University of Virginia Library

XVIII.

There's a splendour 'neath yon cloud,
Ye may see the ray of light,
Like a spirit from its-shroud,
Bursting on the gazer's sight!
On the outer edge, like gold,
How it shadows still the dense,
And rugged vestment's every fold,
With a high magnificence.
So on Guatimozin's brow,
Gleam'd his scorn's unnatural glow,
Shining on his sullen mien,
Like the moon, with silver sheen,
On the sable robe of night,
Edging it with wavy light—
And his accents flow in scorn,
Tho' upon the engine torn.
“Greedy adventurer, dar'st thou say,
Thy Gods have sent thee forth to prey
With tiger lip, upon the brave,
Whose land, by thee, is one wide grave,
Where sleep her murder'd sons, her king,
Each brave and generous living thing,
'Till all around is dark and foul,
And made even fit for thee, to prowl,
As fiends in kindred darkness, when at night,
They move, lit only by hell's sulph'ry light!
Seek'st thou the yellow ore, the spoil,
For which, thou'st borne uncounted toil,
Worthy, in better cause, to claim,
More than thou hast, or cravest, fame?
Then know thy labour needless—well
I knew, this furniture of hell,
Had been thy sole regard—and when
I drew to head my gallant men,
At the high city, 'neath its wave,
Our coffers found a ready grave;
There with its yellow sands, our gold.
Thro' distant nations shall be roll'd,
Glad poverty, destroy disease,
And lend the needy, life and ease,
But never shall delight thine eye
With its rank, baneful luxury.”