University of Virginia Library

Search this document 
Poems and Plays

By William Hayley ... in Six Volumes. A New Edition

collapse sectionI. 
collapse section 
collapse section 
 I. 
 II. 
  
  
  
  
collapse section 
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
 II. 
 III. 
collapse sectionIV. 
collapse section 
  
  
  
collapse section 
 I. 
 II. 
 III. 
 IV. 
 V. 
 VI. 
 VII. 
 IX. 
 XII. 
 XIII. 
 XIV. 
 XX. 
 XXI. 
 XXXIII. 
  
  
  
collapse section 
  
  
 V. 

The hostile sword, now deeply dy'd in blood,
Drench'd the wide field with many a sanguine flood;
Courage still grows to form the fierce attack,
But wasted vigour makes the combat slack:
No pause they seek, to gain exhausted breath,
No rest, except the final rest of death:
The wariest combatants now only try
To snatch the sweets of vengeance ere they die.

106

The fierce disdain of death, and scorn of flight,
Give to our scanty troop such wond'rous might,
The Araucanian host begin to yield;
They quit with loss and shame the long-fought field:
They fly; and their pursuers shake the plain
With joyous shouts of Victory and Spain.
But dire mischance, and Fate's resistless sway,
Gave a strange issue to the dreadful day.
An Indian Youth, a noble Chieftain's son,
Who as our friend his martial feats begun,
Our Leader's Page, by him to battle train'd,
Who now beside him the hard fight sustain'd,
As he beheld his kindred Chiefs retire,
Felt an indignant flash of Patriot fire;
And thus incited to a glorious stand
The flying champions of his native land:
Misguided Country! by vain fear possest,
Ah whither dost thou turn thy timid breast?
Ye brave compatriots, shall your ancient fame
Be vilely buried in this field of shame?
Those laws, those rights, ye gloried to defend,
All perish, all, by this ignoble end!
From Chiefs of dreaded power, and honour'd worth,
Ye sink to abject slaves, the scorn of earth!
To the pure founders of your boasted race
Ye give the cureless wound of deep disgrace!

107

Behold the wasted vigour of your foe!
See, bath'd in sweat and blood, their coursers blow!
Lose not your mental force, your martial fires,
Our best inheritance from generous fires;
Sink not the noble Araucanian name
From glory's summit to the depths of shame;
Fly, fly the servitude your souls detest!
To the keen sword oppose the dauntless breast.
Why shew ye frames endued with manly power,
Yet shrink from danger in the trying hour?
Fix in your minds the friendly truth I speak;
Vain are your fears, your terror blind and weak:
Now make your names immortal; now restore
Freedom's lost blessings to your native shore:
Now turn, while Fame and Victory invite,
While prosp'rous Fortune calls you to the fight;
Or yet a moment cease, O cease to fly,
And for our country learn of me to die!
As thus he speaks, his eager steps advance,
And 'gainst the Spanish Chief he points his lance;
To lead his kindred fugitives from flight,
Singly he dares to tempt th' unequal fight:
Against our circling arms, that round him shine,
Eager he darts amidst the thickest line,
Keen as, when chaf'd by summer's fiery beam,
The young Stag plunges in the cooling stream.