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

[223] From Mungo Park.

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

CANTO SIXTH.

ARGUMENT.

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

The second moon had now begun to wane, Since bold Valdivia left the southern plain; Goal of his labours, Penco's port and bay, Far gleaming to the summer sunset lay. The wayworn veteran, who had slowly passed Through trackless woods, or o'er savannahs vast, With hope impatient sees the city spires Gild the horizon, like ascending fires. Now well-known sounds salute him, as more near The citadel and battlements appear; 10 The approaching trumpets ring at intervals; The trumpet answers from the rampart walls, Where many a maiden casts an anxious eye, Some long-lost object of her love to espy, Or watches, as the evening light illumes The points of lances, or the passing plumes. The grating drawbridge and the portal-arch, Now echo to the long battalion's march; Whilst every eye some friend remembered greets, Amid the gazing crowd that throngs the streets. 20 As bending o'er his mule, amid the throng, Pensive and pale, Anselmo rode along, How sacred, 'mid the noise of arms, appeared His venerable mien and snowy beard! Whilst every heart a silent prayer bestowed, Slow to the convent's massy gate he rode: Around, the brothers, gratulating, stand, And ask for tidings of the southern land. As from the turret tolls the vesper bell, He seeks, a weary man, his evening cell, 30 No sounds of social cheer, no beds of state, Nor gorgeous canopies his coming wait; But o'er a little bread, with folded hands, Thanking the God that gave, a while he stands; Then, while all thoughts of earthly sorrow cease, Upon his pallet lays him down in peace. The scene how different, where the castle-hall Rings to the loud triumphant festival: A hundred torches blaze, and flame aloof, Long quivering shadows streak the vaulted roof,— 40 Whilst, seen far off, the illumined windows throw A splendour on the shore and seas below. Amid his captains, in imperial state, Beneath a crimson canopy, elate, Valdivia sits—and, striking loud the strings, The wandering ministrel of Valentia sings. For Chili conquered, fill the bowl again! For Chili conquered, raise the heroic strain! Lautaro left the hall of jubilee Unmarked, and wandered by the moonlit sea: 50 He heard far off, in dissonant acclaim, The song, the shout, and his loved country's name. As swelled at times the trump's insulting sound, He raised his eyes impatient from the ground; Then smote his breast indignantly, and cried, Chili! my country; would that I had died On the sad night of that eventful day When on the ground my murdered father lay! I should not then, dejected and alone, Have thought I heard his injured spirit groan. 60 Ha! was it not his form—his face—his hair? Hold, soldier! stern, inhuman soldier, spare! Ha! is it not his blood? Avenge, he cries, Avenge, my son, these wounds! He faints—he dies! Leave me, dread shadow! Can I then forget My father's look—his voice? He beckons yet! Now on that glimmering rock I see him stand: Avenge! he cries, and waves his dim-seen hand! Thus mused the youth, distempered and forlorn, When, hark! the sound as of a distant horn 70 Swells o'er the surge! he turned his look around, And still, with many a pause, he heard the sound: It came from yonder rocks; and, list! what strain Breaks on the silence of the sleeping main? I heard the song of gladness; It seemed but yesterday, But it turned my thoughts to madness, So soon it died away: I sound my sea-shell; but in vain I try To bring back that enchanting harmony! 80 Hark! heard ye not the surges say, Oh! heartless maid, what canst thou do? O'er the moon-gleaming ocean, I'll wander away, And paddle to Spain in my light canoe! The youth drew near, by the strange accents led, Where in a cave, wild sea-weeds round her head, And holding a large sea-conch in her hand, He saw, with wildering air, an Indian maiden stand. 90 A tattered poncho o'er her shoulders hung; On either side her long black locks were flung; And now by the moon's glimmer, he espies Her high cheek-bones, and bright but hollow eyes. Lautaro spoke: Oh! say what cruel wrong Weighs on thy heart, maiden, what bodes thy song? She answered not, but blew her shell again; Then thus renewed the desultory strain: Yes, yes, we must forget! the world is wide; My music now shall be the dashing tide: 100 In the calm of the deep I will frolic and swim— With the breath of the South o'er the sea-blossom[225] skim. If ever, stranger, on thy way, Sounds, more than earthly sweet, thy soul should move, It is the youth! Oh! do not say— That poor Olola died for love. Lautaro stretched his hand; she said, Adieu! And o'er the glimmering rocks like lightning flew. He followed, and still heard at distance swell The lessening echoes of that mournful shell. 110 It ceased at once; and now he heard no more Than the sea's murmur dying on the shore. Olola!—ha! his sister had that name! Oh, horrid fancies! shake not thus his frame! All night he wandered by the desert main, To catch the melancholy sounds again. No torches blaze in Penco's castled hall That echoed to the midnight festival. The weary soldiers by their toils oppressed, Had now retired to silence and to rest. 120 The minstrel only, who the song had sung Of noble Cid, as o'er the strings he hung, Upon the instrument had fall'n asleep, Weary, and now was hushed in slumbers deep. Tracing the scenes long past, in busy dreams Again he wanders by his native streams; Or sits, his evening saraband to sing To the clear Garonne's gentle murmuring. Cold o'er the fleckered clouds the morning broke Aslant ere from his slumbers he awoke; 130 Still as he sat, nor yet had left the place, The first dim light fell on his pallid face. He wakes—he gazes round—the dawning day Comes from the deep, in garb of cloudy gray. The woods with crow of early turkeys ring, The glancing birds beneath the castle sing, And the sole sun his rising orb displays, Radiant and reddening, through the scattered haze. To recreate the languid sense a while, When earth and ocean wore their sweetest smile, 140 He wandered to the beach: the early air Blew soft, and lifted, as it blew, his hair; Flushed was his cheek; his faded eye, more bright, Shone with a faint but animated light, While the soft morning ray seemed to bestow On his tired mind a transient kindred glow. As thus, with shadow stretching o'er the sand, He mused and wandered on the winding strand, At distance tossed upon the tumbling tide, A dark and floating substance he espied. 150 He stood, and where the eddying surges beat, An Indian corse was rolled beneath his feet: The hollow wave retired with sullen sound; The face of that sad corse was to the ground; It seemed a female, by the slender form; He touched the hand—it was no longer warm; He turned its face—O God! that eye, though dim, Seemed with its deadly glare as fixed on him! How sunk his shuddering sense, how changed his hue, When poor Olola in that corse he knew! 160 Lautaro, rushing from the rocks, advanced; His keen eye, like a startled eagle's glanced: 'Tis she!—he knew her by a mark impressed From earliest infancy beneath her breast. Oh, my poor sister! when all hopes were past Of meeting, do we meet—thus meet—at last! Then full on Zarinel, as one amazed, With rising wrath and stern suspicion gazed; For Zarinel still knelt upon the sand, And to his forehead pressed the dead maid's hand. 170 Speak! whence art thou? Pale Zarinel, his head Upraising answered, Peace is with the dead! Him dost thou seek who injured thine and thee? Here—strike the fell assassin—I am he! Die! he exclaimed, and with convulsive start Instant had plunged the dagger in his heart, When the meek father, with his holy book, And placid aspect, met his frenzied look. 180 He trembled—struck his brow—and, turning round, Flung the uplifted dagger to the ground. Then murmured: Father, Heaven has heard thy prayer— But oh! the sister of my soul lies there! The Christian's God has triumphed! father, heap Some earth upon her bones, whilst I go weep! Anselmo with calm brow approached the place, And hastened with his staff his faltering pace: Ho! child of guilt and wretchedness, he cried, Speak!—Holy father, the sad youth replied, 190 God bade the seas the accusing victim roll Dead at my feet, to teach my shuddering soul Its guilt: Oh! father, holy father, pray That heaven may take the deep, dire curse away! Oh! yet, Anselmo cried, live and repent, For not in vain was this dread warning sent; The deep reproaches of thy soul I spare, Go! seek Heaven's peace by penitence and prayer. The youth arose, yet trembling from the shock, And severed from the dead maid's hair a lock; 200 This to his heart with trembling hand he pressed, And dried the salt-sea moisture on his breast. They laid her limbs within the sea-beat grave, And prayed: Her soul, O blessed Mary, save!

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

CANTO SEVENTH.

ARGUMENT.

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

The watchman on the tower his bugle blew, And swelling to the morn the streamers flew; The rampart-guns a dread alarum gave, Smoke rolled, and thunder echoed o'er the wave; When, starting from his couch, Valdivia cried, What tidings? Of the tribes! a scout replied; Ev'n now, prepared thy bulwarks to assail, Their gathering numbers darken all the vale! Valdivia called to the attendant youth, Philip, he cried, belike thy words have truth; 10 The formidable host, by holy James, Might well appal our priests and city dames! Dost thou not fear? Nay—dost thou not reply? Now by the rood, and all the saints on high, I hold it sin that thou shouldst lift thy hand Against thy brothers in thy native land! But, as thou saidst, those mighty enemies Me and my feeble legions would despise. Yes, by our holy lady, thou shalt ride, Spectator of their prowess, by my side! 20 Come life, come death, our battle shall display Its ensigns to the earliest beam of day! With louder summons ring the rampart-bell, And haste the shriving father from his cell; A soldier's heart rejoices in alarms: And let the trump at midnight sound to arms! And now, obedient to the chief's commands, The gray-haired priest before the soldier stands. Father, Valdivia cried, fierce are our foes,— The last event of war GOD only knows;— 30 Let mass be sung; father, this very night I would attend the high and holy rite. Yet deem not that I doubt of victory, Or place defeat or death before mine eye; It blenches not! But, whatsoe'er befall, Good father, I would part in peace with all. So, tell Lautaro—his ingenuous mind Perhaps may grieve, if late I seemed unkind:— Hear my heart speak, though far from virtue's way Ambition's lure hath led my steps astray, 40 No wanton exercise of barbarous power Harrows my shrinking conscience at this hour. If hasty passions oft my spirit fire, They flash a moment and the next expire; Lautaro knows it. There is somewhat more: I would not, here—here, on this distant shore (Should they, the Indian multitudes, prevail, And this good sword and these firm sinews fail) Amid my deadly enemies be found, "Unhouseled, ananealed," upon the ground, 50 A dying man;—thy look, thy reverend age, Might save my poor remains from barb'rous rage; And thou may'st pay the last sad obsequies, O'er the heaped earth where a brave soldier lies:— So GOD be with thee! By the torches' light, The slow procession moves; the solemn rite Is chanted: through the aisles and arches dim, At intervals, is heard the imploring hymn.[226] Now all is still, that only you might hear— 60 (The tall and slender tapers burning clear, Whose light Anselmo's palid brow illumes, Now glances on the mailed soldier's plumes) Hear, sounding far, only the iron tread, That echoed through the cloisters of the dead. Dark clouds are wandering o'er the heaven's wide way; Now from the camp, at times, a horse's neigh Breaks on the ear; and on the rampart height The sentinel proclaims the middle watch of night. By the dim taper's solitary ray, 70 Tired, in his tent, the sovereign soldier lay. Meantime, as shadowy dreams arise, he roams 'Mid bright pavilions and imperial domes, Where terraces, and battlements, and towers, Glisten in air o'er rich romantic bowers. Sudden the visionary pomp is past; The vacant court sounds to the moaning blast; A dismal vault appears, where, with swoll'n eyes, As starting from their orbs, a dead man lies. It is Almagro's[227] corse!—roll on, ye drums, 80 Lo! where the great, the proud Pizarro comes! Her gold, her richest gems, let Fortune strew Before the mighty conqueror of Peru! Ah, turn, and see a dagger in his hand— With ghastly look—see the assassin stand! Pizarro falls;[228]—he welters in his gore! Lord of the western world, art thou no more! Valdivia, hark!—it was another groan! Another shadow comes, it is thy own! Ah, bind not thus his arms!—give, give him breath! 90 Wipe from his bleeding brow those damps of death! Valdivia, starting, woke. He is alone: The taper in his tent yet dimly shone. Lautaro, haste! he cried; Lautaro, save Thy dying master! Ah! is this the brave, The haughty victor? Hush, the dream is past! The early trumpets ring the second blast! Arm, arm! Ev'n now, the impatient charger neighs! Again, from tent to tent the trumpet brays! By torch-light, then, Valdivia gave command, 100 Haste, let Del Oro take a chosen band, With watchful caution, on his fleetest steed, A troop observant on the heights to lead. Now beautiful, beneath the heaven's gray arch, Appeared the main battalion's moving march; The banner of the cross was borne before, And next, with aspect sad, and tresses hoar, The holy man went thoughtfully and pressed A crucifix, in silence, to his breast. Valdivia, all in burnished steel arrayed, 110 Upon whose crest the morn's effulgence played, Majestic reined his steed, and seemed alone, Worthy the southern world's imperial throne. His features through the barred casque that glow, His pole-axe pendent from the saddle-bow; His dazzling armour, and the glitter bright Of his drawn sabre, in the orient light, Speak him not, now, for knightly tournament Arrayed, but on emprise of prowess bent, And deeds of deadly strife. In blooming pride, 120 The attendant youth rode, pensive, by his side. Their pennoned lances, waving in the wind, Two hundred clanking horsemen tramped behind, In iron harness clad. The bugles blew, And high in air the sanguine ensigns flew. The arbalasters{j} next, with cross-bows slung, Marched, whilst the plumed Moors their cymbals swung. Auxiliar-Indians here, a various train. With spears and bows, darkened the distant plain; Drums rolled, and fifes re-echoed shrill and clear, 130 At intervals, as near and yet more near, While flags and intermingled halberds shine, The long battalion drew its passing line. Last rolled the heavy guns, a sable tier, By Indians drawn, with matchmen in the rear; And many a straggling mule and sumpter-train Closed the embattled order on the plain, Till nought beneath the azure sky appears But the projecting points of scarce-discovered spears, Slow up the hill, with floating vapours hoar, 140 Or by the blue lake's long retiring shore, Now seen distinct, through the disparting haze, The glittering file its bannered length displays; Now winding from the woods, again appears The moving line of matchlocks and of spears. Part seen, part lost; the long illustrious march Circling the swamp, now draws its various arch; And seems, as on it moves, meandering slow, A radiant segment of a living bow. Five days the Spaniards, trooping in array, 150 O'er plains and headlands, held their eastern way. On the sixth early dawn, with shuddering awe And horror, in the last defile they saw Ten pendent heads, from which the gore still run, All gashed, and grim, and blackening in the sun. These were the gallant troop that passed before, The Indians' vast encampment to explore, Led by Del Oro, now with many a wound Pierced, and a headless trunk upon the ground. The horses startled, as they tramped in blood; 160 The troops a moment half-recoiling stood. But boots not now to pause, or to retire; Valdivia's eye flashed with indignant fire: Follow! he cried, brave comrades, to the hill! And instant shouts the pealing valley fill. And now, up to the hill's ascending crest, With animated look and beating breast, He urged his steed; when, wide beneath his eye, He saw, in long expanse, Arauco's valley lie. Far as the labouring sight could stretch its glance, 170 One undulating mass of club and lance, One animated surface seemed to fill The many-stirring scene from hill to hill: To the deep mass he pointed with his sword, Banner, advance! give out "Castile!" the word. Instant the files advance, the trumpets bray, And now the host in terrible array, Ranged on the heights that overlook the plain, Has halted! But the task were long and vain 180 To tell what nations, from the seas that roar Round Patagonia's melancholy shore; From forests, brown with everlasting shades; From rocks of sunshine, white with prone cascades; From snowy summits, where the Llama roams, Oft bending o'er the cataract as it foams; From streams whose bridges[229] tremble from the steep; From lakes, in summer's sweetest light asleep; Indians, of sullen brow and giant limb, With clubs terrific, and with aspects grim, 190 Flocked fearless. When they saw the Spanish line Arrayed, and front to front, descending shine, Burst, instant burst, the universal cry, (Ten thousand spears uplifted to the sky)— Tyrants, we come to conquer or to die! Grim Mariantu led the Indian force A-left; and, rushing to the foremost horse, Hurled with unerring aim the involving thong, Then fearless sprang amidst the mailed throng. 200 Valdivia saw the horse, entangled, reel, And shouting, as he rode, Castile! Castile! Led on the charge: like a descending flood, It swept, till every spur was black with blood. His force a-right, where Harratomac led, A thousand spears went hissing overhead, And feathered arrows, of each varying hue, In glancing arch, beneath the sunbeams flew. Dire was the strife, when ardent Teucapel Advancing in the front of carnage fell. 210 At once, Ongolmo, Elicura, rushed, And swaying their huge clubs together, crushed Horseman and horse; then bathed their hands in gore, And limb from limb the panting carcase tore. Caupolican, where the main battle bleeds, Hosts and succeeding hosts undaunted leads, Till, torn and shattered by the ceaseless fire, Thousands, with gnashing teeth, and clenched spears, expire. Pierced by a hundred wounds, Ongolmo lies, And grasps his club terrific as he dies. 220 With breathless expectation, on the height, Lautaro watched the long and dubious fight: Pale and resigned the meek man stood, and pressed More close the holy image to his breast. Now nearer to the fight Lautaro drew, When on the ground a warrior met his view, Upon whose features memory seemed to trace A faint resemblance of his father's face; O'er him a horseman, with collected might, Raised his uplifted sword, in act to smite, 230 When the youth springing on, without a word, Snatched from a soldier's wearied grasp his sword, And smote the horseman through the crest: a yell Of triumph burst, as to the ground he fell. Lautaro{k} shouted, On! brave brothers, on! Scatter them like the snow!—the day is won! Lo, I! Lautaro{k},—Attacapac's son! The Indians turn: again the battle bleeds, Cleft are the helms and crushed the struggling steeds. The bugle sounds, and faint with toil and heat, 240 Some straggling horsemen to the hills retreat. Stand, brave companions! bold Valdivia cried, And shook his sword, in recent carnage dyed; Oh! droop not—droop not yet—all is not o'er— Brave, faithful friends, one glorious sally more. Where is Lautaro! leaps his willing sword Now to avenge his long-indulgent lord! He waited not for answer, but again Spurred to the centre of the horrid plain. Clubs, arrows, spears, the spot of death inclose, 250 And fainter now the Spanish shouts arose. 'Mid ghastly heaps of many a bleeding corse, Lies the caparisoned and dying horse. While still the rushing multitudes assail, Vain is the fiery tube, the twisted mail! The Spanish horsemen faint; long yells resound, As the dragged ensign trails the gory ground: Shout, for the chief is seized!—a thousand cries Burst forth—Valdivia! for the sacrifice! And lo, in silent dignity resigned, 260 The meek Anselmo, led in bonds, behind! His hand upon his breast, young Zarinel Amidst a group of mangled Indians fell; The spear that to his heart a passage found Left poor Olola's hair within the wound. Now all is hushed, save where, at times, alone, Deep midnight listens to a distant moan; Save where the condors clamour, overhead, And strike with sounding beaks the helmets of the dead.

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

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

[228] Pizarro was assassinated.

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

CANTO EIGHTH.

ARGUMENT.

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

The morn returns, and, reddening, seems to shed One ray of glory on the patriot-dead. Round the dark stone, the victor-chiefs behold! Still on their locks the gouts of gore hang cold! There stands the brave Caupolican, the pride Of Chili, young Lautaro, by his side! Near the grim circle, pendent from the wood, Twelve hundred Spanish heads are dripping blood. Shrill sound the notes of death: in festive dance, The Indian maids with myrtle boughs advance; 10 The tinkling sea-shells on their ancles ring, As, hailing thus the victor-youth, they sing:—

SONG OF INDIAN MAIDS.

Oh, shout for Lautaro, the young and the brave! The arm of whose strength was uplifted to save, When the steeds of the strangers came rushing amain, And the ghosts of our fathers looked down on the slain!

'Twas eve, and the noise of the battle was o'er, Five thousand brave warriors were cold in their gore; When, in front, young Lautaro invincible stood, And the horses and iron-men rolled in their blood!

As the snows of the mountain are swept by the blast, The earthquake of death o'er the white men has passed; Shout, Chili, in triumph! the battle is won, And we dance round the heads that are black in the sun!

Lautaro, as if wrapt in thought profound, Oft turned an anxious look inquiring round. He is not here!—Say, does my father live? 15 Ere eager voices could an answer give, With faltering footsteps and declining head, And slowly by an aged Indian led, Wounded and weak the mountain chief appears: Live, live! Lautaro cried, with bursting tears, 20 And fell upon his neck, and, kissing, pressed, With folding arms, his gray hairs to his breast. Oh, live! I am thy son—thy long-lost child! The warrior raised his look, and faintly smiled; Chili, my country, is avenged! he cried: My son!—then sunk upon a shield—and died. Lautaro knelt beside him, as he bowed, And kissed his bleeding breast, and wept aloud. The sounds of sadness through the circle ran, When thus, with lifted axe, Caupolican: 30 What, for our fathers, brothers, children, slain, Canst thou repay, ruthless, inhuman Spain? Here, on the scene with recent slaughter red, To sooth the spirits of the brave who bled, Raise we, to-day, the war-feast of the dead. Bring forth the chief in bonds! Fathers, to-day Devote we to our gods the noblest prey! Lautaro turned his eyes, and, gazing round, Beheld Valdivia and Anselmo bound! One stood in arms, as with a stern despair, 40 His helmet cleft in twain, his temples bare, Where streaks of blood that dropped upon his mail, Served but to show his face more deadly pale: His eyebrows, dark and resolute, he bent, And stood, composed, to wait the dire event. Still on the cross his looks Anselmo cast, As if all thought of this vain world was passed, And in a world of light, without a shade, Ev'n now his meek and guileless spirit strayed. Where stood the Spanish chief, a muttering sound 50 Rose, and each club was lifted from the ground; When, starting from his father's corse, his sword Waving before his once-triumphant lord, Lautaro cried, My breast shall meet the blow: But save—save him, to whom my life I owe! Valdivia marked him with unmoving eye, Then looked upon his bonds, nor deigned reply; When Harratomac, stealing with slow pace, And lifting high his iron-jagged mace, Smote him to earth; a thousand voices rose, 60 Mingled with shouts and yells, So fall our foes! Lautaro gave to tears a moment's space, As black in death he marked Valdivia's face, Then cried—Chiefs, friends, and thou, Caupolican, Oh, spare this innocent and holy man! He never sailed, rapacious, o'er the deep, The gold of blood-polluted lands to heap; He never gave the armed hosts his aid, But meekly to the Mighty Spirit prayed, That in all lands the sounds of woe might cease, 70 And brothers of the wide world dwell in peace! The victor-youth saw generous sympathy Already steal to every warrior's eye; Then thus again: Oh, if this filial tear Bear witness my own father was most dear; If this uplifted arm, this bleeding steel Speak for my country what I felt and feel; If, at this hour, I meet her high applause, While my heart beats still ardent in her cause;— Hear, and forgive these tears that grateful flow, 80 Oh! hear, how much to this poor man I owe! I was a child—when to my sire's abode, In Chillan's vale, the armed horsemen rode: Me, whilst my father cold and breathless lay, Far off the crested soldiers bore away, And for a captive sold. No friend was near, To mark a young and orphan stranger's tear! This humble man, with kind parental care, Snatched me from slavery—saved from dark despair; And as my years increased, protected, fed, 90 And breathed a father's blessings on my head. A Spanish maid was with him: need I speak? Behold, affection's tear still wets my cheek! Years, as they passed, matured in ripening grace Her form unfolding, and her beauteous face: She heard my orphan tale; she loved to hear, And sometimes for my fortunes dropped a tear. I could have bowed to direst ills resigned, But wept at looks so sweet, at words so kind. Valdivia saw me, now in blooming age, 100 And claimed me from the father as his page; The chief too cherished me, yea, saved my life, When in Peru arose the civil strife. Yet still remembering her I loved so well, Oft I returned to the gray father's cell: His voice instructed me; recalled my youth From rude idolatry to heavenly truth: Of this hereafter; he my darkling mind Cleared, and from low and sensual thoughts refined. Then first, with feelings new impressed, I strove 110 To hide the tear of tenderness and love: Amid the fairest maidens of Peru, My eyes, my heart, one only object knew: I lived that object's love and faith to share; He saw, and blessed us with a father's prayer. Here, at Valdivia's last and stern command, I came, a stranger in my native land! Anselmo (so him call—now most in need— And standing here in bonds, for whom I plead) Came, by our chief so summoned, and for aid 120 To the Great Spirit of the Christians prayed: Here as a son I loved him, but I left A wife, a child, of my fond cares bereft, Never to see again; for death awaits My entrance now in Lima's jealous gates. Caupolican, didst thou thy father love? Did his last dying look affection move? Pity this aged man; unbend thy brow: He was my father—is my father, now! Consenting mercy marks each warrior's mien. 130 But who is this, what pallid form is seen, As crushed already by the fatal blow, Bound, and with looks white as a wreath of snow, Her hands upon her breast, scarce drawn her breath, A Spanish woman knelt, expecting death, Whilst, borne by a dark warrior at her side, An infant shrunk from the red plumes, and cried! Lautaro started: Injured maid of Spain! Me!—me! oh, take me to thine arms again! 140 She heard his voice, and, by the scene oppressed, With one faint sigh fell senseless on his breast. Caupolican, with warm emotion, cried, Live, live! Lautaro and his beauteous bride! Live, aged father!—and forthwith commands A warrior to unbind Anselmo's hands. She raised her head: his eyes first met her view, As round Lautaro's neck her arms she threw, Ah, no! she feebly spoke; it is not true! It is some form of the distempered brain! 150 Then hid her face upon his breast again. Dark flashing eyes, terrific, glared around: Here, his brains scattered by the deadly wound, The Spanish chief lay on the gory ground. With lowering brows, and mace yet drooping blood, And clotted hair, there Mariantu stood. Anselmo here, sad, yet in sorrow mild, Appeared: she cried, A blessing on your child, And knelt, as slow revived her waking sense, And then, with looks aghast, Oh bear us hence! 160 Now all the assembled chiefs, assenting, cried, Live, live! Lautaro and his beauteous bride! With eager arms Lautaro snatched his boy, And kissed him in an agony of joy; Then to Anselmo gave, who strove to speak, And felt the tear first burning on his cheek: The infant held his neck with strict embrace, And kissed his pale emaciated face. From the dread scene, wet with Valdivia's gore, His wan and trembling charge Lautaro bore. 170 There was a bank, where slept the summer-light, A small stream whispering went in mazes bright, And stealing from the sea, the western wind Waved the magnolias on the slope inclined: The woodpecker, in glittering plumage green, And echoing bill, beneath the boughs was seen; And, arched with gay and pendent flowers above, The floripondio[230] its rich trellis wove. Lautaro bent, with looks of love and joy, O'er his yet trembling wife and beauteous boy: 180 Oh, by what miracle, beloved! say, Hast thou escaped the perils of the way From Lima, where our humble dwelling stood, To these tumultuous scenes, this vale of blood? Roused by his voice, as from the sleep of death, Faint she replied, with slow-recovering breath, Who shall express, when thou, best friend! wert gone, How sunk my heart!—deserted and alone! Would I were with thee! oft I sat and sighed, When the pale moon shone on the silent tide— 190 At length resolved, I sought thee o'er the seas: The brave bark cheer'ly went before the breeze, That arms and soldiers to Valdivia bore, From Lima bound to Chili's southern shore: I seized the fair occasion—ocean smiled, As to the sire I bore his lisping child. The storm arose: with loud and sudden shock The vessel sunk, disparting on a rock. Some mariners, amidst the billows wild, Scarce saved, in one small boat, me and my child. 200 What I have borne, a captive since that day— Forgive these tears—I scarce have heart to say! None pitied, save one gentle Indian maid— A wild maid—of her looks I was afraid; Her long black hair upon her shoulders fell, And in her hand she bore a wreathed shell. Lautaro for a moment turned aside, And, Oh, my sister! with faint voice he cried. Already free from sorrow and alarms, I clasped in thought a husband in my arms, 210 When a dark warrior, stationed on the height, Who held his solitary watch by night, Before me stood, and lifting high his lance, Exclaimed: No further, on thy life, advance! Faint, wearied, sinking to the earth with dread, Back to the dismal cave my steps he led. Only at eve, within the craggy cleft, Some water, and a cake of maize, were left. The thirteenth sun unseen went down the sky; When morning came, they brought me forth to die; But hushed be every sigh, each boding fear, Since all I sought on earth, and all I love, is here! 220 Her infant raised his hands, with glistening eye, To reach a large and radiant butterfly, That fluttered near his face; with looks of love, And truth and tenderness, Lautaro strove To calm her wounded heart; the holy sire, His eyes faint-lighted with a transient fire, Hung o'er them, and to Heaven his prayer addressed, While, with uplifted hands, he wept and blest. 230 An aged Indian came, with feathers crowned, And knelt before Lautaro on the ground. What tidings, Indian?

INDIAN.

When I led thy sire, Whom late thou saw'st upon his shield expire, Son of our Ulmen, didst thou mark no trace, In these sad looks, of a remembered face? Dost thou remember Izdabel? Look here! It is thy father's hatchet and his spear. Friend of my infant days, how I rejoice, 240 Lautaro cried, once more to hear that voice! Life like a dream, since last we met, has fled— Oh, my beloved sister, thou art dead!

INDIAN.

I come to guide thee through untrodden ways, To the lone valley, where thy father's days Were passed; where every cave and every tree, From morn to morn, reminded him of thee! Lautaro cried: Here, faithful Indian, stay; I have a last sad duty yet to pay. A little while we part:—thou here remain. 250 He spake, and passed like lightning o'er the plain. Ah, cease, Castilian maid, thy vain alarms! See where he comes—his father in his arms! Now lead, he cried. The Indian, sad and still, Paced on from wood to vale, from vale to hill; Her infant tired, and hushed a while to rest, Smiled, in a dream, upon its mother's breast; The pensive mother gray Anselmo led; Behind, Lautaro bore his father dead. Beneath the branching palms they slept at night; 260 The small birds waked them ere the morning light. Before their path, in distant view, appeared The mountain-smoke, that its dark column reared O'er Andes' summits, in the pale blue sky, Lifting their icy pinnacles so high. Four days they onward held their eastern way; On the fifth rising morn, before them lay Chillan's lone glen, amid whose windings green, The Warrior's loved and last abode was seen. No smoke went up, a stillness reigned around, 270 Save where the waters fell with soothing sound, Save where the Thenca sang so loud and clear, And the bright humming-bird was spinning near. Yet here all human tumults seemed to cease, And sunshine rested on the spot of peace; The myrtles bloomed as fragrant and as green As if Lautaro scarce had left the scene; And in his ear the falling waters' spray Seemed swelling with the sounds of yesterday. Where yonder rock the aged cedars shade, 280 There shall my father's bones in peace be laid. Beneath the cedar's shade they dug the ground; The small and sad communion gathered round. Beside the grave stood aged Izdabel, And broke the spear, and cried: Farewell, farewell! Lautaro hid his face, and sighed Adieu! As the stone hatchet in the grave he threw. The little child that to its mother clung, Stretched out its arm, then on her garment hung, With sidelong looks, half-shrinking, half-amazed, 290 And dropped its flowers, unconscious, as it gazed. And now Anselmo, his pale brow inclined, The honoured relics, dust to dust, consigned With Christian rites, and sung, on bending knee, "Eternam pacem dona, Domine." Then rising up he closed the holy book; And lifting in the beam his lighted look, (The cross, with meekness, folded on his breast), Here, too, he cried, my bones in peace shall rest! Few years remain to me, and never more 300 Shall I behold, O Spain! thy distant shore! Here lay my bones, that the same tree may wave O'er the poor Christian's and the Indian's grave. Oh, may it (when the sons of future days Shall hear our tale and on the hillock gaze), Oh, may it teach, that charity should bind, Where'er they roam, the brothers of mankind! The time shall come, when wildest tribes shall hear Thy voice, O Christ! and drop the slaughtering spear. Yet we condemn not him who bravely stood, 310 To seal his country's freedom with his blood; And if, in after-times, a ruthless band Of fell invaders sweep my native land, May she, by Chili's stern example led, Hurl back his thunder on the assailant's head; Sustained by Freedom, strike the avenging blow, And learn one virtue from her ancient foe!

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



END OF VOLUME I.

EDINBURGH: BALLANTYNE AND COMPANY, PRINTERS.



Transcriber's notes: The following were corrected in text as shown. They are indicated with curly brackets, thus: {a}.

{a} Pg iv: Alverstock => Alverstoke.

{b} Pg 26: mumuring => murmuring

{c} Pg 86: seene => scene

{d} Pg 100: TRANSATION => TRANSLATION

{e} Pg 152: fell => feel

{f} Pg 206: gallopped => galloped

{g} Pg 230: diffculty => difficulty

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

{j} Pg 354: arbalaster is probably a variation of arbalester or arbalister: a cross-bowman.

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

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

eventide even-tide eyeballs eye-balls eyelids eye-lids footfall foot-fall heartbroken heart-broken hedgerows hedge-rows outstretched out-stretched

THE END