Where the Pacific Deep in silence pours

His languid surges on the western shores,

There, loft Peruvia! bloom’d thy cultur’d scene,

The still wave, emblem of its bliss serene!—

There smiling Nature in luxuriance showers,

5

From her rich treasures, the spontaneous flowers;

The loose-rob’d Graces spread her floating train

And Beauty blossoms as it sweeps the Plain,

A2 Uncheck’d A2v 4

Uncheck’d by Art, in sweet disorder wild,

As when the World was young—the Nymph a Child!

10

To living verdure wak’d, by breath divine,

Rises in lovely pride the slender Pine;

The Palm around its ample foliage spreads,

And the broad Cedars rear their lofty heads;

The Orange groves in wild luxuriance twine

15

Their od’rous shades, the silver Citrons shine;

In luscious sweetness the Anana blooms,

Delicious Guavas blend their rich perfumes;

The Bark, blest Shrub! its vermeil blossom rears,

And the soft Balsam weeps ambrosial tears.

20

The downy Pacos’Open note a001-rota The Pacos is a domestic animal of Peru. Its wool resembles the colour
of dried roses. spread o’er hill and plain

Their purple fleece, and crop the golden grain;

The silky-soft VicunnasOpen note a002-rota The Vicunnas are a species of wild Pacos. sport around,

And the meek LamasOpen note a003-rota The Lamas are employed as mules, in carrying burdens. burden’d press the ground.

While A3r 5

While mid’ the vocal groves the feather’d throng

25

Pour’d to the panting breeze the warbled song;

The proud Macaw expands his glossy plume

While, as he soars, it drinks a warmer bloom:

The Mocking-Bird her echoing note essays,

Or sweetly trills her own prelusive Lays;

30

Trembling in air the luscious cadence floats,

And Passion warbles in her melting notes.

The beauteous Humming Bird amid’ the groves

Breathes in low, plaintive tones his gentle loves;

Light on the Citron’s stems his pinion spreads,

35

While Spring’s warm rays its sweet sussision sheds,

His flutt’ring plumes their shining hues unfold,

The vivid scarlet, and the streaming gold,

The soft flower wet with Morning’s tear he views,

Sinks on its breast, and drinks th’ambrosial dews;

40

Then, wak’d to dear delight, he seeks the nest

Parental care has rear’d, the Love has blest;

Bears the rich nectar to his tender Young

That on the trembling Blossom’s light leaf hung:

6 The A3v 6

The bliss which swells his soul, the joys that move,

45

Is Nature smiling on her works of Love!

Nor less for thee, blest Region, favour’d Clime!

The Virtues rose, unsullied, and sublime.

There, tender Charity, with ardor warm,

Spread her wide mantle o’er the shiv’ring form,

50

Chear’d with the sestal Song her lib’ral toils,

While in the lap of Age she pour’d the spoils.

Simplicity in each low Vale was found,

The meek Nymph smil’d with Reeds and Rushes crown’d:

And Innocence in light, transparent Vest,

55

Mild Visitant! the gentle Region blest;

In her soft smile beam’d love, and artless grace,

And glow’d celestial beauty in her face:

Light as her snowy vesture sweeps the ground

Fresh flow’rets spring, and shed their odours round:

60

As from her lip enchanting accents part,

The sweet tones thrill thro’ each responsive heart,

And A4r 7

And o’er the vermeil lawns that bloom around

Soft echoes waft each undulating sound;

While Poesy’s bright Sun diffus’d its ray

65

O’er the young Empire’s mild unfolding Day;

Bade the warm Virtues grace her pictur’d Scene,Open note a004-rota “At Cuzco, and in all the other towns of Peru, tragedies and comedies were
performed. The first were lessons of duty to the priests, warriors, judges, and
persons of distinction, and represented to them models of public virtue. Comedies
served for instruction to persons of inferior rank, and taught them the
exercise of private virtues.” The Abbé Raynal’s History of the European Settlements.

And drest in Love’s gay robe, their charms serene,

The Seraph forms inspir’d Affections flame,

While Admiration pour’d his loud acclaim.

70

This beauteous Region Ataliba sway’d,

Whose mild behests the willing heart obey’d;

Descendant of a scepter’d, sacred Race,

Whose origin from glowing Suns they trace;

And as o’er Nature’s form the solar beam

75

Sheds life, and beauty, as th’effulgent stream

Of A4v 8

Of radiant light her fragrant bosoms warms,

Wakes her rich odours, and unfolds her charms,

So o’er the blooming Realm their bounties flow’d,

And thus the beams benign of Virtue glow’d;

80

So felt the cherish’d heart the genial ray

Of Mercy, lovelier than the smile of Day!

In Ataliba’s pure, unsullied mind

Each mental Grace, each lib’ral Virtue shin’d,

And all uncultur’d by the toils of Art,

85

Bloom’d the dear genuine offspring of the heart:

His gentle Spirit Love’s soft power possest,

And stamp’d Alzira’s image in his breast;

Alzira, pure as Fancy’s infant dreams,

Sweet as the vivid smile that Beauty beams,

90

And form’d each tenderness of foul to prove,

That sooths in Friendship, and that charms in Love.

But, ah! in vain the drooping Muse would paint,

(Her accents languid, and her colours faint)

How dear the Joys Love’s infant wishes sought,

95

How mild his spirit, and how pure his thought,

Ere B1r 9

Ere Wealth in sullen pomp was seen to rise,

And rend the bleeding bosom’s fondest ties,

Pall with his baleful touch th’ unsullied Flower,

And crush the Blossom in Affection’s Bower!

100

Fortune, light Nymph, still bless thy sordid slaves,

Still on the venal heart pour all it craves;

Bright in its view may golden Visions shine,

And soft Peruvia ope each glitt’ring Mine;

And bring the Robe that Eastern pomp displays,

105

The Gems that ripen in the torrid blaze,

Collected may the mingled splendors stream

Full on the eye that courts the gaudy beam.

But ah, mild Love! if haply this late day

One artless mind avows thy softer sway,

110

Pours at thy Shrine pure Nature’s simple strain,

And strews the Heart’s sweet Incense on thy Fane;

Give to the breast that scorns each glitt’ring Toy,

Give the delicious thrill of gen’rous Joy!

Ah never let thy hapless Vot’ry prove

115

The chilling pang of alienated love;

B And B1v 10

And from that agony the Spirit save

When unrelenting yawns the op’ning Grave,

When Death dissolves the ties for ever dear,

When frantic Passion pours her parting tear;

120

With all the cherish’d pains Affections feels,

Hangs on the quiv’ring lip that silence seals,

Views fondness struggling in the closing eye,

And marks it mingling in the falt’ring sigh,

As the lov’d form, while folded to her breast,

125

On Earth’s cold bosom seeks more lasting rest,

Leaves her fond soul in hopeless griefs to mourn,

Clasp the pale Corse, and bathe th’ unconscious Urn;

Mild, to the wounds that pierce her bleeding heart,

Nature’s expiring pang, and Death’s keen dart.

130

Now sheds the solar Orb his orient ray

In brightness o’er Alzira’s nuptial Day.

To grace her tender form the Virgin train

Cull the fair blossoms of the purple Plain

3 The B2r 11

The od’rous blooms, that form the festive Wreathe,

135

A deeper hue, a richer fragrance breathe;

While Love’s soft accents fill the vocal Bowers,

Sweet as the Spirit of the op’ning Flowers.

The gentle Tribes then fought the hallow’d Fane

Where warbling Vestals pour’d the Choral Strain;

140

There aged Zorai to his wither’d breast

With fond parental love Alzira prest;

Priest of the Sun! within the sacred Shrine

His ardent Spirit breath’d the strain divine,

With glowing hand the guiltless Off’ring spread,

145

With pious zeal the pure Libation shed:

In ignorance his prostrate heart ador’d,

Yet Virtue hallow’d the warm vow it pour’d:

Nor vain the Incense of erroneous praise,

When meek Devotion’s Soul the tribute pays;

150

On wings of Purity behold it rise!

While bending Mercy wafts it to the Skies.

Thus fair Peruvia rose, in grace array’d,

Thus Pleasure blossom’d in her Citron Shade,

And o’er the flow’ry Plains were seen to move,

155

Drest in the smile of Peace, the bloom of Love.

But soon shall wake the wild tempestuous Storm,

Rend her bright Robe, and crush her tender form:

Peruvia! soon the fatal hour shall rise

That wakes thy gushing tears, thy burning sighs;

160

Each Moment on its wings shall bear thy groans,

Each Gale shall tremble to thy frantic moans.

Now o’er the Deep chill Night her Mantle flung,

Spread her dark Wings, and on the Waters hung;—

Sooth’d by the whisper’d murmurs of the Main,

165

Peruvia’s Genius sought the liquid Plain,

Pensive she heard the soft waves languid sigh,

As the lone shore they touch, recede—and die.

But now a sullen sound in horror creeps

O’er the smooth surface of the glassy Deeps,

170 A rising B3r 13

A rising Zephyr swell’d her azure Veil,

Shrinking aghast, she spy’d a flying Sail:—

Now tow’rs the loft Mast, the Pennant waves,

The ruffled Surge th’ incumbent Vessel laves,

With eager glance she views th’ exulting foe

175

Lead o’er the wat’ry Waste th’ advent’rous Prow,

Firm, and resistless in terrific force,

Swift to her Shores they bend their fatal course:

Torrents of gushing tears bedew’d her eyes,

And heav’d her bosom with presageful sighs;

180

Trembling She knelt with wild, disorder’d air,

And pour’d with frantic energy her pray’r;

“Oh all ye pitying Spirits of the sky,

Who hears in groves the bliss this ardent sigh,

Mount the blue Lightning’s wing, o’er Ocean sweep,

185

Tinge with your Robes of flame the red’ning deep,

Plunge to the central Caves that moan below,

As o’er their heads the liquid mountains flow,

Bid Death up-springing from the dark abode

Mount that high billow, print the blackn’ing flood,

190 “Rush B3v 14

Rush o’er the waves, the rough’ning deep deform,

Howl in the blast, and swell the raging Storm—

Relentless Powers! for not a quiv’ring breeze

Lifts with its sigh the surface of the Seas.—

Swift from your rocky Steeps, ye Condors, stray,

195

Wave your black Plumes, and cleave th’aerial way,

Proud in terrific force your Wings expand,Open note a005-rota The Condor is an inhabitant of the Andes. Its wings, when expanded, are
said to be eighteen feet wide.

Press the light earth, and darken all the strand,

Bid every bosom pant with wild affright,

And shun the Region veil’d in partial night—

200

Vain hope—I see my lov’d, my favour’d Clime

Consum’d, and fading in its beauteous prime:

Yes, dear, devoted Land, I read thy doom,

My sad prophetic soul can pierce the gloom.

Yet not in vain my groaning Realm shall bleed,

205

Europe’s dire Sons shall mourn the ruthless deed:

Ah Clime abhor’d be gold the glitt’ring bane

That strews with black’ning ills thy hostile plain.

“May B4r 15

May Luxury her baneful odours shed,

And the soft lures of guileful Pleasure spread;

210

Pour gilded Poisons in the nectar’d Bowl,

Wither each nerve, and taint the sickning soul.”—

Ah not in vain she drop’d th’ impassion’d tear,

Breath’d the warm sigh, and call’d the Powers to hear!

When borne from loft Peruvia’s weeping Land

215

The guilty treasures beam’d on Europe’s Strand,

As press’d her burden’d Plains the sordid Ore,

Each gentle Virtue fled the tainted Shore;

Sighing each mental Charm forsook the Place,

Each sweet Affection, and each moral Grace;

220

Affrighted Love foresaw the deep’ning gloom,

And wav’d in liquid air his downy plume;

Chill’d by the sullen scene he wings his flight,

While heaps of treasur’d Ore entomb Delight.

Flush’d with high hope, Pizarro’s martial Band

225

With hostile spirit press’d Peruvia’s Land:

They breathe the tones of Amity, and Guile

Veils her dark aims in Candour’s open smile—

Lull’d by illusive dreams, the Monarch springs

To meet his latent Foe on Friendship’s wings:

230

On as he moves with radiant splendours crown’d,

His subject Chiefs the golden Throne surround;

The feather’d Canopy they graceful raise,

Whose varied hues reflect the morning rays.―

And now approach’d Iberia’s warlike Train,

235

Majestic moving o’er Peruvia’s Plain,

C In C1v 18

In all the savage pomp of armour drest,

The glittering Helmet, and the nodding Creft.

Yet themes of joy Pizarro’s lips impart,

And charm with Wisdom’s lore the simple heart;

240

Unfolding to the Monarch’s wond’ring thought

All that to elder Climes inventive Art has taught.

And now he bids his swelling Spirit rise,

To Regions far beyond the circling Skies;

Presents the Page that o’er our mental Night

245

Pour’d the pure floods of intellectual light!—

His trembling hands the hallow’d Volume clasp—

But lo! it falls from their too-feeble grasp—

Sudden, while impious zealOpen note a006-rota “‘Sudden, while impious zeal, &c.’ Pizarro, who during a long conference,
had with difficulty restrained his soldiers, eager to seize the rich spoils of
which they have no so near a view, immediately gave the signal of assault. At
once the martial music struck up, the cannon and muskets began to fire, the horse
sallied out fiercely to the charge, the infantry rushed on sword in hand. The
Peruvians, astonished at the suddenness of an attack which they did not expect, and
dismayed with the destructive effects of the fire-arms, fled with universal consternationnation
on every side. Pizarro, at the head of his chosen band, advanced directly
towards the Inca; and though his Nobles crowded around him with officious
zeal, and fell in numbers at his feet, while they vied one with another in
sacrificing their own lives, that they might cover the sacred person of their
Sovereign, the Spaniards soon penetrated to the royal seat; and Pizarro seizing
the Inca by the arm, dragged him to the ground, and carried him as a prisoner to
his quarters.” —Robertson’s History of America. each breast inspires,

And raging Demons ran the rising fires,

250 The C2r 19

The bloody Signal waves, the Banners play,

The unsheath’d Sabres flash a gleamy ray;

The thund’ring Cannons rend the vault around,

And the loud Trumpets pour their shrilling sound;

While fierce in sanguine rage the Sons of Spain

255

Rush on Peru’s unarm’d defenceless Train:

The Fiends of Slaughter urg’d their dire career,

And Virtue’s guardian Spirits drop’d a tear!

Mild Zorai falls amid’ the fatal Strife,

And pours the ling’ring drops of wasted Life—

260

In vain Peruvia’s Chiefs undaunted stood,

Shroud their lov’d Prince, and bathe his Robes in blood,

Touch’d with heroic ardor, rush around,

And high of soul receive each deathful wound;

C2 Drag’d C2v 20

Drag’d from his throne, and hurry’d o’er the plain,

265

Lo! Ataliba swells the captive Train,

With iron grasp the frantic Prince they bear,

Nor heed th’idignant throb of wild Despair.

Deep in the lonely Dungeon’s drear domain

Sad Ataliba drag’d the galling chain;

270

The dank, cold bosom of the Earth he prest,

While throb’d the woes of thousands at his breast:

And now the loft Alzira’s moan he hears,

And Passion mingles with the gushing tears.

Full soon she felt keen Sorrow’s poison’d dart

275

Pierce her soft soul, and desolate her heart;

It’s quick pulsations paus’d—and, chill’d with dread,

A livid hue her fading cheek o’espread—

She pour’d no gushing tear, she breath’d no sigh,

Quiver’d her lip—and clos’d her languid eye—

280

Fainter and flower heav’d her shiv’ring breast,

Till its calm’d throbings seem’d in death to rest.

At C3r 21

At length reviv’d, ’mid rising heaps of Slain,

She prest with trembling step the crimson plain;

Her soul with all the force of passion fraught,

285

Fearless the Dungeon’s dark recess has sought—

A livid paleness still her cheek o’erspreads,

The tear of mingled agony she sheds—

It quiv’ring falls on Ataliba’s chain,

He feels it thrill in every shiv’ring vein—

290

For murder’d Zorai’s fate the mourner weeps,

For him the flood of woe her bosom steeps—

Too-tender Spirit! check the filial tear!

A sympathy more soft, a tie more dear,

Shall claim the drops that frantic Passion sheds,

295

When the rude Storm its darkest Pinion spreads—

Lo! bursting the deep Cell where Misery lay,

The human Vultures seize the Dove-like Prey!—

In vain her treasur’d wealth Peruvia gave

This dearer treasure from their grasp to save—

300

In vain she sought to rend th’ opprobiousopprobrious chains

Which from her searching glance her Prince detains—

Alzira! 6 C3v 22

Alzira! lo, the ruthless Murd’rers come—

This moment seals thy Ataliba’s doom.

Ah what avails the shriek that anguish pours,

305

The look that Mercy’s lenient aid implores!

Torn from thy clasping arms, thy throbing breast,

The fatal cord his last, deep groan supprest—

In dire, convulsive pangs he yields his breath,

And Passion’s quiv’ring flame expires in death—

310

In vain the livid Corse she fondly clasps,

And pours her sorrows o’er the form she grasps;

Cold is that heart, and lull’d in icy rest,

Which trembled to each woe that pierc’d her breast.

Now her soft frame, with ruthless grasp, they tear

315

From the lost object of her fond despair;

The swelling pang unable to sustain,

Distraction throb’d in every shiv’ring vein;

Its rising tumults seize her yielding soul,

And in her eyes its frenzied glances roll—

320

“They come!” (the mourner cried, with panting breath)

“To give the loft Alzira rest in death—

“I feel C4r 23

I feel my Love, I feel the poison’d dart,

It rankles here—it quivers in my heart!—

One moment more, ye bloody forms, bestow;

325

’Twill heal the deep, deep wound of curelefs woe—

Ah spare the weak One!—tho’ my wither’d brain

Dries the calm tear, it feels the throb of pain—

Lo where afar the purple flame sheds light

On yon sad Spot—Ah hide it, pitying Night!

330

Slow in the breeze I see the light grass wave

That shrouds with tender tufts my Love’s dark Grave:

There on its wand’ring wing, in mildness blows

The mournful Gale, or wakes his deep repose—

I’ll press the cold turf to my fainting heart,

335

Tho’ the lone Thistle points its thorny dart,

And wounds me while it drinks the tears I shed,

Those tears that oft revive its drooping head—

I weep no more—but ah! ye soft dews, shower

Your balmy freshness o’er its downy flower,

340

Still cherish, tho’ it pierce Alzira’s breast,

Cherish the rising plant that guards his rest—

“Ah C4v 24

Ah see, yon hoary form still lingers there!

Dishevell’d by rude winds his silver hair—

O’er his chill’d bosom falls the wintry rain,

345

I feel the big drops on my wither’d brain—

Not for himself that tear his bosom steeps,

It falls for his lost child—for me he weeps—

No more the dagger’s point shall pierce thy breast,

For calm and lovely is thy silent rest;

350

Yet still in dust these eyes shall see thee roll,

Still the sad thought shall waste Alzira’s Soul—

Sad Nature sickens—fades each drooping flower,—

The Blossoms languish in the rosy Bower;

The rosy Bower where once I lov’d to rove,

355

And shed the tear of Joy, the smile of Love:

Soft on the hanging Cliff I now can rest,

And press its pointed pillow to my breast.—

What bleeding Phantom moves along the Storm?

Dear Spirit of my Love! Ah well-known form!

360

Tho’ the dim Moon is veil’d, his robes of light

Tinge the dark clouds, and gild the veil of Night;

“Approach, D1r 25

Approach, my Love—Ah nearer—still more near—

Thy look, tho’ pale and ghastly, wakes no fear:

Alzira’s breast no shadowy terrors move,

365

For every vain alarm is lost in Love—

He weeps—o’er my full bosom streams his tear—

It chills my trembling heart, yet still ’tis dear—

Can Death’s barb’d arrow yield no sweet release?

I hop’d in yon blue Sky to taste of peace—

370

My sorrows pierce his soul—I plunge the dart—

Those drops of blood—they issue from his heart---

To him all joyless are the Realms above:

That pale look speaks of pity, and of love---

My Love ascends!---he soars in liquid light---

375

Stay, tender Spirit! Cruel, stay thy flight---

Ah soft descend in yonder rolling Cloud,

And veil Alzira in thy misty Shround---

He hears---from azure Skies he swift descends---

With healing balms his dropping Pinion bends---

380

My Love has plac’d the thirsy dagger near,

And on its hallow’d point has drop’d a tear!”---

D As D1v 26

As roll’d her wand’ring glances wide around

She snatch’d a reeking Sabre from the ground;

Firmly her lifted hand the weapon press’d

385

And deep she plung’d it in her panting breast:

“’Tis but a few short moments that divide

Alzira from her Love”---She spoke---and died---

Now stern Pizarro seeks the distant Plains,

Where beauteous Cuzco lifts her golden Fanes;

390

The meek Peruvians gaz’d in pale dismay,

Nor barr’d the dark Oppressor’s sanguine way:

And soon imperial Cuzco, where the beams

Of infant Glory flow’d in purest streams,

Where the young Arts had shed unfolding Flowers,

395

A scene of spreading Desolation low’rs;

While in Despair’s chill gloom, or Death’s deep shade,

Those lustres sicken, and those blossoms fade.

Yet, loft Peruvia! not Ambition’s claim,

Not the wild wish that wakes his sanguine flame,

400 3 Not D3v 30

Not glitt’ring Wealth’s seducing lure, alone

From thy crush’d Spirit calls th’ expiring groan:

For, lo! a fiercer Fiend with joy elate

Feasts on thy suff’rings, and impels thy fate.

Fanatic Fury rears her sullen Shrine,

405

Where gnawing Vultures prey, where venom’d Adders twine:

Her savage arm with purple torrents stains

Thy rocking Temples, and thy falling Fanes;

Her blazing Torches flash the mounting fire,

She grasps the Sabre, and she lights the Pyre;

410

Her voice is Thunder rending the still air,

Her glance the livid Lightning’s lurid glare,

Her lips unhallow’d breathe their impious strain,

And pure Religion’s sacred voice profane,

Whose precepts Pity’s mildest deeds approve,

415

Whose Law is Mercy, and whose Soul is Love!

Ah! see fanatic Fury wakes the Storm---

She wears the stern Valverda’s hideous form:

His sullen soul no ray of pity knows,

No shriek of anguish breaks its dark repose.

420 Yon D4r 31

Yon Temple nods---an aged form appears---

He beats his breast---he rends his silver hairs---

Valverda drags him from the blest abode

Where his meek Spirit humbly fought its God---

See! to his aid his Child, soft Zilia, springs,

425

And steeps in tears the Robe to which she clings---

Then, bursting from Peruvia’s frighted throng,

Two warlike youths impetuous rush’d along;

One, grasp’d his twanging bow with furious air,

While in his troubled eye sat fierce Despair!

430

But all in vain his erring weapon flies---

Pierc’d by a thousand wounds on earth he lies---

The mourning Zilia to her shiv’ring breast

His bleeding form in speechless anguish prest;

While the fond Youth, who shar’d his danger, flew,

435

And from his heart a reeking sabre drew---

“Deep in my faithful bosom let me hide

The fatal steel that would our souls divide!”

He quick exclaim’d---the dying Warrior cries,

“Ah yet forbear! by all the sacred ties

440 “That 6 D4v 32

That blend our hearts, forbear!”---In vain he spoke,

Friendship with frantic zeal impels the stroke---

“Thyself for ever loft, thou hop’st in vain”

(The youth replied) “my spirit to detain---

From thee my soul in Childhood’s earliest year

445

Caught the light Pleasure, or the rapid Tear;

Thy Friendship then my young Affections blest,

The first pure Passion of my infant breast!

Whose ardent flame o’er Life delight had shed,

By reason cherish’d, and by virtue fed:

450

And still in death I feel its strong controul,

Its sacred impulse wings my fleeting soul,

That only lingers here till thou depart,

Whose image lives upon my fainting heart!”---

In vain the gen’rous Youth with panting breath

455

Pour’d these sad murmurs in the ear of Death!---

He reads the fatal truth in Zilia’s eye,

And gives to Friendship his expiring sigh---

But now with rage Valverda’s glances roll,

And mark the vengence rankling in his soul;

460 He E1r 33

He bends his wrinkled brow—his lips impart

The brooding purpose of th’ envenom’d heart—

He bids the hoary Priest, (in mutter’d strains)

Abjure his faith, forsake his falling fanes,

While yet the ling’ring pangs of torture wait,

465

While yet his power suspends impending fate.

“Vain man!” (the Victim cried) “to hoary years

Know Death is mild, and Virtue feels no fears:

Cruel of Spirit! come, let tortures prove

The Power I serv’d in Life, in Death I love!”

470

And now with rugged cords his limbs they bound,

And drag the aged Suff’rer on the ground;

They grasp his feeble form, his tresses tear,

His robe they rend, his shrivell’d bosom bare—

Ah see his uncomplaining Soul sustain

475

The sting of insult, and the dart of pain;

His stedfast Spirit feels one pang alone,

A Child’s despair awakes one feeble groan—

The Mourner kneels to catch his parting breath,

To sooth the agony of ling’ring death—

480 E No E1v 34

No moan she breath’d, no tear had power to flow,

Dies on her quiv’ring lip th’ unutter’d woe:

Yet ah! her livid cheek, her stedfast look,

The desolated soul’s deep anguish spoke—

Mild Victim! close not yet thy languid eyes

485

Pure Spirit! claim not yet thy kindred skies;

A pitying Angel comes to stay thy flight—

Las CasasOpen note a007-rota “Las Casas, &c.” that amiable Ecclesiastic who obtained from his humanity
the title of Protector of the Indians. bids thee view returning light—

Ah let that sacred drop to Virtue dear

Efface thy wrongs—receive his precious tear—

490

See his flush’d cheek with indignation glow,

While from his lips the tone of Pity flow:

“Oh suff’ring Lord!” (he cried) “whose streaming blood

Was pour’d for man—Earth drank the hallow’d flood—

Whose Mercy in the mortal pang forgave

495

The murd’rous Band thy Love alone could save;

Forgive! (thy Goodness bursts each narrow bound

Which feeble thought, and human hope surround)

6 “Forgive E2r 35

Forgive the guilty wretch whose impious hands

From thy pure Altar flings the flaming brands;

500

In human blood that hallow’d Altar steeps,

Libation dire! while groaning Nature weeps;

The limits of thy Mercy dares to scan,

The Object of thy love this Victim—Man—

Ah while I linger, lo! the Suff’rer dies—

505

I see his frame convuls’d—I hear his sighs”—

With eager step he flew, with trembling hands

Broke the strong fetters, burst the iron bands,

Then firmly cried, “Whoe’er shall now controul

The stedfast purpose of my swelling soul,

510

First in this breast shall plunge his guilty dart,

First drink the ling’ring drops that warm my heart”—

As the fall’n Angel heard with chilling fear

The Cherub’s grave rebuke, in grace severe,

And fled, while Horror plum’d his impious Creft,Open note a008-rota “On his impious Creft sat Horror plum’d”— Milton’s Paradise Lost.

515

The Form of Virtue as she stood confest,

E2 So E2v 36

So stern Valverda sullen mov’d along,

Abash’d, and follow’d by the guilty throng:

And now unbound the hoary Victim’s chain,

Las Casas softly bears him o’er the plain;

520

His Zilia’s yielding soul the joy opprest,

She bath’d in falling tears his wither’d breast,

Now in a dear embrace her Sire she clasp’d,

His holy Guardian’s knees then trembling grasp’d—

And now Las Casas’ eye explore a Cave

525

Whose shaggy sides the languid billows lave;

“There rest secure” (he cried); “the Christian’s God

Will hover near, will guard the lone abode”—

Oft to the gloomy Cell his steps repair,

While Night’s chill breezes wave his silver’d hair;

530

O’er Sorrow’s dropping form ah see him shed

Balms that revive her pale expiring head;

While in the tones of Love, the words of Peace,

He bids the tears of cureless Anguish cease,

Bids drooping Hope uplift her languid eyes,

535

And points a dearer Bliss beyond the Skies—

5 Yet E3r 37

Yet all in vain his pious cares would save

The hoary Suff’rer from the yawning grave;

For deep the tort’ring pangs had pierc’d his frame,

Sunk in his soul, and quench’d life’s wasting flame:

540

Las Casas’ hand with quiv’ring lip he prest,

He faintly clasp’d his Zilia to his breast,

Then cried, “Tho’ veil’d till now the sacred light,

The God who rushes on my mental sight,

Yet its meek vows my Spirit lov’d to pour,

545

My prostrate heart obey’d, unknowing more---

His mild forgiveness then my soul shall prove,

His mercy share---Las Casas’ God is Love!”---

He spoke no more---his Zilia’s piercing moan

Responsive rose to Nature’s dying groan---

550

“Victim of impious zeal,” (Las Casas cries)

“Accept, departed Shade, a Christian’s sighs;

And thou, soft Mourner! tender, hapless form,

What power shall shield thee from the bursting Storm?

Weep not for me,” (she cried); “this throbing breast

555

Soon in the shelt’ring Earth shall find its rest;

“Hope E3v 38

Hope not the Victim of Despair to save;

She asks but death---she only seeks a grave---

Witness, thou mangled form, that earth retains!

Witness a bleeding Lover’s cold Remains---

560

I liv’d a Father’s pangs to soothe, to share,

Tho’ Death was mild Repose, and Life, Despair---

In vain my Aza, urg’d by fond desire,

To shield from Power’s rude grasp my feeble Sire,

Flew to the Fane where stern Valverda rag’d,

565

And fearless with unequal force engag’d;

I saw him bleeding, panting prest the ground,

I suck’d the poison from each gaping wound---

I bath’d his form with tears---he pour’d a sigh---

A drop hung trembling in his closing eye---

570

Ah still his mournful sigh I shiv’ring hear!

In every throbing pulse I feel his tear---

I faint---an icy coldness chills each vein---

No more these feeble limbs their load sustain;

Spirit of Pity! close my sinking eye---

575

A moment stay---and catch my parting sigh---

“Las E4r 39

Las Casas, thee thy God in mercy gave

To soothe my pangs---to find the wretch a grave.”---

She ceas’d---her Spirit fled to brighter Spheres,

Las Casas bathes the pallid Corse with tears---

580

Fly, Minister of Good! nor ling’ring shed

Those fruitless sorrows o’er th’ unconscious Dead---

Ah fly! ’tis Innocence, ’tis Virtue bleeds---

And Heav’n will liften when an Angel pleads---

I view the purple flood, the mounting flame,

585

I hear a suff’ring World Las Casas claim!

Now the stern Partner of Pizarro’s toils,

Almagro, lur’d by hope of golden spoils,

To distant Chili’s ever-verdant Meads,

Thro’ paths untrod, a band of Warriors leads—

590

O’er the high Andes’ frozen Steeps they go,

And linger ’mid eternal hills of snow:

In vain the vivifying Orb of Day

Darts of th’impervious Ice his fervid ray;

Cold, keen as chains the Oceans of the Pole

595

Blasts the shrunk frame, and chills the vig’rous soul—

At length they reach luxuriant Chili’s plain,

Where ends the dreary bound of Winter’s reign;

F Where F1v 42

Where Spring in blossoms hid his haggard form,

Bade her mild Soul his shiv’ring bosom warm,

600

On his wan lip her tender smile imprest,

And smooth’d with soft’ning touch his ruffled vest;

Shed her mild odours thro’ th’ unvaried Year,

And bath’d the flower of Summer with her tear.

When first the brave Chilese with eager glance

605

Beheld the Foe in hostile ire advance,

Heard the loud Thunder of the Cannons crash,

And view’d the Light’ning of the instant flash,

The threat’ning Sabre red with purple streams,

The Lance that quiver’d in the solar beams,

610

With pale surprize they saw the low’ring Storm

Where hung dark Danger in an unknown form.

But soon their Spirits stung with gen’rous shame

Renounce each terror, and for vengeance flame,

Pant high with sacred Freedom’s ardent glow,

615

And dauntless meet the formidable Foe.

Long unsubdu’d by stern Almagro’s train

Their valiant Tribes th’ unequal fight sustain,

Long Vict’ry hover’d doubtful o’er the field,

While oft’ she forc’d Iberia’s Band to yield,

620

Oft tore from Spain’s proud head her laurel bough,

And bade it blossom on Peruvia’s brow;

When sudden tidings reach’d Almagro’s ear

That shook his soul with doubt and thrilling fear.

Of murder’d Ataliba’s royal Race

625

There yet remain’d a Youth of blooming grace,

Who pin’d the Captive of relentless Spain,

And long in Cuzco drag’d her iron chain;

Capac his name, whose soul indignant bears

The rankling fetters which it bleeding wears.

630

But since his daring Spirit must forego

The hope to rush upon the tyrant foe,

Led by the flowing Orb that gives the Day,

And fierce as darts his keen meridian ray,

F2 He F2v 44

He vows to bend unseen his hostile course,

635

And then terrific rise, with latent force,

As from its sullen Cloud, the brooding Storm

Bursts in the Thunder’s voice, the Light’ning’s form.

For this, from stern Pizarro he obtains

The boon, enlarg’d, to seek the neighb’ring Plains

640

For one bless’d Day, and with his friends unite

To crown with solemn pomp an antient Rite,

Share the dear Pleasures of the social hour,

And mid’ their Fetters twine one sestal flower.

So spoke the Prince—far other thoughts possest,

645

Far other purpose swell’d his throbing breast:

For now Peruvia’s Nobles he commands

To lead, with silent step, her martial Bands

Forth to the destin’d spot, prepar’d to dare

The fiercest shock of dire unequal War,

650

While each dear interest of the bosom pleads,

And urges the firm soul to lofty deeds.

Now Capac hail’d the fateful Morning’s light,

Rose with its dawn, and panted for the fight:

But first with passion to his soul he prest

655

The Tender Cora, partner of his breast;

Who with her Lord had sought the Dungeon’s gloom,

And wasted there her Beauty’s roseate bloom.

“No more” (he cried) “shall thy mild Spirit feel

The mingled agonies I fly to heal—

660

I go, but soon exulting shall return,

And bid my weeping Cora cease to mourn;

For oh amid each grief my bosom knows,

What wastes, what wounds it most, are Cora’s woes—

Sweet was the Love that crown’d our happier hours,

665

And shed new fragrance o’er a Path of Flowers!

But sure the pang of Sorrow more endears

The tie, that trembling Passion seals with tears”—

He paus’d—fast-flowing drops bedew’d her eyes,

While thus, in mournful accents, she replies;

670

“Still let me feel the pressure of thy chain,

Still share the fetters which my Love detain!

“These F3v 46

These piercing Irons to my soul are dear,

Their sharpness will not wound while thou art near—

Yet think not, when in thee alone I live,

675

My soul can bear the pains that parting give—

Look on our tender Babe, in mis’ry nurst!

My Child—thy Mother’s swelling heart will burst—

Methinks I see the raging Battle rise,

And hear this harmless Suff’rer’s piercing cries;

680

I view the blades that drink a purple flood,

And dip their cruel edge in Infant blood”—

She paus’d—on her pale lip the accents die,

Yet her soul spoke expressive in her eye.

Her Lord with sympathetic pain beholds

685

His Cora’s grief, while to his heart he folds

Her fainting form; then to a shelt’ring Fane

Her step he leads, and flying seeks the Plain.

Now high in air his feather’d Standard waves,

And soon from shrouding Woods, and hollow Caves,

690 3 A nu- F4r 47

A num’rous host along the plain appear,

And hail their Monarch with a silent tear;

Swift to imperial Cuzco’s Gates they rush,

And such their sense of wrongs, their ardour such,

In dear defence of every tender name

695

That Nature knows, or Passion loves to claim,

That all in vain Pizarro’s powerful force

Would stay the torrent in its raging course,

In vain his murd’ring Bands terrific stood,

And plung’d their Sabres in a sea of blood;

700

Danger and Death Peruvia’s Sons disdain,

And half their captive City soon regain.

With such pure joy its Natives view their Lord

To the warm wishes of their souls restor’d,

As feels the tender Child whom force had torn

705

From its lov’d home, and bruis’d the Flower of Morn!

When its fond searching glance again reveals

Its Mother’s form, when its soft bosom feels

Her clasping arms, wets with mild tears her face,

And finds its safety in her dear embrace.

710

Soon as Almagro heard the voice of Fame

The triumphs of Peruvia loud proclaim,

Unconquer’d Chili’s Vale he swift forsakes,

And his dark course to distant Cuzco takes;

Shuns Andes’ icy Shower, its chilling Snows,

715

The arrowy Gale that on its summit blows,

And roaming o’er a burning Desart, vast,

Meets the fierce ardours of the fiery Blast:

Now, as along the sultry Waste they move,

The keenest pang of raging thirst they prove;

720

No rosy Fruit its cooling juice distills,

Nor flows one balmy drop from crystal Rills,

For Nature sickens in th’ oppressive beam,

That shrinks the vernal Bud, and dries the Stream,

While Horror, as his giant Stature grows,

725

O’er the drear Void his spreading Shadow throws.

Almagro’s Band, now pale and fainting, stray,

While Death oft’ barr’d the sinking Warrior’s way.

At G1r 49

At length the Chief divides his martial force,

And bids Alphonso by a sep’rate course

730

Lead o’er th’ untrodden Desart half his train,

“And search” (he cried) “this drear, uncultur’d Plain:

Perchance some fruitage withering in the breeze,

The pains of lessen’d Numbers may appease,

Or Heav’n in pity, from some falling Shower,

735

On the parch’d lip one precious drop may pour.”

Not far the Troop of young Alphonso went,

When sudden, from a rising Hill’s ascent

They view a Valley, fed by ferile Springs

Which Andes from his lofty summit flings,

740

When Summer’s blooms their mingled odours shed,

And glows a roseate Waste by Beauty spread!

To their charm’d gaze the fair enchanting scene

That ’mid the howling Desart smil’d serene,

Appear’d like Nature rising from the breast

745

Of Chaos, in her infant graces drest,

G When G1v 50

When warbling Angels hail’d the lovely birth,

And stoop’d from Heav’n to bless the new-born Earth.

And now Alphonso, and his martial Band,

On the rich border of the Valley stand;

750

The limpid Stream they quaff with eager haste,

The dulcet juice that swells the Fruitage taste;

Then give to balmy Rest the Night’s still hours,

Fann’d by the sighing Gale that shuts the Flowers.

Soon as the Morning ting’d her fragrant dews

755

With pure lustre of her azure hues;

They saw the gentle Natives of the Mead

Search the clear currents for the golden seed,

Which from the Mountain’s height with sweepy sway

They bear, and on the Lawn’s calm bosom lay---

760

Iberia’s Sons beheld with anxious brow

The shining Lure, then breathe th’ unpitying Vow

O’er those fair Lawns to pour a sanguine Flood,

And dye those lucid Streams with waves of blood.

Thus G2r 51

Thus, while the Humming Bird in Beauty drest,

765

(Enchanting offspring of the ardent West!)

Attunes his soothing Song to notes of Love,

Mild as the murmurs of the mourning Dove;

While glows his burnish’d plume with brighter hues,

And sips his tender bill the pearly dews;

770

The cruel Condor on terrific wings,

From Andes’ frozen steep relentless springs;

And quiv’ring in his fangs, his hapless prey

Drops his soft plume, and sighs his soul away.

In this sweet Scene where Virtue’s radiance shin’d,

775

Mild Zamor own’d the richest gifts of mind;

For o’er his tuneful breast the heav’nly Muse

Shed, from her sacred Springs, their richest dews.

She loves to breathe her hallow’d flame where Art

Has never veil’d the soul, or warp’d the heart;

780

Where Fancy glows with all her native fire,

And Passion lives on the exulting Lyre!

Nature, in Terror rob’d, or Beauty drest,

Could thrill with dear enchantment Zamor’s breast:

He lov’d the languid sigh the Zephyr pours,

785

He lov’d the weeping Rill that fed the flow’rs;

But G3v 54

But more the hollow sound the wild Winds form

When black upon the Billow hangs the Storm!

The rolling Torrent dashing down the Steep,

Its white foam trembling on the darken’d Deep—

790

And oft’ on Andes’ height, with eager gaze

He view’d the sinking Sun’s reflected rays

Glow link unnumber’d Stars, that seem to rest

Sublime, upon his ice-encircled breast.—

Oft his wild warblings charm’d the sestal hour,

795

Rose in the Vale, and languish’d in the Bower;

The heart’s responsive tones he well could move,

Whose Song was Nature, and whose theme was Love.

For now with passion warm, his feeling breast

The fair Aciloe’s tender charm confest:

800

Yet lovelier still her soul’s soft graces shine,

And round her heart their mild endearments twine.

Ah stay ye roseate Hours of young Delight!—

Linger ye Moments in your rapid flight—

For G4r 55

For sure if aught on Earth can bliss impart,

805

Can shed the genuine joy that sooths the heart,

’Tis felt when early Passion’s pure controul

Unfolds the first Affections of the Soul,

Bids her soft sympathies the bosom move,

And wakes the mild emotions dear to Love.

810

The gentle Tribe Aciloe’s Sire obey’d,

Who still in wisdom, and in mercy sway’d.

Far from his breast the radiant dreams were fled

That o’er the Morn of Life enchantment shed:

Yet oft as Mem’ry’s faithful touch renews

815

Its varied scene, in all her vivid hues,

As rose the pictur’d Landscape on his sight,

’Twas gilded o’er by Virtue’s vestal light:

On Passion’s Rose, that sweeter fragrance shed,

Mild Innocence reclin’d her Lily head;

820

Clear shone th’ unruffled Mirror in his breast,

And Life was Joy serene, and Death was Rest!

Tho’ G4v 56

Tho’ bright the early Spring’s enchanting dawn,

When first her soft hues tinge th’ empurpled Lawn,

When sweet as rosy grace, and fair as light,

825

She swells the panting heart with dear delight;

Yet not unlovely is the milder ray

That meekly beams o’er Autumn’s temper’d Day,

Dear to the pensive soul the moaning breeze

That wanders mid the Grove, and bares the Trees,

830

While soft the deepning Shadows roll, till light

Sinks in the veil of Winter’s closing Night.

Now the charm’d Lovers deck their future Years

In forms of Joy, then weep delicious tears—

Expressive on the glowing cheek they hung,

835

And spoke the fine emotions whence they sprung—

’Twas Truth’s warm energy, Love’s sweet controul,

’Twas all that Virtue whispers to the soul—

When, lo! Iberia’s ruthless Sons advance,

Roll the stern eye, and shake the beamy Lance.

840 6 Oh H1r 57

Oh Nature! the destroying Band oppose,

Nature, arrest their course! they come thy foes—

Benignant Power! where thou with lib’ral care

Half planted Joy, they come to plant Despair—

Peruvia’s Tribe beheld the hostile Throng

845

With desolating fury pour along,

With horror their ensanguin’d path they trac’d

And now to meet the murd’ring Band they haste:

The hoary Chief to the dire Conflict leads

His death-devoted Train—the Battle bleeds.

850

Aciloe’s searching glance can now no more

The form of Zamor, or her Sire explore—

She hears the moan of Death in every Gale,

She sees a purple Torrent stain the Vale;

While destin’d every bitterness to prove

855

Of mourning Duty, and of bleeding Love,

Each Name that’s dearest wakes her bursting sigh,

Throbs at her soul, and trembles in her eye.

Now, pierc’d by wounds, with slow, unequal Pace,

Her Friend, the valiant Omar, reach’d the Place,

860

Where, for he felt the pang of death was nigh,

His fleeting soul might yield its parting sigh:

“Omar” (she cried) “you bleed, unhappy Youth!—

And sure that look unfolds some fatal truth—

Speak, pitying speak, my frantic fears forgive—

865

Say, does my Father—does my Zamor live!”

“All, all is lost” (the dying Omar said)

“And cureless griefs are thine, dear, tender Maid:

I saw thy aged Sire a Captive bound,

I saw thy Zamor press the crimson ground”—

870

He could no more—he yields his quiv’ring breath,

While all in vain she seeks the rest of death,

To heal the mingled woe, the high-wrought pain

Which scarce her fainting Spirit can sustain:

But, oh, how far each other pang above

875

Throbs the wild agony of hopeless Love!

That grief, for which in vain would Comfort shed

Her healing balms, or Time in pity spread

The H2r 59

The veil that throws a softer shade o’er Care

To sooth the cherish’d Sorrow; for Despair

880

Casts o’er the shiv’ring Soul her deepest gloom,

And slowly leads her Victim to the Tomb.

Now rude tumultuous sounds assail her ear,

And soon Alphonso’s Victor Train appear;

Then, as with ling’ring step he mov’d behind,

885

She saw her aged Sire, whom fetters bind—

She saw with dire dismay, she wildly flew,

Around his form her snowy arms she threw—

“He bleeds!” (she cries) “I hear his moan of pain!—

My Father will not bear the galling chain—

890

My tender Father dies, and will forsake

His mourning Child, but soon her heart will break—

Yet first these gushing eyes shall bathe in tears

Those iron fetters his shrunk bosom wears—

Cruel Alphonso, let not feeble age

895

Feel thy hard yoke, and meet thy barb’rous rage;

H2 “Or, H2v 60

Or, oh! if ever Mercy mov’d thy soul,

If ever thou hast felt her mild controul,

Grant my sad soul’s desire, and let me share

The load that feeble frame but ill can bear.”

900

While the young Vitor, as she falt’ring spoke,

With fix’d attention, and with ardent look,

Hung on her melting glance that Love inspires,

The flames of Vengeance yield to milder fires.

Yet, as he gaz’d enraptur’d on her form,

905

Her Virtues awe the heart her Beauties warm;

And, while impassion’d tones his love reveal,

He asks with holy Rites his Vows to seal—

“Hop’st thou” (he cried) “those sacred ties shall join

This bleeding heart, this trembling hand to thine?

910

To thine! whose ruthless heart has caus’d my pains,

Whose barb’rous hand the blood of Zamor stains—

Can’st thou—the Murd’rer of my peace, controul

The grief that swells, the pang that rends my Soul?

“That H3r 61

That pang shall death, shall death alone remove,

915

And cure the anguish of despairing Love.”—

In vain th’ enamour’d Youth essay’d each art

To calm her sorrows, and to sooth her heart;

While, in the range of thought, her tender breast

Could find no hope on which its griefs might rest,

920

While her soft soul whom Zamor’s image fills,

Shrinks from the Author of its pressing ills.

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

925

Where strong Affection feels their keenest force,

Whose breast, when most it suffers, only heeds

The sharper pang by which another bleeds:

For now his cruel Mandate doom’d her Sire,

Stretch’d on the Bed of Torture, to expire—

930

Bound on the Rack unmov’d the Victim lies,

Stifling in Agony weak Nature’s sighs—

But, H3v 62

But, ah! what form of Language can impart

The frantic grief that wrung Aciloe’s heart,

When to the height of hopeless Sorrow wrought,

935

The fainting Spirit feels a pang of thought

Which never painted in the hues of speech,

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---

940

Yet spare that hoary form---my Vows receive,

And, oh! in mercy, bid my Father live”---

“Wilt thou be mine?” th’ enamour’d Chief replies;

“Yes, Cruel! see---he dies, my Father dies!

Save, save my Father”---“Dear, angelic Maid”

945

(The charm’d Alphonso cried) “be swift obey’d:

Unbind his chains---Ah! calm each anxious pain,

Aciloe’s voice no more shall plead in vain;

Plac’d near his child, the aged Sire shall share

Our joys, still cherish’d by thy tender care”

950

“No more” (she cried) “will fate that bliss allow;

Before my lips shall breathe the nuptial Vow

“Some H4r 63

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

955

The drops of Comfort on his hoary head:

My Zamor! if thy Spirit trembles near,

Pardon”—she ceas’d—Earth drank her silent tear.

Now Night descends, and steeps each weary breast,

Save sad Aciloe’s, in the balms of Rest

960

Her aged Father’s beauteous Dwelling stood

Near the cool shelter of a waving Wood;

But now the Gales that bend its Foliage die,

Soft on the silver’d Turf its Shadows lie,

While, slowly wand’ring o’er the Scene below,

965

The gazing Moon look’d pale as silent Woe;

The sacred Shade, amid’ whose fragrant Bowers

Zamor oft sooth’d with Song the Evening hours,

Pour’d to the Lunar Orb his magic Lay,

More mild, more pensive than her quiv’ring ray:

970 6 That H4v 64

That Shade with trembling step the Mourner sought,

And thus she breath’d her tender plaintive thought—

“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

975

That purpled with thy streaming blood the ground?---

Oh had Aciloe in that hour been nigh!

Hadst thou fix’d on me thy closing eye,

Told with faint Voice, ’twas Death’s worst pang to part,

And drop’d thy last, cold tear upon my heart;

980

A milder pang would waste this shiv’ring breast,

That in the Grave alone shall seek its rest---

Soon as some friendly hand in mercy leads

My aged Sire to Chili’s blooming Meads,

Horror, and Death, shall seal the nuptial tie;

985

The heart you lov’d, that heart is fix’d to die”---

She ceas’d, when dimly thro’ a flood of tears

She sees her Zamor’s form, his voice she hears---

“’Tis he!” (she cried) “he moves upon the Gale,

His trembling sigh is sad, his look is pale---

990 “I faint” I1r 65

I faint”—his arms receive her sinking frame—

He calls his Love by every tender name;

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

995

I senseless lay, some child of Pity bound

My bleeding wounds, and bore me from the plain—

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

1000

The look of mild reproach that fills thy eye,

The tear that wets thy cheek—I mean to die!

To pour the ling’ring drops, that chill’d by woe

Scare warm my shiv’ring heart, and faintly flow—

Could I behold my aged Sire endure

1005

The pains his wretched Child had power to cure?

Still stretch’d in death that hoary form I see!

His grey locks trembling, as he haz’d on me—

My Zamor, soft!—breathe not so loud a sigh—

Some list’ning Foe may pityless deny

1010 I “This I1v 66

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:

“Fear not, soft Maid,” (he cry’d) “nor think I come

1015

To seal with darker woes thy wretched doom;

To bruise the breaking heart that sorrow rends!

Ah! not for this Las Casas hither bends—

He comes to bid those rising sorrows cease,

To pour upon thy wounds the balm of peace.

1020

I rov’d with stern Almagro’s ruthless Train

Thro’ scenes of death, to Chili’s verdant Plain;

Their wish, to bathe the verdant Plain in gore,

Then from its bosom drag the golden Ore;

But mine, to check the Stream of human blood,

1025

Or mingle drops of Anguish with its Flood.

When from those fair unconquer’d Vales they fled,

This form was stretch’d upon the languid bed

Of pale Disease: soon as forlorn, alone,

The Chilese spy’d their friend—the Murd’rers gone—

3 “With I2r 67

With eager fondness round my Couch they drew,

1031

And my cold hand with gushing tears bedew;

By Day, they sooth my pains with sweet delight,

And give to watchings the chill hours of Night;

For me their tender Spirits joy to prove

1035

The cares of Pity, and the toils of Love—

Soon as I heard that, o’er this gentle scene

Where Joy and Virtue mingled smiles serene,

The Foe like Clouds that fold the Tempest hung,

I hither flew, with thrilling anguish wrung.

1040

A Chilese Band the pathless Desart trac’d,

And softly bore me o’er its dreary Waste;

Then parting, at my feet they kneel, and clasp

This aged form—my soul yet feels their grasp!

Now o’er the Vale with painful step I stray’d,

1045

And reach’d the shelt’ring Grove: there, tender 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)

“How dear to Mis’ry’s soul Las Casas’ name!

1050 I2 “Spirit I2v 68

Spirit benign! who ev’ry grief can share,

Who stoops to make the groaning Wretch his care.

Weep not for us—in vain thy tear shall flow

For hopeless anguish, and for cureless woe,

For agonies despair alone can feel,

1055

For pangs Las Casas’ pity fails to heal”—

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,

1060

My voice shall urge his soul to gen’rous deeds,

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,

1065

But faint the hope that on her Spirit beams,

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;

1070

While, with the look that guardian Seraphs wear

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 passion to controul

1075

Fix’d in the breast, and woven in the soul?

Ah! 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—

1080

Then by each sacred Name to Nature dear,

By her strong Shriek, her agonizing Tear,

By each dark Horror bleeding Passion knows,

By the wild glance that speaks her frantic woes,

By all the wafting pangs that rend her breast,

1085

By the deep groan that gives her Spirit rest;

Let Mercy’s pleading Voice thy bosom move,

And fear to burst the bonds of plighted Love.”

He I3v 70

He paus’d—now Zamor’s moan Alphonso hears,

Now sees the cheek of Age bedew’d with tears—

1090

Palid, and motionless, Aciloe stands,

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)

1095

“My hapless flame shall hearts live yours divide:

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 gentle scene,

1101

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,

1105

Looks on her Sire and smiles, then turns and weeps—

Then I4r 71

Then smiles again—while her flush’d cheek reveals

The mingled tumult of delight she feels:

So fall the chrystal Showers of fragrant Spring,

And o’er the pure, clear Sky soft Shadows fling,

1110

Then paint the drooping Clouds from which they flow,

With the warm colours of the lucid Bow.

Now, o’er the barren Desart Zamor leads

Aciloe and her Sire to Chili’s Meads:

There many a wand’ring wretch, condemn’d to roam

10151115

By hard Oppression, found a shelt’ring home:

Zamor to Pity tun’d the vocal Shell,

Bright’ning the tear of Anguish as it fell.

Did e’er the human bosom throb with pain

Th’ enchanting Muse has sought to sooth in vain?

1120

She, who can still with Harmony its sighs,

And wake the sound at which Affliction dies!

Can bid the stormy Passions backward roll,

And o’er their low-hung Tempests lift the soul;

With magic touch paint Nature’s various Scene,

1125

Dark on the Mountain, in the Vale serene;

Can I4v 72

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;

1130

Or soaring view the Comet’s fiery frame

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.

And now Almagro and Alphonso’s train,

1135

Each peril past, unite on Cuzco’s Plain.

Capac, who view’d throbs of anxious Woe

Th’ increasing numbers of the potent Foe,

Resolv’d to seek beneath the shroud of Night,

Their hostile Camp, and dare the fateful Fight.

1140

Tho’ weak the Arrows of the whizzing shower,

Which wrong’d Peruvia’s rushing Warriors pour,

To the dire Weapons proud Iberia owns,

On whose sharp edge Death lowr’d with Gorgon frowns

Fierce was th’ unequal Contest, for the soul

1145

When rais’d by some high Passion’s strong controul,

K2 New K2v 76

New strings the Nerves, and o’er the glowing frame

Breathes the warm Spirit of her ardent Flame.

But from the Scene where raging Slaughter burns

The timid Muse with pallid horror turns:

1150

The sounds of softer Woe she panting hears,

Where anguish dims the female eye with tears;

Where all the pangs of frantic terror move

The fainting bosom of Connubial Love;

Where the deep throbs of agony impart

1155

The fears that shiver at a Mother’s heart;

Where the soft Maid, who gave to Love’s mild power

Her tender Spirit, weeps the parting hour:

And ah! till Death shall ease the bleeding woe,

That soul must languish, and those tears must flow:

1160

For never with the thrill that Rapture proves

Shall fond Affection hail the form she loves;

Her ardent glance no more that form shall view,

Her quiv’ring lip has breath’d the last adieu!

6 Now K3r 77

Now Night, who pour’d upon her hollow Gale

1165

The moan of Death, withdrew her mournful Veil;

The Sun rose lovely from the sleeping Flood,

And Morning trembled o’er the Field of blood!

Where bath’d in gore, Peruvia’s vanquish’d Train

Lay cold and senseless on the sanguine Plain:

1170

Capac, their gen’rous Chief, whose ardent soul

Had sought the rage of Battle to controul,

Beheld with wild despair his Warriors yield,

And fled indignant from the conquer’d Field.

From Cuzco now a mourning Throng repair,

1175

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;

1180

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- K3v 78

Erewhile, as free as roves the wand’ring breeze,

1185

Meets the hard burden on his bending knees;Open note a009-rota “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 harrass and beat them:
they will continue striking their heads on the ground, first on one side, then on the
other, till they kill themselves.” Abbé Raynal’s History of the European Settlements.

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 prostrates lies,

Heeds not the barb’rous Lash, but patient dies.

1190

Swift o’er the Field of Death sad Cora flew—

Her Infant to her trembling bosom grew;

She seeks her wretched Lord, who fled the Plain

With the small remnant of his vanquish’d Train.

Thro’ the lone Vale, or Forest’s sombrous Shade,

1195

A dreary Solitude, the Mourner stray’d;

That timid heart can now each Danger dare,

That drooping soul is arm’d by deep Despair!

Long, K4r 79

Long, long she wander’d, till oppress’d with toil

Her trembling footsteps track with blood the soil—

1200

In vain with moans her distant Lord she calls,

In vain the tear of mingled anguish falls;

Her moan expires along the desart wood—

Her tear is mingled with the crimson flood.

Where o’er an ample Vale a Mountain rose,

1205

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 shiv’ring bosom can no more supply

The streams that nourish Life, my Babe must die!

1210

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,

Close to his Mother’s Corse he will not weep—

“Ah! K4v 80

Ah! 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 answ’ring eye”—

1220

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,

1225

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.

1230

Now rush’d a frightened 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,

1235

And gaz’d on present Death with aspect mild—

They L1r 81

They pitying paus’d—she lifts her mournful eye,

And views her Lord—he hears his Cora’s sigh—

He sees her form!—their mingling souls unite,

O’erwhelm’d and agoniz’d with wild delight—

1240

At length she faintly cried, “We yet must part,

Amid’ this swelling Joy, I feel my heart,

My suff’ring heart is cold, and mists arise

That shroud thy image from my closing eyes—

Save my soft Child!—our tender Infant save—

1245

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,

While icy horror chill’d each shiv’ring vein:

1250

Scarce can the soul in one short moment bear

The strong extremes of transport, and despair,

When agonies th’ exatic tear controul—

Congeal the drop that gushes from the soul.

Now o’er the West in melting softness streams

1255

A lustre milder than the morning beams,

A purer dawn dispell’d th’ incumbent Night,

And Nature glow’d in all the blooms of Light;

The Birds awake the Note that hails the Day,

And dip their Pinions in the living ray;

1260

A Zone of gold the Wave’s still bosom bound,

And Beauty shed a placid smile around.

Then, first awakening from his mournful trance,

The wretched Capac cast an eager glance

On his sweet Babe; th’ unconscious Infant smil’d,

1265

And showers of softer sorrow bath’d his Child:

The hollow Voice now sounds in Fancy’s ear,

He sees the dying Look, the parting Tear,

That sought with trembling tenderness to save

That dear Memorial from the closing Grave—

1270

He clasps the Object of his Love’s last care,

And vows the load of cureless ills to bear;

Rear the soft Blossom of a faded Flower,

And bid Remembrance sooth each ling’ring hour.