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But in the sunshine of that dreadful day,
That gave me to another's arms away,

I saw him-like a ghost, with deadly stare;
I saw his wasted eyeballs' ghastly glare;
I saw his lips-(O hide them, God of love!)
I saw his livid lips, half muttering, move,
To curse the maid, forgetful of her vow;
Perhaps he lives to curse-to curse me now!'
"He lives to bless!' I cried; and drawing
nigh,

Held up the crucifix: her heavy eye

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

Can he his lost, his dying child forgive ?—

Will God forgive-the Lord who bled-will He?
Ah, no! there is no mercy left for me!'

I need not say the sequel--not unmoved
Poor Indiana heard thy tale, and loved-
Some sympathy a kindred fate might claim;
Your years, your fortunes, and your friend the

same:

Both early of a parent's care bereft,

Both strangers in a world of sadness left,

I mark'd each slowly struggling thought-I shed
A tear of love paternal on each head,
And, while I saw her timid eyes incline,
Bless'd the affection that has made her thine!
"Here let the murmurs of despondence cease:
There is a God-believe--and part in peace!"
Rich hues illumed the track of parting day
As the great sun sunk in the western bay,
And only its last light yet lingering shone,

"Words were in vain, and colours all too faint, Upon the highest palm tree's feathery cone;

The awful moment of despair to paint.

She knew me her exhausted breath, with pain,
Drawing, she press'd my hand, and spoke again.
"By a false guardian's cruel wiles deceived,
The tale of fraudful falsehood I believed;

And thought thee dead! he gave the stern com-
mand,

And bade me take the rich Antonio's hand.

I knelt, implored, embraced my guardian's knees-
Ruthless inquisitor! he held the keys

Of the dark torture-house.* Trembling for life,
Yes I became a sad, heart-broken-wife!
Yet curse me not! of every human care
Already my full heart has had its share.
Abandon'd-left in youth to want and wo!
O! let these tears, that agonizing flow,
Witness how deep e'en now my heart is rent:
Yet one is lovely-one is innocent!
Protect-protect'-(and faint in death she smiled)-
When I am dead--protect my orphan child!'
"The dreadful prison, that so long detain'd
My wasting life, her dying words explain'd.
The wretched priest, who wounded me by stealth,
Barter'd her love, her innocence, for wealth.

"I laid her bones in earth: the chanted hymn Echoed along the hollow cloister dim:

I heard, far off, the bell funereal toll,

When at a distance, on the dewy plain,

In mingled group appear'd an Indian train,-
Men, women, children, round Anselmo press,-
"Farewell!" they cried. He raised his hand to

bless,

And said, "My children, may the God above
Still lead you in the paths of peace and love:
To-morrow, and we part; when I am gone,
Raise on this spot a cross, and place a stone,
That tribes unborn may some memorial have
(When I far off am mouldering in the grave)
Of that poor messenger, who tidings bore,
Of gospel mercy, to your distant shore."

The crowd retired-along the twilight gray,
The condor swept its solitary way;
The fire-flies shone, when to the hermit's cell
Who hastens but the minstrel, Zarinel?
In foreign lands, far from his native home,
'Twas his, a gay romantic youth to roam
With a light cittern o'er his shoulders slung,
Where'er he pass'd he play'd, and loved, and sung
And thus accomplish'd, late had join'd the train
Of gallant soldiers on the southern plain.

Father," he cried, " uncertain of the fate
That may to-morrow's toilsome march await,
For long will be the road, I would confess
Some secret thoughts that on my bosom press!

And, sorrowing, said, 'Now peace be with her They are of one I left, an Indian maid,

soul!"

Far o'er the western ocean I convey'd, And Indiana call'd--the orphan maid: Beneath my eye she grew--and, day by day, Seem'd, grateful, every kindness to repay.

66

Renouncing Spain, her cruelties and crimes,
Amid untutor'd tribes, in distant climes,
'Twas mine to spread the light of truth, or save
From stripes and torture the poor Indian slave.
I saw thee, young and innocent-alone,
Cast on the mercies of a race unknown;
I saw, in dark adversity's cold hour,

Thy virtues blooming, like a winter's flower;
From chains and slavery I redeem'd thy youth,
Pour'd on thy sight the beams of heavenly truth;
By thy warm heart and mild demeanour won,
Call'd thee my other child-my age's son.

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Whose trusting love my careless heart betray'd,
Say, may I speak ?"

"Say on," the father cried;
"Nor be to penitence all hope denied."
"Then hear, Anselmo! From a very child
I loved all fancies, marvellous and wild;
I turn'd from truth, to listen to the lore
Of many an old and fabling troubadour.
Thus, with impassion'd heart and wayward mind,
To dreams and shapes of shadowy things resign'd,
I left my native vales and village home,
Wide o'er the world a minstrel boy to roam.

"I never shall forget the day-the hour,—
When, all my soul resign'd to fancy's power,
First, from the snowy Pyrenees, I cast
My labouring vision o'er the landscape vast,
And saw beneath my feet long vapours float,
Streams, mountains, woods, and ocean's mist re-

mote.

My mountain guide, a soldier, poor and old,
Who tales of Cortez and Balboa told,

Won my young ear, when pausing to survey
Th' Atlantic, white in sunshine far away,
He spoke of this new world,-rivers like seas,
Mountains, to which the mighty Pyrenees
Were but as sand-hills-ancient forests rude,
In measureless extent of solitude,

Stretching their wild and unknown world of shade!
Full blithe he then described the Indian maid-
Graceful and agile as the marmozet,

Whose eyes of radiance and whose locks of jet,
Though bow'd by want and age, he never could
forget.

"My ardent fancy follow'd while he spoke Of lakes, savannahs, or the cataract's smoke, Or some strange tale of perilous wandering told, By waters, through remotest regions roll'd: How shone the woods with pomp of plumage gay, And how the green bird mock'd and talk'd all day!

"Imagination thus, in colours new,

This distant world presented to my view;
Young, and enchanted with the fancied scene,

I cross'd the toiling seas that roar'd between,
And, with ideal images impress'd,

O'erhung with icy summits:--to be brief,
She was the daughter of an aged chief;
He, by her gentle voice to pity won,
Show'd mercy, for himself had lost a son.
The father spoke not:-by the pine wood blaze,
The daughter stood, and turn'd a cake of maize.
And then, as sudden shone the light, I saw
Such features as no artist hand might draw.
Her form, her face, her symmetry, her air-
Father thy age must this recital spare-
She saved my life--and kindness, if not love,
Might sure in time the coldest bosom move.
Mine was not cold-she loved to hear me sing,
And sometimes touch'd with playful hand the
string:

And when I waked some melancholy strain,
She wept, and smiled, and bade me sing again:
And sometimes on the turf reclined, I tried
Her erring hand along the wires to guide;
Then chiding, with a kiss, the rude essay,
Taught her some broken saraband to play;
Whilst the loud parrot, from the neighbouring tree,
On laughing echo call'd to join our glee.
"I built our hut of the wild-orange boughs,

Stood on these unknown shores, a wondering guest. And pledged-oh! perjury-eternal vows!
"Still to romantic fantasies resign'd,

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She raised her eyes with tenderness, and cried,
Shall poor Olola be the white man's bride?

And climb'd the mountains, which their shadow Yes! we will live-live and be happy here

threw

Upon the lessening summits of Peru.
Some sheep, the armed peasants drove before,
That all our food through the wild passes bore,
Had wander'd in the frost smoke of the morn,
Far from the tract-I blew the signal horn-
But echo only answer'd. 'Mid the snows,
Wilder'd and lost, I saw the evening close.
The sun was setting in the crimson west;
In all the earth I had no home of rest;
The last sad light upon the ice-hills shone;
I seem'd forsaken in a world unknown;
How did my cold and sinking heart rejoice,
When hark! methought I heard a human voice.
It might be some wild Indian's roving troop;
Or the dread echo of their distant whoop--
Still it was human, and I seem'd to find
Again some commerce with remote mankind.
The voice is nearer, rising through the shade--
Is it the song of a rude mountain maid?
And now I heard the tread of hastening feet,
And, in the western glen, a llama bleat.
I listen'd--all is still-but hark! again
Near and more near is heard the welcome strain:
It is a wild maid's carolling, who seeks
Her wandering llama midst the snowy peaks.
Truant,' she cried, thy lurking place is found.'
With languid touch I waked the cittern's sound,
And soon a maid, by the pale light, I saw
Gaze breathless with astonishment and awe:
What instant terrors to her fancy rose!
Ha! is it not the spirit of the snows?
But when she saw me, weary, cold, and weak,
Stretch forth my hand, (for now I could not speak,)
She pitied, raised me from the snows, and led
My faltering footsteps to her father's shed;
The llama follow'd with her tinkling bell:
The dwelling rose within a craggy dell,

When thou art sad, I will kiss off the tear:
Thou shalt forget thy father's land, and see
A friend, a sister, and a child, in me.'
So many a happy day in this deep glen,
Far from the noise of life, and sounds of men,
Was pass'd! Nay! father, the sad sequel hear;
'Twas now the leafy spring-time of the year-
Ambition call'd me: True, I knew, to part,
Would break her generous and her trusting heart—
True, I had vow'd-but now estranged and cold,
She saw my look, and shudder'd to behold—
She would go with me-leave the lonely glade
Where she grew up, but my stern voice forbade.
She hid her face and wept,- Go then away,'
(Father, methinks e'en now I hear her say,)

Go to thy distant land-forget this tear-
Forget these rocks,-forget I once was dear.
Fly to the world, o'er the wide ocean fly,
And leave me, unremember'd, here to die!
Yet to my father should I all relate,
Death, instant death, would be a traitor's fate!"
"Nor fear, nor pity, moved my stubborn mind
I left her sorrows and the scene behind-
I sought Valdivia on the southern plain,
And join'd the careless military train :-
O ere I sleep, thus, lowly on my knee,
Father, I absolution crave from thee."

Anselmo spoke with look and voice severe,
"Yes! thoughtless youth, my absolution hear.
First, by deep penitence the wrong atone,
Then absolution ask from God alone!
Yet stay, and to my warning voice attend--
O, hear me as a father, and a friend!
Let truth severe be wayward fancy's guide,
Let stern-eyed conscience o'er each thought pie
side-

The passions, that on noblest natures prey,
O! cast them, like corroding bonds, away!

And, like a giant of no earthly race,

Disdain to act mean falsehood's coward part,
And let religion dignify thine art.

"If, by thy bed, thou seest at midnight stand
Pale conscience, pointing, with terrific hand,
To deeds of darkness done, whilst, like a corse
To shake thy soul, uprises dire remorse-
Fly to God's mercy-fly, ere yet too late-
Perhaps one hour marks thy eternal fate-
Let the warm tear of deep contrition flow,
The heart obdurate melt, like softening snow,
The last vain follies of thy youth deplore,
Then go in secret weep-and sin no more!"
The stars innumerous in their watches shone-
Anselmo knelt before the cross alone.

Ten thousand glowing orbs their pomp display'd,
Whilst, looking up, thus silently he pray'd:-
"O! how oppressive to the aching sense,
How fearful were this vast magnificence,
This prodigality of glory, spread

From world to world, above an emmet's head,
That toil'd his transient hour upon the shore
Of mortal life, and then was seen no more-
If man beheld, on his terrific throne,

A dark, cold, distant deity, alone!

Felt no relating, no endearing tie,

To his broad shoulders heaved his ponderous mace.
With lifted hatchet, as in act to fell,
Here stood the young and ardent Teucapel.
Like a lone cypress, stately in decay,
When time has worn its summer boughs away,
And hung its trunk with moss and lichens sere,
The mountain warrior rested on his spear.
And thus, and at this hour, a hundred chiefs,
Chosen avengers of their country's griefs;
Chiefs of the scatter'd tribes who roam the plain -
That sweeps from Andes to the western main,
Their country gods around the coiling smoke,
With sacrifice and silent prayers, invoke.
For all, at first, were silent as the dead;
The pine was heard to whisper o'er their head,
So stood the stern assembly: but apart,
Wrapt in the spirit of his fearful art,
Alone, to hollow sounds "of hideous hum,"
The wizard-seer struck his prophetic drum.
Silent they stood-and watch'd, with anxious

eyes,

What phantom shape might from the ground arise:
No voices came-no spectre form appear'd
A hollow sound, but not of winds, was heard

That hope might upwards raise her glistening eye, Among the leaves, and distant thunder low

And think, with deep, unutterable bliss,

In yonder radiant realm my kingdom is!

"More glorious than those orbs that silent roll, Shines Heaven's redeeming mercy on the soul-O pure effulgence of unbounded love!

In thee I think-I feel-I live-I move-
Yet when-0! thou, whose name is Love and Light,
When will thy dayspring on these realms of night
Arise? O when shall sever'd nations raise
One hallelujah of triumphant praise !

"Soon may thy kingdom come, that love, and peace,
And charity, may bid earth's chidings cease!
Meantime, in life or death, through good or ill,
Thy poor and feeble servant, I fulfil,
As best I may, thy high and holy will,
Till, weary, on the world my lids I close,
And hasten to my long and last repose!"

CANTO IV.
ARGUMENT.

Seem'd like the moans of an expiring foe.

His crimson feathers quivering in the smoke, Then, with loud voice, first Mariantu spoke :"Hail we the omen!-Spirits of the slain,

I hear your voices! Mourn, devoted Spain !
Pale-visaged tyrants! still, along our coasts,
Shall we despairing mark your iron hosts?
Spirits of our brave fathers, curse the race
Who thus your name, your memory disgrace!
No: though yon mountain's everlasting snows
In vain Almagro's toilsome march oppose;
Though Atacama's long and wasteful plain
Be heap'd with blackening carcasses in vain ;
Though still fresh hosts those snowy summits scale,
And scare the llamas with their glittering mail;
Though sullen castles lour along our shore;
Though our polluted soil be drench'd with gore;
Insolent tyrants! We-prepared to die,
Your arms, your horses, and your gods, defy!"

He spoke the warriors stamp'd upon the ground,
And tore the feathers that their foreheads bound.

Assembly of Indian warriors-Caupolican, Ongolmo," Insolent tyrants!" burst the general cry,
Teucapel-Mountain chief-Song of the Indian wizard
-White woman and child.

FAR in the centre of the deepest wood,
Th' assembled fathers of their country stood.
'Twas midnight now: the pine-wood fire burnt red,
And to the leaves a shadowy glimmer spread:
The struggling smoke, or flame with fitful glance,
Obscured, or show'd, some dreadful countenance;
And every warrior, as his club he rear'd,
With larger shadow, indistinct, appear'd;
While more terrific, his wild locks and mien,
And fierce eye through the quivering smoke was

seen.

In sea-wolf's skin, here Mariantu stood; Gnash'd his white teeth, impatient, and cried, "Blood!"

His lofty brow with crimson feathers bound,
Here, brooding death, the huge Ongolmo frown'd;

"We, met for vengeance! We-prepared to die!
Your arms, your horses, and your gods, defy!"

Then Teucapel, with warm emotion, cried,
"This hatchet never yet in blood was dyed!
May it be buried deep within my heart,
If living from the conflict I depart,
Till loud, from shore to shore, is heard one cry,
See in their gore where the last tyrants lie!""
The mountain warrior. "0, that I could raise
The hatchet too, as in my better days,
When victor on Maypocha's banks I stood;
And while th' indignant river roll'd in blood,
And our swift arrows hiss'd like rushing rain,
I cleft Almagro's iron helm in twain!

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

My strength is wellnigh gone! years mark'd with

WO

Have o'er me pass'd, and bow'd my spirit low!
Alas, I have no son! Beloved boy!

Caupolican uplifts his axe, and cries,
"Gods of our land, be yours this sacrifice!
Now, listen, warriors!"-and forthwith commands
To place the billets in the captive's hands.

With looks aghast,

The captive in the trench a billet cast.
"Soldier, declare who leads the arms of Spain,
Where Santiago frowns upon the plain ?"

..

Villagra!"

CAPTIVE.

Thy father's last, best hope!—his pride!-his joy!" Soldier, cast in the lot!"
O, hadst thou lived-sole object of my prayers!—
To guard my waning life, and these gray hairs!
How bravely hadst thou now, in manhood's pride,
Swung th' uplifted war-club on my side:
But the Great Spirit will'd not! Thou art gone;
And, weary, on this earth I walk alone:
Thankful if I may yield my latest breath,
And bless my country, in the pangs of death!"
With words deliberate, and uplifted hand;
Mild to persuade, yet dauntless to command;
Raising his hatchet high, Caupolican
Survey'd th' assembled chiefs, and thus began:
"Friends, fathers, brothers- dear and sacred
names !

Your stern resolve each ardent look proclaims:
On then to conquest; let one hope inspire;
One spirit animate-one vengeance fire.
Who doubts the glorious issue? to our foes
A tenfold strength and spirit we oppose.
In them no god protects his mortal sons,
Or speaks, in thunder, from their roaring guns.
Nor come they children of the radiant sky;
But, like the wounded snake, to writhe and die.
Then, rush resistless on their prostrate hands;
Snatch the red lightning from their feeble hands,
And swear, to the great spirits, hovering near-
Who now this awful invocation hear-
That we will never see our household hearth,
Till, like the dust, we sweep them from the earth.
"But vain our strength, that idly, in the fight,
Tumultuous wastes its ineffectual might,
Unless to one the hatchet we confide:
Let one, our numbers-one, our counsels guide.
And, lo! for all that in this world is dear,
raise this hatchet, raise it high, and swear,
Never again to lay it down, till we,
And all who love this injured land, are free."
At once the loud acclaim tumultuous ran:
"Our spears, our life-blood, for Caupolican!
With thee, for all that in this world is dear,
We lift our hatchets, lift them high, and swear,
Never again to lay them down, till we,
And all who love this injured land, are free."
Then thus the chosen chief: 66
Bring forth the

slave,

And let the death-dance recreate the brave."
Two warriors led a Spanish captive, bound
With thongs; his eyes were fix'd upon the ground.
Dark cypresses the mournful spot enclose :
High in the midst an ancient mound arose,
Mark'd, on each side, with monumental stones,
And white beneath, with sculls and scatter'd bones.
Four poniards, on the mound, encircling stood,
With points erect, dark with forgotten blood.

Forthwith, with louder voice, the chief commands,
"Bring forth the lots-unbind the captive's hands;
Then north, towards his country, turn his face,
And dig beneath his feet a narrow space."

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

WARRIOR.

"Earth upon the billet heap; "So may a tyrant's heart be buried deep !" The dark woods echoed to the long acclaim, "Accursed be his nation and his name!"

WARRIOR.

"Captive, declare who leads the Spanish bands, Where the proud fortress shades Coquimbo's sands?"

Ocampo !"

CAPTIVE.

WARRIOR.

"Earth upon the billet heap; "So may a tyrant's heart be buried deep!" The dark woods echoed to the long acclaim, "Accursed be his nation and his name!"

"Cast in the lot."

WARRIOR.

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"Hark, the battle!-Hark, the din! Now the deeds of death begin!

The Spaniards come, in clouds! above, I hear their hoarse artillery move! Spirits of our fathers slain, Haste, pursue the dogs of Spain! The noise was in the northern sky! Haste, pursue! They fly--they fly! Now from the cavern's secret cell, Where the direst phantoms dwell, See they rush, and, riding high, Break the moonlight as they fly; And, on the shadow'd plain beneath, Shoot, unseen, the shafts of death! O'er the devoted Spanish camp, Like a vapour, dark and damp, May they hover, till the plain Is hid beneath the countless slain; And none, but silent women, tread From corpse to corpse, to seek the dead!" The wavering fire flash'd with expiring light, When shrill and hollow, through the cope of night, A distant shout was heard; at intervals Increasing on the listening ear it falls.

It ceased; when, bursting from the thickest wood, With lifted axe, two gloomy warriors stood: Wan in the midst, with dark and streaming hair, Blown by the winds upon her bosom bare, A woman, faint from terror's wild alarms, And folding a white infant in her arms, Appear'd. Each warrior stoop'd his lance to gaze On her pale looks, seen ghastlier through the blaze. "Save!" she exclaim'd, with harrow'd aspect wild; "O, save my innocent-my helpless child!" Then fainting fell, as from death's instant stroke. Caupolican, with stern inquiry, spoke"Whence come, to interrupt our awful rite, At this dread hour, the warriors of the night?" "From ocean."

"Who is she who fainting lies, And now scarce lifts her supplicating eyes "The Spanish ship went down: the seamen bore, In a small boat, this woman to the shore: They fell beneath our hatchets,—and again, We gave them back to the insulted main.t The child and woman-of a race we hateWarriors, 'tis yours, here, to decide their fate."

66

Vengeance!" aloud, fierce Mariantu cried: "Vengeance! let vengeance dire be satisfied! Let none of hated Spanish blood remain, Woman, or child, to violate our plain !"

Amid that dark and bloody scene, the child Stretch'd to the mountain chief his hands, and smiled.

A starting tear of pity dimm'd the eye

Of the old warrior, though he knew not why.
"O! think upon your little ones!" he cried,
"Nor be compassion to the weak denied."

Caupolican then fix'd his aspect mild
On the white woman and her shrieking child,

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

Then firmly spoke :

"White woman, we were free, When first thy brethren of the distant sea Came to our shores! White woman, theirs the guilt!

Theirs, if the blood of innocence be spilt!
Yet blood we seek not, though our arms oppose
The hate of foreign and remorseless foes:
Thou camest here a captive-so abide,
Till the Great Spirit shall our cause decide."
He spoke the warriors of the night obey;
And, ere the earliest streak of dawning day,
They led her from the scene of blood away.

CANTO V.

ARGUMENT.

Ocean cave-Spanish captive-Wild Indian maid-Genius of Andes, and spirits.

"TIs dawn-the distant Andes' rocky spires,
One after one, have caught the orient fires.
Where the dun condor shoots his upward flight,
His wings are touch'd with momentary light.
Meantime, beneath the mountains' glittering heads,
A boundless ocean of gray vapour spreads,
That o'er the champaign, stretching far below,
Moves on,
in cluster'd masses, rising slow,
Till all the living landscape is display'd
In various pomp of colour, light, and shade,
Hills, forests, rivers, lakes, and level plain,
Lessening in sunshine to the southern main.
The llama's fleece fumes with ascending dew;
The gem-like humming-birds their toils renew;
And see, where yonder stalks, in crimson pride,
The tall flamingo, by the river's side,
Stalks, in his richest plumage bright array'd,
With snowy neck superb,* and legs of lengthening
shade.

Sad maid, for others may the valleys ring,
For other ears the birds of morning sing,
For other eyes the palms in beauty wave,
Dark is thy prison in the ocean cave!

Amid that winding cavern's inmost shade,
A dripping rill its ceaseless murmur made:
Masses of dim-discover'd crags aloof,
Hung, threatening, from the vast and vaulted roof;
And through a fissure, in its glimmering height,
Seen like a star, appear'd the distant light;
Beneath the opening, where the sunbeams shine,
Far down, the rock weed hung its slender twine.
Here, pale and bound, the Spanish captive lay,
Till morn on morn, in silence, pass'd away;
When once, as o'er her sleeping child she hung,
And sad her evening supplication sung,-
Like a small gem, amidst the gloom of night,
A glow-worm shot its green and trembling light,—
And, 'mid the moss and craggy fragments, shed
Faint lustre, o'er her sleeping infant's head;
And hark! a voice-a woman's voice-its sound
Dies, in faint echoes, 'mid the vault profound-
"Let us pity the poor white maid !+
She has no mother near!

No friend to dry her tear!

The neck of the flamingo is white, and its wings of

+"Render them back upon the insulted ocean."-Cole-rich and beautiful crimson. ridge. + From Mungo Park.

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