 | The battle of Niagara |  |
247
CONQUEST OF PERU.
BOOK I.
BOOK I.
Invocation to the Deity ..... as the God of Battles ..... the Great Spirit ..... the Indian God ..... and the Source of inspiration ...... vision of the Spaniards ..... portentous appearances in heaven ..... coming of the first ship.
O THOU, the Everlasting!—Thou, O God!
Whose habitation is the universe—
Whose throne—eternity:—Jehovah! Thou,
Whose dwelling is all space, pavilioned o'er
With rolling worlds!—Omnipotent!—to thee—
The God of Battles, we uplift our prayer
And supplication!
We have seen thee ride
Upon the storm, with trumpeting and smoke,
And bloody clouds!—and all the heavens on fire
With horsemen! chariots! armed multitudes!
Banners! and shields and spears!
And seen the vaulted sky roll all together
Tumultuous—like the ocean in a storm:—
While all its glimmering verge—around our earth—
Stood thick with battlements—and turrets—towers
And ensigns—cherubim—and seraphim:—
The apparition of embattled gods—
Revealed in brief transparency:—arrayed
Dazzling! and terrible!—
—And heard the shout
Of countless armies!—neigh of steeds!—and o'er
The dark round firmament—a giddy host,
Of winged shadows, in the night, have seen
Up-swarming from a cloud!
While all about
The mountains nodded—and the waters heaved
Shouting and thunder rolled!—and all the skies
Were loud with battle, and with victory!
O Thou!—from whom the rebel angels fled,
When thou didst rend thine everlasting veil,
And show thy countenance in wrath! O thou!
Before whose brow, unclothed in light—put forth
In awful revelation—they that stood
Erect in heaven—they that walked sublime,
E'en in thy presence, Lord!—And they that shone
Most glorious 'mid the host of glorious ones:—
With Lucifer! The Morning star!—the Terrible!—
The chief of old Immortals—with the sight
Were suddenly consumed! Almighty! Thou,
Whose face but shone upon the rebel host
Of warring constellations—and their crowns
Were quenched for ever! And the mightiest fell!
And lo! innumerable wings went up,
And gathered round about the Eternal's throne—
And all the solitudes of air were filled
With thunders and with voices! And the war
Fled from thy presence! And thy wrath was o'er,
And heaven again in peace!
O Thou, the stay
Of men and angels—whose uplifted arm
Reached from the midnight firmament, and wrapped
In cloudy, blue, tempestuous light, hath led
Thine armies through the wilderness!—whose throne
Of whirlwind and of thunder, through the day
Was visible in heaven! Jehovah! Thou!
Captain of armies! Chief of countless wars!
Who, through the march of centuries, hath led
Thy chosen ones to battle!—Thou, whose shield,
Of vaulted darkness, hath been interposed
Between the blazing sun, and battling hosts,
When thy commissioned ones had done thy will—
Whose peaceful voice, along the troubled sky;
Hath re-established all the loosened hills—
Charmed the loud Ocean in his bed, and stayed
The sweeping tempest—turned the warrior back,
Recalled the chariot—reined the neighing steed—
And conquering wheel—and blood-drenched banner—all!
While raging in the war—
And once, for slaughter, held the rolling sun
Immoveable in heaven—'till the work
Of awful retribution had been done.
Whose habitation is the universe—
Whose throne—eternity:—Jehovah! Thou,
Whose dwelling is all space, pavilioned o'er
With rolling worlds!—Omnipotent!—to thee—
The God of Battles, we uplift our prayer
And supplication!
We have seen thee ride
Upon the storm, with trumpeting and smoke,
And bloody clouds!—and all the heavens on fire
With horsemen! chariots! armed multitudes!
Banners! and shields and spears!
And seen the vaulted sky roll all together
Tumultuous—like the ocean in a storm:—
While all its glimmering verge—around our earth—
Stood thick with battlements—and turrets—towers
And ensigns—cherubim—and seraphim:—
The apparition of embattled gods—
Revealed in brief transparency:—arrayed
Dazzling! and terrible!—
248
Of countless armies!—neigh of steeds!—and o'er
The dark round firmament—a giddy host,
Of winged shadows, in the night, have seen
Up-swarming from a cloud!
While all about
The mountains nodded—and the waters heaved
Shouting and thunder rolled!—and all the skies
Were loud with battle, and with victory!
O Thou!—from whom the rebel angels fled,
When thou didst rend thine everlasting veil,
And show thy countenance in wrath! O thou!
Before whose brow, unclothed in light—put forth
In awful revelation—they that stood
Erect in heaven—they that walked sublime,
E'en in thy presence, Lord!—And they that shone
Most glorious 'mid the host of glorious ones:—
With Lucifer! The Morning star!—the Terrible!—
The chief of old Immortals—with the sight
Were suddenly consumed! Almighty! Thou,
Whose face but shone upon the rebel host
Of warring constellations—and their crowns
Were quenched for ever! And the mightiest fell!
And lo! innumerable wings went up,
And gathered round about the Eternal's throne—
And all the solitudes of air were filled
With thunders and with voices! And the war
Fled from thy presence! And thy wrath was o'er,
And heaven again in peace!
O Thou, the stay
Of men and angels—whose uplifted arm
249
In cloudy, blue, tempestuous light, hath led
Thine armies through the wilderness!—whose throne
Of whirlwind and of thunder, through the day
Was visible in heaven! Jehovah! Thou!
Captain of armies! Chief of countless wars!
Who, through the march of centuries, hath led
Thy chosen ones to battle!—Thou, whose shield,
Of vaulted darkness, hath been interposed
Between the blazing sun, and battling hosts,
When thy commissioned ones had done thy will—
Whose peaceful voice, along the troubled sky;
Hath re-established all the loosened hills—
Charmed the loud Ocean in his bed, and stayed
The sweeping tempest—turned the warrior back,
Recalled the chariot—reined the neighing steed—
And conquering wheel—and blood-drenched banner—all!
While raging in the war—
And once, for slaughter, held the rolling sun
Immoveable in heaven—'till the work
Of awful retribution had been done.
O Thou, the God of Battles!—hear our prayer!
O bless our song!—in mercy fill our soul
With visions of the war!—O, let the wind
Be full of distant trumpets—rising horns—
And sounding hoofs, advancing o'er the hills!
O, let us, o'er the battlements of heaven,
The cloudy Andes—and the western Alps—
The habitation of the Indian-God—
O, let us see young trooping warriors pass!
The souls of gallant men that died in war;—
Each, with his bow and quiver!—each erect,
And firmly planted on his cloud! with spear
Couched for the coming white man—o'er his brow
The vulture's plumage—or the ragged mane
Of some young lion, that on earth he tore—
Or—arrow fixed—and bow-string fiercely drawn,
With eye immoveable—and burning dark
In deadliness and hate—his shoulder bare,
And sinewy limb—his sandals freshly bound
With bleeding tendons, from the panther torn,
Whose spotted skin is floating heavily
Upon the wind—and dripping darkly yet!
Let every cloud that moves along the heaven
Bear tumult in its bosom!—when it stoops,
Or rests upon the mountain top—or spreads
Its angry wings aloft—or, opening wide—
Reveals the bursting Tempest on her throne,
Amid her armoury of burnished shields—
And flaming spears—her lightnings all about
Shaking their fearful wings—her thunderbolts
Streaming with crimson flame—and armed shapes
All harnessing their chariots and their steeds—
To the loud trumpeting of air—O let us see
Armies with armies wrestling—banners spread!
The flaming cross to blazing suns opposed—
The warriors of the church in scarlet robes—
And glittering mail—and helmets studded o'er
With steel and gold—in war—with naked men!
Unarmed—defenceless—and oppressed with awe—
Children of Spain—with children of the Sun!
Castilian warriors trained in fields of blood;
Armed with thunder—lightning—and engaged
With suppliant red men—born and nursed in peace;
O let us hear the old Castilian cry!
God! and St. Jago!—the tremendous cry,
That, like an earthquake, shook the hills of Spain,
And tumbled to the earth the Moorish pride—
Darkened their crescent—rent the bloody veil
Of all their temples—scattered to the winds
Their streaming trophies—their impieties—
Their palaces and thrones!—O let us hear
That war cry peal again! And let us hear
The red-man's thrilling voice!—the Mexican!
And ringing battle axes—and the twang
Of brazen bows—and see the glittering flight
Of winged arrows flaming through the sky.
God of the Indian! Monarch of the skies!
O bear thy red right arm!—O bend thy bow,
Omnipotent!—and let thunders roll!
O bless our song!—in mercy fill our soul
With visions of the war!—O, let the wind
Be full of distant trumpets—rising horns—
And sounding hoofs, advancing o'er the hills!
O, let us, o'er the battlements of heaven,
The cloudy Andes—and the western Alps—
The habitation of the Indian-God—
250
The souls of gallant men that died in war;—
Each, with his bow and quiver!—each erect,
And firmly planted on his cloud! with spear
Couched for the coming white man—o'er his brow
The vulture's plumage—or the ragged mane
Of some young lion, that on earth he tore—
Or—arrow fixed—and bow-string fiercely drawn,
With eye immoveable—and burning dark
In deadliness and hate—his shoulder bare,
And sinewy limb—his sandals freshly bound
With bleeding tendons, from the panther torn,
Whose spotted skin is floating heavily
Upon the wind—and dripping darkly yet!
Let every cloud that moves along the heaven
Bear tumult in its bosom!—when it stoops,
Or rests upon the mountain top—or spreads
Its angry wings aloft—or, opening wide—
Reveals the bursting Tempest on her throne,
Amid her armoury of burnished shields—
And flaming spears—her lightnings all about
Shaking their fearful wings—her thunderbolts
Streaming with crimson flame—and armed shapes
All harnessing their chariots and their steeds—
To the loud trumpeting of air—O let us see
Armies with armies wrestling—banners spread!
The flaming cross to blazing suns opposed—
The warriors of the church in scarlet robes—
And glittering mail—and helmets studded o'er
With steel and gold—in war—with naked men!
Unarmed—defenceless—and oppressed with awe—
251
Castilian warriors trained in fields of blood;
Armed with thunder—lightning—and engaged
With suppliant red men—born and nursed in peace;
O let us hear the old Castilian cry!
God! and St. Jago!—the tremendous cry,
That, like an earthquake, shook the hills of Spain,
And tumbled to the earth the Moorish pride—
Darkened their crescent—rent the bloody veil
Of all their temples—scattered to the winds
Their streaming trophies—their impieties—
Their palaces and thrones!—O let us hear
That war cry peal again! And let us hear
The red-man's thrilling voice!—the Mexican!
And ringing battle axes—and the twang
Of brazen bows—and see the glittering flight
Of winged arrows flaming through the sky.
God of the Indian! Monarch of the skies!
O bear thy red right arm!—O bend thy bow,
Omnipotent!—and let thunders roll!
O Thou—our Inspiration—Thou, O God!
To whom the Prophets and the crowned Kings—
The bards of many years! who caught from thee
Their blazing of the spirit—Thou, to whom
The Jewish monarchs, on their ivory thrones
Flaming with jewelry—have fallen down,
And rung their golden harps, age after age—
O Thou—to whom the gifted men of old,
That stood among the mysteries of heaven,
Read the thick stars—and listened to the wind,
Interpreted the thunder—told the voice
Of Ocean, tumbling in his caves—explained
The everlasting characters of flame,
That burn upon the firmament—and saw
The face of him that sitteth in the sun—
And read the writing there, that comes and goes,
Revealing to their eyes the fate of men—
Of monarchs and of empires—men, that stood
Amid the solitudes of heaven—and earth—and heard
From the high mountain top, the silent night
Give out her uninterpreted decrees—
The venerable men!—the old—and mighty!
Prophets! and Bards! and Kings! whose souls were filled
With immortality, and visions—'till
Their hearts have ached with weary supplication—
'Till all the future rushing o'er their strings!—
In tempest and in light!—hath drowned their prayers!
And left their mighty harps all ringing loud
With prophecy and woe!
—O Thou! to whom
Innumerable suns—and moons—and worlds,
The glorious elevations of the sky,
The choirs of cherubim and seraphim—
Immortal multitudes!—that worship round
Thine echoing throne!—upon their golden harps,
And silver trumps—and organs of the air,
Pour everlasting melody!—O Thou, to whom
All this hath been familiar from the hour,
When thou didst bow the heavens—and, at the sound
Of many thunders pealing thy decree,
Creation sprang to light—when time began—
And all the boundless sky was full of suns—
Rolling in symphony—and man was made—
Sublime and confident—and woman, up
From the sunshine of the Eternal, rose
All intellect and love!—And all the hills,
And all the vales were green—and all the trees in flower.
To whom the Prophets and the crowned Kings—
The bards of many years! who caught from thee
Their blazing of the spirit—Thou, to whom
The Jewish monarchs, on their ivory thrones
Flaming with jewelry—have fallen down,
And rung their golden harps, age after age—
O Thou—to whom the gifted men of old,
That stood among the mysteries of heaven,
Read the thick stars—and listened to the wind,
252
Of Ocean, tumbling in his caves—explained
The everlasting characters of flame,
That burn upon the firmament—and saw
The face of him that sitteth in the sun—
And read the writing there, that comes and goes,
Revealing to their eyes the fate of men—
Of monarchs and of empires—men, that stood
Amid the solitudes of heaven—and earth—and heard
From the high mountain top, the silent night
Give out her uninterpreted decrees—
The venerable men!—the old—and mighty!
Prophets! and Bards! and Kings! whose souls were filled
With immortality, and visions—'till
Their hearts have ached with weary supplication—
'Till all the future rushing o'er their strings!—
In tempest and in light!—hath drowned their prayers!
And left their mighty harps all ringing loud
With prophecy and woe!
—O Thou! to whom
Innumerable suns—and moons—and worlds,
The glorious elevations of the sky,
The choirs of cherubim and seraphim—
Immortal multitudes!—that worship round
Thine echoing throne!—upon their golden harps,
And silver trumps—and organs of the air,
Pour everlasting melody!—O Thou, to whom
All this hath been familiar from the hour,
When thou didst bow the heavens—and, at the sound
253
Creation sprang to light—when time began—
And all the boundless sky was full of suns—
Rolling in symphony—and man was made—
Sublime and confident—and woman, up
From the sunshine of the Eternal, rose
All intellect and love!—And all the hills,
And all the vales were green—and all the trees in flower.
O bless our trembling harp!
We sing of battle!—We have tuned our heart
In awe and veneration of the men
Of other days—thy youngest born—to whom
This western world was an inheritance—
Who gazed on thee—their Father!—undisturbed—
Unshaken—unextinguished—in the light
Of mightiest revelation—Men—who saw,
The Everlasting—face to face—and lived.
[OMITTED]
[OMITTED]
The battle was not done. The sun had rolled
All day along the lines of death. All day
The skies had thundered to the sounding hills;
And all the live-long day the blood of men
Had flowed in sacrifice. The night had come—
A night that brought no safety and no rest—
Our god was angry—He went home in blood—
In horrible effulgence—
[OMITTED]
—The morning came—
We were all out upon the neighbouring hills,
In sacrifice and prayer. The weary night—
The very heavens too—had rolled away
In earthquake and in thunder, not a spot—
Within the empty, hollow firmament—
Not even a cloud—was left—but all was black
With measureless infinity. We clung to earth—
To shrubs and rocks—like men that stand
Upon a dizzy precipice—and blind
And giddy—down—in terrible dismay—
Thus were we clinging—all—a multitude—
When, suddenly! the dreadful void above,
Was all illuminated!—downward rolled,
From its extremest elevation—with the sound
Of chariots descending—and the noise
Of volleying whirlwinds—white and shining clouds!
All luminous with glory—tumbling round—
In smoky crimson—yellowish light—and blue—
Eddying tumultuous!—then—evolving slow
All drenched in blood—and shaking out thick light—
In awful drapery—like a battle-sheet,
Spread like a curtain o'er the sky—they went—
Lifting and breaking in the wind—
—And then away, away—
O'er the great water—from the land of souls—
A mighty bird went up, as if pursued—
Toiling and labouring o'er the solid sky—
Touching along the vault, as if she sought
Some outlet for escape!—
[OMITTED]
—And while we looked above—
The heavens all motionless—a brazen dome—
Sudden—at once!—we saw the distant hills
Bend with the weight of a descending God!
Convulsive—yielding—heaving to and fro:—
And then we saw a forest of great trees
Uprooted from the earth—and stripped,
And hurled aloft—in silence!—and we saw
A mighty river rolling backward—white—
And fiery—to its source—and not a sound
Of terror shook the air!—and not a cloud
Of thunder was abroad. But all was still and bright—
—And we—in horror—saw
The Invisible at work!
Then blew a trumpet! and our Inca came,
Amid the priesthood—with his hair unbound—
And naked feet—and stood above the wave—
The consecrated wave—the holy lake—
Whose glossy—and mysterious surface shows—
Like a bright mirror—in the blessed sun—
The visions of the future. All were still—
And breathless in their awe—and all stood round—
Upon the rocky margin, and looked down
Away—below—upon the silent wave—
[OMITTED]
'Twas motionless and dim—
And we grew dizzy with the sight—at last—
Faint shadows passed athwart it—then arose—
From the extremest edge—with banners—smoke—
And arrowy lightning—rolling clouds—and fire—
A band of martial spirits—strangers—few,
In number—few—but terrible!—their step
Was slow—but strong—and like a band of brothers
They approached! Then—on the other side
There came a throng—a host—a multitude—
Clad in white robes—with feathers in their hair—
And bow and quivers!—And we trembled, then—
We knew they were Peruvians!—they went
With musick and with dance to meet their foe—
Sun of the skies! how breathlessly we stood!
We saw them join in battle—and we pealed
Our own Peruvian cry to urge them on!—
Already were their arrows in the air—
Already had they touched!—and rang—for lo!
They bounded shivering from the strangers' hearts,
As they were indistructable! We groaned—
Together, all at once—But soon—again—
We numbered the increasing of the host
Arrayed in white—and saw the ocean-band—
Almost enclosed—and then—aloft—we pealed
Another battle cry!—
Swift at the sound, we saw
The war revived!—but then—oh, wonderful!—
We saw a creature—fashioned like a man—
His head on fire—the lightning in his hand—
Upon a glorious something—bound among
The snowy host—and then, as from the sky—
There rolled a sudden cloud—upon them all—
Streaming with fire!—the lake was covered o'er—
With eddying smoke—The wondrous vision fled—
And then—while we were growing breathless—there
In agony—to see the white smoke clear away—
We heard the roll of distant thunder—then—
We turned us to the ocean—to the hills—
But not a cloud was there—the blessed sky
Was all serene; and now the passing mist
Had left the bosom of the lake below—
O what a sight!—the snowy band was gone—
All gone!—and with the conquering step of pride—
That creature in the van!—the strangers went—
Their colours out—and all their warrior dress,
Gleaming discoloured fire:—they passed away—
We saw it—we!—they passed away—away!
O'er the black water—to the very side,
That leads to Peru—and her palaces—
Her Incas!—and the Temple of the Sun!—
[OMITTED]
[OMITTED]
And then—O then, our own great God appeared!
And, at the glorious sight, the priesthood blew
Ten thousand silver trumpets—and we fell
Upon our faces to the earth—and worshipped.
[OMITTED]
He came!—in triumph came!
A host of flaming billows from the sea,
Rose up and shook their helmets in his beam:
Then rolling up he went—and far and near,
In oily gold and green—and trembling fire,
Wavy and rich—and streaming o'er with white
And glittering foam—and sunshine—red—
And changeable with gloss—the silky Ocean heaved!
We sing of battle!—We have tuned our heart
In awe and veneration of the men
Of other days—thy youngest born—to whom
This western world was an inheritance—
Who gazed on thee—their Father!—undisturbed—
Unshaken—unextinguished—in the light
Of mightiest revelation—Men—who saw,
The Everlasting—face to face—and lived.
[OMITTED]
[OMITTED]
The battle was not done. The sun had rolled
All day along the lines of death. All day
The skies had thundered to the sounding hills;
And all the live-long day the blood of men
Had flowed in sacrifice. The night had come—
A night that brought no safety and no rest—
Our god was angry—He went home in blood—
In horrible effulgence—
[OMITTED]
—The morning came—
We were all out upon the neighbouring hills,
254
The very heavens too—had rolled away
In earthquake and in thunder, not a spot—
Within the empty, hollow firmament—
Not even a cloud—was left—but all was black
With measureless infinity. We clung to earth—
To shrubs and rocks—like men that stand
Upon a dizzy precipice—and blind
And giddy—down—in terrible dismay—
Thus were we clinging—all—a multitude—
When, suddenly! the dreadful void above,
Was all illuminated!—downward rolled,
From its extremest elevation—with the sound
Of chariots descending—and the noise
Of volleying whirlwinds—white and shining clouds!
All luminous with glory—tumbling round—
In smoky crimson—yellowish light—and blue—
Eddying tumultuous!—then—evolving slow
All drenched in blood—and shaking out thick light—
In awful drapery—like a battle-sheet,
Spread like a curtain o'er the sky—they went—
Lifting and breaking in the wind—
—And then away, away—
O'er the great water—from the land of souls—
A mighty bird went up, as if pursued—
Toiling and labouring o'er the solid sky—
Touching along the vault, as if she sought
Some outlet for escape!—
[OMITTED]
—And while we looked above—
The heavens all motionless—a brazen dome—
255
Bend with the weight of a descending God!
Convulsive—yielding—heaving to and fro:—
And then we saw a forest of great trees
Uprooted from the earth—and stripped,
And hurled aloft—in silence!—and we saw
A mighty river rolling backward—white—
And fiery—to its source—and not a sound
Of terror shook the air!—and not a cloud
Of thunder was abroad. But all was still and bright—
—And we—in horror—saw
The Invisible at work!
Then blew a trumpet! and our Inca came,
Amid the priesthood—with his hair unbound—
And naked feet—and stood above the wave—
The consecrated wave—the holy lake—
Whose glossy—and mysterious surface shows—
Like a bright mirror—in the blessed sun—
The visions of the future. All were still—
And breathless in their awe—and all stood round—
Upon the rocky margin, and looked down
Away—below—upon the silent wave—
[OMITTED]
'Twas motionless and dim—
And we grew dizzy with the sight—at last—
Faint shadows passed athwart it—then arose—
From the extremest edge—with banners—smoke—
And arrowy lightning—rolling clouds—and fire—
A band of martial spirits—strangers—few,
In number—few—but terrible!—their step
Was slow—but strong—and like a band of brothers
256
There came a throng—a host—a multitude—
Clad in white robes—with feathers in their hair—
And bow and quivers!—And we trembled, then—
We knew they were Peruvians!—they went
With musick and with dance to meet their foe—
Sun of the skies! how breathlessly we stood!
We saw them join in battle—and we pealed
Our own Peruvian cry to urge them on!—
Already were their arrows in the air—
Already had they touched!—and rang—for lo!
They bounded shivering from the strangers' hearts,
As they were indistructable! We groaned—
Together, all at once—But soon—again—
We numbered the increasing of the host
Arrayed in white—and saw the ocean-band—
Almost enclosed—and then—aloft—we pealed
Another battle cry!—
Swift at the sound, we saw
The war revived!—but then—oh, wonderful!—
We saw a creature—fashioned like a man—
His head on fire—the lightning in his hand—
Upon a glorious something—bound among
The snowy host—and then, as from the sky—
There rolled a sudden cloud—upon them all—
Streaming with fire!—the lake was covered o'er—
With eddying smoke—The wondrous vision fled—
And then—while we were growing breathless—there
In agony—to see the white smoke clear away—
We heard the roll of distant thunder—then—
We turned us to the ocean—to the hills—
257
Was all serene; and now the passing mist
Had left the bosom of the lake below—
O what a sight!—the snowy band was gone—
All gone!—and with the conquering step of pride—
That creature in the van!—the strangers went—
Their colours out—and all their warrior dress,
Gleaming discoloured fire:—they passed away—
We saw it—we!—they passed away—away!
O'er the black water—to the very side,
That leads to Peru—and her palaces—
Her Incas!—and the Temple of the Sun!—
[OMITTED]
[OMITTED]
And then—O then, our own great God appeared!
And, at the glorious sight, the priesthood blew
Ten thousand silver trumpets—and we fell
Upon our faces to the earth—and worshipped.
[OMITTED]
He came!—in triumph came!
A host of flaming billows from the sea,
Rose up and shook their helmets in his beam:
Then rolling up he went—and far and near,
In oily gold and green—and trembling fire,
Wavy and rich—and streaming o'er with white
And glittering foam—and sunshine—red—
And changeable with gloss—the silky Ocean heaved!
O! 'twas a glorious sight!—the heavens on fire—
The sky one rainbow—and the lovely wave
Reflecting all its hues, in softened light—
Old Ocean dancing in the troubled gold—
And up the firmament of kindling blue
The rolling Sun ascending like a god:—
Then came the wonder!—o'er the lighted sky
Mysterious musick went—and on the top
Of our chief temple, something seemed to move—
And a quick glimmering was all around it—
As if ten thousand steely blades, and spears
Were brandished—shaken in a midnight beam,
Or flourished o'er the wave!
The sky one rainbow—and the lovely wave
Reflecting all its hues, in softened light—
258
And up the firmament of kindling blue
The rolling Sun ascending like a god:—
Then came the wonder!—o'er the lighted sky
Mysterious musick went—and on the top
Of our chief temple, something seemed to move—
And a quick glimmering was all around it—
As if ten thousand steely blades, and spears
Were brandished—shaken in a midnight beam,
Or flourished o'er the wave!
Again the thunder pealed!
Up, like a creature newly strung with life,
Our Inca sprang from earth. The wonder came!
Away upon the dim horizon—where the air
Shone with a faint effulgence—where the blue
Was purest, brightest—there appeared—O God!
The Spirit of the Ocean!—all his wings were out!
His long bright hair streamed thick upon the wind!
In thunder he arose! Clouds burnt around him,
And o'er the wave, and through the rolling smoke,
Rushing in light, he came!—and as we fled,
Thundered again through all our echoing hills!
Up, like a creature newly strung with life,
Our Inca sprang from earth. The wonder came!
Away upon the dim horizon—where the air
Shone with a faint effulgence—where the blue
Was purest, brightest—there appeared—O God!
The Spirit of the Ocean!—all his wings were out!
His long bright hair streamed thick upon the wind!
In thunder he arose! Clouds burnt around him,
And o'er the wave, and through the rolling smoke,
Rushing in light, he came!—and as we fled,
Thundered again through all our echoing hills!
| The battle of Niagara | |