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Its feathery-seeming crown,-its giant spear, | Though pass'd in tears the dayspring of his youth, Its limbs of huge proportion, disappear ;
Valdivia loved bis gratitude and truth: And the bare mountains, to the dawn, disclose He, in Valdivia, own'd a nobler friend ; The same long line of solitary snows.
Kind to protect, and mighty to defend. The morning shines,-the military train, So, on he rode: upon his youthful mien In warlike muster on the tented plain,
A mild but sad intelligence was seen: Glitter, and cuirasses, and helms of steel,
Courage was on his open brow, yet care Throw back the sunbeams, as the horsemen Seem'd, like a wandering shade, to linger tbere; wheel:
And though his eye shone, as the eagle's, bright, Thus, with arms glancing to the eastern light, It beam'd with humid, melancholy light. Pass, in review, proud steeds and cohorts bright; When now Valdivia saw th’ernbattled line, For all the host, by break of morrow gray, Helmets, and swords, and shields, and matchlocks, Wind back their march to Penco's northern bay.
shine, Valdivia, fearful lest confederate foes,
Now the long phalanx still and steady stand, Ambush'd and dark, his progress might oppose, Fix'd every eye, and motionless each hand, Marshals, to-day, the whole collected force, Then slowly clustering, into columns wheel, File and artillery, cuirassier and horse :
Each with the red-cross banners of Castile ;Himself yet lingers ere he joins the train,
While trumps, and drums, and cymbals, to his ear,
Till winds th' obscuring volume roll'd away, The sun ascended to meridian height,
And the red file, stretch'd out in long array, And all the northern bastions shone in light; More radiant moved beneath the beams of day, With hoarse acclaim, the gong and trumpet rung, While ensigns, arms, and crosses, glitter'd bright,-The Moorish slaves aloft their cymbals swung, - “ Philip!"* he cried, “ seest thou the glorious When the proud victor, in triumphant state,
sight, Rode forth, in arms, through the portcullis gate. And dost thou deem the tribes of this poor land
With neck high arching, as he smote the ground, - Can men, and arms, and steeds, like these, withAnd restless pawing to the trumpets' sound,
stand?" With mantling mane, o'er his broad shoulders “ Forgive!” the youth replied, and check'd a spread,
tear,-And nostrils blowing, and dilated red,
« The land where my forefathers sleep is dearThe coal-black steed, in rich caparison
My native land! this spot of blessed earth, Far trailing to the ground, went proudly on: The scene where I, and all I love, had birth! Proudly he tramp'd as conscious of his charge, What gratitude, fidelity can give, And turn'd around his eyeballs, bright and large, Is yours, my lord! You shielded--bade me live, And shook the frothy boss, as in disdain ;
When, in the circuit of the world so wide And toss'd the flakes, indignant, of his mane; I had but one, one only friend beside. And, with high swelling veins, exulting pressid I bow'd--resign'd to fate ; I kiss'd the hand, Proudly against the barb, his heaving breast. Red with the best blood of my father's land! +
The fate of empires glowing in his thought, But mighty as thou art, Valdivia, know, Thus arm'd, the tented field Valdivia sought. Though Cortez' desolating march Jaid low On the left side his poised shield he bore,
The shrines of rich, voluptuous Mexico,With quaint devices richly blazon'd o'er;
With carcasses, though proud Pizarro strew Above the plumes, upon his helmet's cone,
The sun's imperial temple in Peru,Castile's imperial crest illustrious shone ;
Yet the rude dwellers of this land are brave, Blue in the wind th' escutcheon'd mantle flow'd, And the last spot they lose will be their grave!" O'er the chain'd mail, which tinkled as he rode. A moment's crimson cross'd Valdivia's cheekThe barred visor raised, you might discern
Then o'er the plain he spurr'd, nor deign'd to speak, Hist clime-changed countenance, though pale, yet Waving the youth, at distance, to retire: stern,
None saw the eye that shot terrific fire : And resolute as death,—whilst in his eye
As their commander sternly rode along, Sat proud assurance, fame, and victory.
Troop after troop, halted the martial throng; Lautaro, now in manhood's rising pride, And all the pennon'd trumps a louder blast Rode, with a lance, attendant, at his side,
Blew, as the southern world's great victor pass'd. In Spanish mantle gracefully array'd:
Lautaro turn'd, scarce heeding, from the view, Upon his brow a tuft of feathers play'd:
And from the noise of trumps and drums withdrew His glossy locks, with dark and mantling grace, And now, while troubled thoughts his bosom swell, Shaded the poonday sunbeams on his face.
Seeks the gray Missionary's humble cell.
* The city Baldivia.
* Lautaro had been baptized by that name.
Fronting the ocean, but beyond the ken
“ Whence comes my son ?” with kind complaOf public view, and sounds of murmuring men,
cent look Of unhewn roots composed, and gnarled wood, He ask'd, and closed again th’ embossed book. A small and rustic oratory stood :
“I come to thee for peace !” the youth replied: Upon its roof of reeds appear'd a cross,
“O, there is strife, and cruelty, and pride, The porch within was lined with mantling moss; In this sad Christian world; my native land A crucifix and hourglass, on each side-
Was happy, ere the soldier, with his band One to admonish seem'd and one to guide;
Of fell destroyers, like a vulture, came, This, to impress how soon life's race is o'er ; And gave the peaceful scenes to blood and flame. And that, to lift our hopes where time shall be no When will the turmoil of earth's tempests cease? more.
Father, I come to thee for peace-for peace !" O'er the rude porch, with wild and gadding “Seek peace,” the father cried,“ with God above: stray,
In his good time, all will be peace and love. The clustering copu weaved its trellis gay:
“We mourn, indeed, that grief, and toil, and strife, Two mossy pines, high bending, interwove Send one deep murmur from the walks of life, Their aged and fantastic arms above.
That yonder sun, when evening paints the sky, In front, amid the gay surrounding fowers, Sinks, beauteous, on a world of misery; A dial counted the departing hours,
The course of wide destruction to withstand, On which the sweetest light of summer shone,-
We lift our feeble voice-our trembling hand; A rude and brief inscription mark'd the stone: - But still, bow'd low, or smitten to the dust,
“ To count, with passing shade, the hours, Father of mercy! still in thee we trust!
Through good or ill, in poverty or wealth,
And the faint murmur turns to prayer and praise !
We know--whatever evils we deplore--
Hark! 'twas the earthquake! clouds of dust alone And, bright as amber, on the shallows shone. Ascend from earth, where tower and temple shone. Intent his fairy pastime to pursue,
“Such is the conqueror's dread path: the grave And, gem-like, hovering o'er the violets blue, Yawns for its millions where his banners wave; The humming-bird, here, its unceasing song But shall vain man, whose life is but a sigh, Heedlessly murmur'd, all the summer long, With sullen acquiescence, gaze and die ? And when the winter came, retired to rest, Alas, how little of the mighty maze And from the myrtles hung its trembling nest. Of providence, our mortal ken surveys ! No sounds of a conflicting world were near;
Heaven's awful Lord, pavilion'd in the clouds, The noise of ocean faintly met the ear,
Looks through the darkness that all nature shrouds; That seem'd, as sunk to rest the noontide blast, And, far beyond the tempest and the night, But dying sounds of passions that were past; Bids man his course hold on to scenes of endless Or closing anthems, when, far off, expire
light.” The lessening echoes of the distant choir. Here, every human sorrow hush'd to rest,
Evening and night of the same day
Anselmo's story-Converted Indians-Confession of the The world to him “ was as a thing gone by.”
wandering minstrel-Night scene. Now, all his features lit, he raised his look,
ANSELMO'S TALE. Then bent it thoughtful, and unclasp'd the book ; “ COME,--for the sun yet hangs above the bay,-And whilst the hourglass shed its silent sand, And whilst our time may brook a brief delay A tame opossum* lick'd his wither'd hand. | With other thoughts,--and, haply, with a tear, That sweetest light of slow declining day,
An old man's tale of sorrow thou shalt hear. Which through the trellis pour'd its slanting ray, I wish'd not to reveal it-thoughts that dwell
I wish'd not to rever Resting a moment on his few gray hairs,
Deep in the lonely bosom's inmost cell Seem'd light from heaven sent down to bless his Unnoticed, and unknown-too painful wake, prayers.
And like a tempest, the dark spirit shake, When the trump echoed to the quiet spot, When starting, from our slumberous apathy, He thought upon the world, but mourn’d it not; We gaze upon the scenes of days gone by. Enough if his mcek wisdom could control,
Yet, if a moment's irritating flush And bend to mercy, one proud soldier's soul; Darkenst thy cheek, as thoughts conflicting rush, Enough, if while these distant scenes he trod, He led one erring Indian to his God.
* No part of the world is so subject to earthquakes as Peru.
+ Indians of Chili are of the lightest clage, called by * A small and beautiful species, which is domesticated. some " white Indians." 63
2 r 2
When I disclose my hidden griefs, the tale | Some bread and water, nature to sustain,
Duly was brought when eve return'd again;
And thus I knew, hoping it were the last, To hold thy course, though sorrowing, yet in peace: Another day of lingering life was pass'd. Still looking up to Him, the soul's best stay,
“Five years immured in the deep den of night, Who faith and hope shall crown, when worlds are I never saw the sweet sun's blessed light. swept away!
Once as the grate, with sullen sound, was barr'd, “ Where fair Seville's Morisco turrets* gleam And to the bolts the inmost cavern jarr'd, On Guadilquiver's gepliy-stealing stream,
Methought I heard, as clang'd the iron door, Whose silent waters, seaward as they glide, A dull and hollow echo from the floor: Reflect the wild-rose thickets on its side,
I stamp'd: the vault and winding caves around My youth was pass'd. O, days for ever gone! Return'd a long and melancholy sound. How touch'd with heaven's own light your morn With patient toil, I raised a massy stone, ings shone!
And look'd into a depth of shade unknown; “E'en now, when lonely and forlorn I bend, The murky twilight of the lurid place My weary journey hastening to its end,
Served me, at length, a secret way to trace. A drooping exile on a distant shore,
I enter'd, step by step; explored the road, I mourn the hours of youth that are no more. In darkness, from my desolate abode ; The tender thought amid my prayers has part, Till, winding through long passages of night, And steals, at times, from heaven my aged heart. I saw, at distance, a dim streak of light:
“Forgive the cause, O God !--forgive the tear, It was the sun—the bright, the blessed beam That flows, e'en now, o'er Leonora's bier ; Of day! I knelt-I wept--the glittering stream For, midst the innocent and lovely, none
Roll'd soft beneath me, as I left the cave, More beautiful than Leonora shone.
Conceald in woods above the winding wave. “As by her widow'd mother's side she knelt, “I rested on a verdant bank a while, A sad and sacred sympathy I felt.
I saw around the summer landscape smile. At Easter-tide, when the high mass was sung, I gain'd a peasant's hut; nor dared to leave, And, fuming high, the silver censer swung, Till, with slow step, advanced the glimmering eve, When rich-hued windows, from the arches' height, Remembering still affection's fondest hours,
Pour'd o'er the shrines a soft and yellow light, I turn'd my footsteps to the city towers ; · From aisle to aisle, amid the service clear,
In pilgrim's dress, I traced the streets unknown: When Adoremus' swell'd upon the ear,
No light in Leonora's lattice shone. (Such as to heaven thy rapt attention drew
“ The morning came; the busy tumult swells; First in the Christian churches of Peru)
Knolling to church, I heard the minster bells: She seem'd, methought, some spirit of the sky, Involuntary to that scene I stray'd, Descending to that holy harmony.
Disguised, where first I saw my faithful maid. “ Boots not to say, when life and hope were new, I saw her, pallid, at the altar stand, How by degrees the soul's first passion grew : And yield, half shrinking, her reluctant hand : I loved her, and I won her virgin heart,
She turn'd her look-she saw my hollow eyes, But fortune whisper'd, We, a while, must part. And knew me,--wasted, wan, and in disguise;
“ The minster toll'd the middle hour of night, She shriek's, and fell—breathless, I left the fane When waked to agony and wild affright,
In agony-nor saw her form again; I heard the words, words of appalling dread And from that day, her voice, her look, was given, • The holy Inquisition !'--from the bed
Her name, her memory, to the winds of heaven. I started; snatch'd my dagger, and my cloak-- “Far off I bent my melancholy way, • Who dare accuse me ??-none, in answer, spoke. Heart-sick and faint, and, in this gown of gray, The demons seized, in silence, on their prey, From every human eye my sorrows hid, And tore me from my dreams of bliss away. Unknown, amidst the tumult of Madrid.
“How frightful was their silence, and their shade, Grief in my heart, despair upon my look, In torch-light, as their victim they convey'd, With no companion save my beads and book, By dark-inscribed and massy-window'd walls, My morsel with affliction's sons to share, Through the dim twilight of terrific halls ;
To tend the sick and poor, my only care(For thou hast heard me speak of that foul stain Forgotten, thus I lived, till day by day Of pure religion, and the rites of Spain)-
Had worn nigh thirteen years of grief away. Whilst the high windows shook to night's cold “One winter's night, when I had closed my cell blast,
And bid the labours of the day farewell, And echoed to the foot-fall as we pass'd!
An aged crone approach'd, with panting breat“ They left me, faint and breathless with affright, She bade me hasten to the house of death. In a cold cell, to solitude and night;
"I came—with moving lips intent to pray, 0! think, what horror through the heart must thrill | A dying woman on a pallet lay; When the last bolt was barr'd, and all at once was Her lifted hands were wasted to the bone, still.
And ghastly on her look the lamp-light shone; “ Nor day nor night was here, but a deep gloom, Beside the bed a pious daughter stands Sadder than darkness, wrapt the living tomb. Silent, and weeping, kisses her pale hands.
"Feebly she spoke, and raised her languid head * Of Moorish architecture.
1. Forgive, forgive! they told me he was dead!
But in the sunshine of that dreadful day,
I need not say the sequel--not unmoved
Poor Indiana heard thy tale, and loved
Your years, your fortunes, and your friend the I saw his lips-(0 hide them, God of love!)
same: I saw his livid lips, half muttering, move,
Both early of a parent's care bereft, To curse the maid, forgetful of her vow;
Both strangers in a world of sadness left, Perhaps he lives to curse-to curse me now ! I mark'd each slowly struggling thought-I shed “ “ He lives to bless!! I cried; and drawing | A tear of love paternal on each head, nigh,
And, while I saw her timid eyes incline, Held up the crucifix: her heavy eye
Bless'd the affection that has made her thine! She raised, and scarce pronounced — Does he yet “Here let the murmurs of despondence cease: live?
There is a God--believe--and part in peace!” Can he his lost, his dying child forgive ?
Rich hues illumed the track of parting day Will God forgive-the Lord who bled-will He? As the great sun sunk in the western bay, Ah, no! there is no mercy left for me!'.
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.
When at a distance, on the dewy plain, She knew me-her exhausted breath, with pain, In mingled group appear'd an Indian train, Drawing, she press'd my hand, and spoke again. Men, women, children, round Anselmo press,
“* By a false guardian's cruel wiles deceived, “ Farewell !" they cried. He raised his hand to The tale of fraudsul falsehood I believed;
bless, And thought thee dead! he gave the stern com- And said, “ My children, may the God above mand,
Still lead you in the paths of peace and love: And bade me take the rich Antonio's hand.
To-morrow, and we part; when I am gone, I knelt, implored, embraced my guardian's knees- Raise on this spot a cross, and place a stone, Ruthless inquisitor! he held the keys
That tribes unborn may some memorial have Of the dark torture-house.* Trembling for life, T(When I far off am mouldering in the grave) Yes--I became a sad, heart-broken-wife! Of that poor messenger, who tidings bore, Yet curse me not! of every human care
Of gospel mercy, to your distant shore.” Already my full heart has had its share.
The crowd retired-along the twilight gray, Abandon'd-left in youth to want and wo!
The condor swept its solitary way; O! let these tears, that agonizing flow,
The fire-flies shone, when to the hermit's cell Witness how deep e'en now my heart is rent: Who hastens but the minstrel, Zarinel? Yet one is lovely-one is innocent!
In foreign lands, far from his native home, Protect-protect-(and faint in death she smiled) | 'Twas his, a gay romantic youth to roam • When I am dead--protect my orphan child! With a light cittern o'er his shoulders slung,
“ The dreadful prison, that so long detain'd Where'er he pass'd he play'd, and loved, and sung My wasting life, her dying words explain'd. And thus accomplish'a, late had join'd the train The wretched priest, who wounded roe by stealth, of gallant soldiers on the southern plain. Barter'd her love, her innocence, for wealth. “ Father," he cried, “ uncertain of the fate
"I laid her bones in earth: the chanted hymu That may to-morrory's toilsome march await, Echoed along the hollow cloister dim:
For long will be the road, I would confess I heard, far off, the bell funereal toll,
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!'
Whose trusting love my careless heart betray'd, Far o'er the western ocean I conveyd,
Say, may I speak ?” And Indiana callid--the orphan maid:
“Say on,” the father cried ; Beneath my eye she grew--and, day by day, "Nor be to penitence all hope denied." Seem'd, grateful, every kindness to repay.
“ Then hear, Anselmo! From a very child “ Renouncing Spain, her cruelties and crimes, I loved all fancies, marvellous and wild; Amid untutor'd tribes, in distant climes,
I turn'd from truth, to listen to the lore 'Twas mine to spread the light of truth, or save Of many an old and fabling troubadour. From stripes and torture the poor Indian slave. Thus, with impassion'd heart and wayward mind, I saw thee, young and innocent-alone,
To dreams and shapes of shadowy things resign'a, Cast on the mercies of a race unknown;
I left my native vales and village home, I saw, in dark adversity's cold hour,
Wide c'er the world a minstrel boy to roam. Thy virtues blooming, like a winter's flower; "I never shall forget the day-the hour,From chains and slavery I redeem'd thy youth, | When, all my soul resign'd to fancy's power, Pour'd on thy sight the beams of heavenly truth; First, from the snowy Pyrenees, I cast By thy warm heart and mild demeanour won, My labouring vision o'er the landscape vast, Call’d thee my other child-rny age's son.
And saw beneath my feet long vapours float, | Streams, mountains, woods, and ocean's mist re
mote. • Perhaps it may not be improper to mention, that Se.
My mountain guide, a soldier, poor and old, yille was the first place in Spain in which the Inquisition
Who tales of Cortez and Balboa told, was esiablished in 14-1.
Won my young ear, when pausing to survey | O’erhung with icy summits :--to be brief,
She was the daughter of an aged chief;
Show'd mercy, for himself had lost a son. Were but as sand-hills-ancient forests rude, The father spoke not:--by the pine wood blaze, In measureless extent of solitude,
The daughter stood, and turn'd a cake of maize. Stretching their wild and unknown world of shade! | And then, as sudden shone the light, I saw Full blithe he then described the Indian maid Such features as no artist hand might draw. Graceful and agile as the marmozet,
Her form, her face, her symmetry, her air-Whose eyes of radiance and whose locks of jet, Father! thy age must this recital spare-Though bow'd by want and age, he never could she saved my life--and kindness, if not love, forget.
Might sure in time the coldest bosom more. “My ardent fancy follow'd while he spoke Mine was not cold-she loved to hear me sing, Of lakes, savannahs, or the cataract's smoke, And sometimes touch'd with playful hand the Or some strange tale of perilous wandering told,
string : By waters, through remotest regions rollid: And when I waked some melancholy strain, How shone the woods with pomp of plumage gay, She wept, and smiled, and bade me sing again : And how the green bird mock'd and talk'd all And sometimes on the turf reclined, I tried day!
Her erring hand along the wires to guide ; “ Imagination thus, in colours new,
Then chiding, with a kiss, the rude essay, This distant world presented to my view;
Taught her some broken saraband to play ; Young, and enchanted with the fancied scene, Whilst the loud parrot, from the neighbouriog tree, I cross'd the toiling seas that roar'd between, On laughing echo call’d to join our glee. And, with ideal images impressid,
“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,
She raised her eyes with tenderness, and cried, I left Callao's crowded port behind,
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 herethrew
When thou art sad, I will kiss off the tear: Upon the lessening summits of Peru.
Thou shalt forget thy father's land, and see Some sheep, the armed peasants drove before, A friend, a sister, and a child, in me.' That all our food through the wild passes bore, So many a happy day in this deep glen, Had wander'd in the frost smoke of the morn, Far from the noise of life, and sounds of men, Far from the tract-I blew the signal horn
Was pass'd! Nay! father, the sad sequel hear; But echo only answer'd. 'Mid the snows,
'Twas now the leafy spring-time of the yearWilder'd and lost, I saw the evening close.
Ambition call'd me: True, I knew, to part, The sun was setting in the crimson west;
Would break her generous and her trusting heartIn all the earth I had no home of rest;
True, I had vowd-but now estranged and cold, The last sad light upon the ice-hills shone; She saw my look, and shudderd to beholdI seem'd forsaken in a world unknown ;
She would go with me-leave the lonely glade How did my cold and sinking heart rejoice, Where she grew up, but my stern voice forbade. When! hark! methought I heard a hunn voice. She hid her face and wept,- Go then away,' It might be some wild Indian's roving troop; (Father, methinks een now I hear her say,) Or the dread echo of their distant whoop-
Go to thy distant land-forget this tearStill it was human, and I seem'd to find
Forget these rocks,-forget I once was dear. Again some commerce with remote mankind. Fly to the world, o'er the wide ocean fly, The voice is nearer, rising through the shade-- And leave me, upremember'd, here to die! Is it the song of a rude mountain maid?
Yet to my father should I all relate, And now I heard the tread of hastening feet, Death, instant death, would be a traitor's fate!" And, in the western glen, a llama bleat.
« Nor fear, nor pity, moved my stubborn mind I listen d--all is still--but hark ! again
I left her sorrows and the scene behindNear and more near is heard the welcome strain : I sought Valdivia on the southern plain, It is a wild maid's carolling, who seeks
And join'd the careless military train :-
Truant,' she cried, “thy lurking place is found.” Father, I absolution crave from thee."
“Yes! thoughtless youth, my absolution hear. Gaze breathless with astonishment and awe: First, by deep penitence the wrong atone, What instant terrors to her fancy rose!
Then absolution ask from God alone! Ha! is it not the spirit of the snows?
Yet stay, and to my warning voice attend-But when she saw me, weary, cold, and weak, O, hear me as a father, and a friend! Stretch forth my hand, (for now I could not speak,) | Let truth severe be wayward fancy's guide, She pitied, raised me from the snows, and led Let stern-eyed conscience o’er each thought pie My faltering footsteps to her father's shed;
sideThe llama follow'd with her tinkling bell: The passions, that on noblest natures prey, The dwelling rose within a craggy dell,
10! cast them, like corroding bonds, away!