; There Ataliba's sacred, murder'd form, Sinks in the billow of oppression's storm; Wild o'er the scene of death thy glances roll, 315 And pangs tumultuous swell thy troubled soul; Thy bosom burns, distraction spreads her flames, And from the tyrant foe her victim claims.

But, lo! where bursting desolation's night, A sudden ray of glory cheers my sight; 320 From my fond eye the tear of rapture flows, My heart with pure delight exulting glows: A blooming chief of India's royal race, Whose soaring soul, its high descent can trace, The flag of freedom rears on Chili's[D] plain, 325 And leads to glorious strife his gen'rous train: And see Iberia bleeds! while vict'ry twines Her fairest blossoms round Peruvia's shrines; The gaping wounds of earth disclose no more The lucid silver, and the glowing ore; 330 A brighter glory gilds the pa.s.sing hour, While freedom breaks the rod of lawless power: Lo on the Andes' icy steep she glows, And prints with rapid step th' eternal snows; Or moves majestic o'er the desert plain, 335 And eloquently pours her potent strain.

Still may that strain the patriot's soul inspire, And still this injur'd race her spirit fire.

O Freedom, may thy genius still ascend, Beneath thy crest may proud Iberia bend; 340 While roll'd in dust thy graceful feet beneath, Fades the dark laurel of her sanguine wreath; Bend her red trophies, tear her victor plume, And close insatiate slaughter's yawning tomb.

Again on soft Peruvia's fragrant breast 345 May beauty blossom, and may pleasure rest.

Peru, the muse that vainly mourn'd thy woes, Whom pity robb'd so long of dear repose; The muse, whose pensive soul with anguish wrung Her early lyre for thee has trembling strung; 350 Shed the weak tear, and breath'd the powerless sigh, Which soon in cold oblivion's shade must die; Pants with the wish thy deeds may rise to fame, Bright on some living harp's immortal frame!

While on the string of extasy, it pours 355 Thy future triumphs o'er unnumber'd sh.o.r.es.

[A] The Lama's bend their knees and stoop their body in such a manner as not to discompose their burden. They move with a slow but firm pace, in countries that are impracticable to other animals. They are neither dispirited by fasting nor drudgery, while they have any strength remaining; but, when they are totally exhausted, or fall under their burden, it is to no purpose to harra.s.s and beat them: they will continue striking their heads on the ground, first on one side, then on the other, till they kill themselves,--_Abbe_ Raynal's _History of the European Settlements._ [B] See a delightful representation of the incorruptible integrity of this Spaniard in Robertson's History of America.