The Shamrock or, Hibernian Cresses. A Collection of Poems, Songs, Epigrams, &c. Latin as well as English, The Original Production of Ireland. To which are subjoined thoughts on the prevailing system of school education, respecting young ladies as well as gentlemen: with practical proposals for a reformation [by Samuel Whyte] |
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| PERUVIAN LETTERS.
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 | The Shamrock |  |
377
PERUVIAN LETTERS.
LETTER I.
INSCRIBED TO The Honourable MRS. BERESFORD.
Where art thou, Aza? where? how far remov'd?
Where can his Zilia seek her best belov'd?
Direct me, Heaven! direct a wretched Maid,
Who suppliant kneels for thy much-wanted Aid:
Tell me, O tell me! where the royal Youth,
Inform'd with Virtue, Constancy, and Truth,
My Love, my Ynca, where does he reside?
Where mourn the Effects of Spain's rapacious Pride?
What new Invention can his Zilia find,
To paint her tender Heart to Aza's Mind?
To thee, thus absent, Nought my Cries avail,
Like Morning-Vapours, rising, they exhale;
In vain, thine Aid, thy Succour I implore;
Thy dubious Fate distresses me the more.
E'en now, ye Powers! e'en now, propitious prove;
Nor in my Fall involve the Man I love.
Where can his Zilia seek her best belov'd?
Direct me, Heaven! direct a wretched Maid,
Who suppliant kneels for thy much-wanted Aid:
Tell me, O tell me! where the royal Youth,
Inform'd with Virtue, Constancy, and Truth,
My Love, my Ynca, where does he reside?
Where mourn the Effects of Spain's rapacious Pride?
What new Invention can his Zilia find,
To paint her tender Heart to Aza's Mind?
To thee, thus absent, Nought my Cries avail,
Like Morning-Vapours, rising, they exhale;
378
Thy dubious Fate distresses me the more.
E'en now, ye Powers! e'en now, propitious prove;
Nor in my Fall involve the Man I love.
When, for the plunder'd Temple of the Sun,
By barbarous, sacrilegious Hands o'erthrown,
My Eyes should pour the never-ceasing Tear,
For thee, alone, I grieve, for thee I fear:
Since that dread Moment, when the savage Race,
Dragg'd me from God, and from thy lov'd Embrace,
Retain'd in sad Captivity I lie,
Plung'd in the Abyss of dark Obscurity.
Is it my Guilt that Heaven's Resentment draws?
I feel the Effects, unconscious of the Cause:
Ah! what am I? that I alone am curst,—
Time still runs on, as smoothly as at first;
Due and alternate, Night and Day returns;
Nature's the same; and only Zilia mourns,
Fallen from my Height, nor suffer'd to prepare
My destin'd Soul for all this Load of Care.
By barbarous, sacrilegious Hands o'erthrown,
My Eyes should pour the never-ceasing Tear,
For thee, alone, I grieve, for thee I fear:
Since that dread Moment, when the savage Race,
Dragg'd me from God, and from thy lov'd Embrace,
Retain'd in sad Captivity I lie,
Plung'd in the Abyss of dark Obscurity.
Is it my Guilt that Heaven's Resentment draws?
I feel the Effects, unconscious of the Cause:
Ah! what am I? that I alone am curst,—
Time still runs on, as smoothly as at first;
Due and alternate, Night and Day returns;
Nature's the same; and only Zilia mourns,
Fallen from my Height, nor suffer'd to prepare
My destin'd Soul for all this Load of Care.
Here, moss-grown Walls confine my narrow Sight;
A wretched Mat receives my Limbs at Night.
Say, where these Ministers of Hell were bred;
What savage Breast their infant Cravings fed;
For, Nothing human could, relentless, see,
Or act such Crimes, as shock Humanity:
Oh! the Barbarians! in whose cruel Hand
The fatal Thunder rumbles at Command.
Aza, where art thou? how didst thou evade
The flaming Shafts, that such Destruction made?
Did some bless'd Chance secure my venturous Lord
From the keen Edge of the descending Sword?
Did Heaven those hellish Instruments avert,
And turn their harmless Points from Aza's Heart?
I know thy Soul, thy Disregard of Life,
Where Thirst of Fame conducts the hostile Strife;
I know thy Courage; but, I doubt thy Power,
Too far unequal to the Thunder's Roar.
A wretched Mat receives my Limbs at Night.
Say, where these Ministers of Hell were bred;
What savage Breast their infant Cravings fed;
For, Nothing human could, relentless, see,
Or act such Crimes, as shock Humanity:
379
The fatal Thunder rumbles at Command.
Aza, where art thou? how didst thou evade
The flaming Shafts, that such Destruction made?
Did some bless'd Chance secure my venturous Lord
From the keen Edge of the descending Sword?
Did Heaven those hellish Instruments avert,
And turn their harmless Points from Aza's Heart?
I know thy Soul, thy Disregard of Life,
Where Thirst of Fame conducts the hostile Strife;
I know thy Courage; but, I doubt thy Power,
Too far unequal to the Thunder's Roar.
'Twas on the fatal Day, which should have shone,
To grace the Losing of my virgin Zone,
While in the Temple's sacred Arch I sate,
In Meditation on the nuptial State,
My nimble Fingers through my Quipos mov'd,
To tell how Zilia, and her Aza, lov'd;
Here did my Thoughts recall the happy Hour,
When thy dread Father shar'd with thee his Power;
That Power to visit the Divine Abode,
Where vulgar Feet irreverend never trod:
Then, when thou stood'st amidst our virgin Train,
My Heart embrac'd the voluntary Chain.
How sweet to us appear'd thy youthful Mien,
Whom but the Ynca's Self alone had seen:
My ravish'd Eyes pursued you as you mov'd,
While frequent Sighs betray'd how much I lov'd;
'Twas Love, my Aza; for my tortur'd Breast
Alternate Joy, and bitter Care, confess'd:
Even, while thy new-acquainted Beauty charm'd,
Attendant Jealousy my Soul alarm'd;
With new-born Hate, the gazing Throng I see,
And blam'd their Frailty, to be mov'd like me.
But, when I learn'd my happy Self decreed,
As next in Blood, to share thy princely Bed,
What Joys I felt, when your assenting Voice
Confirm'd and ratified the public Choice:
Oh! since that Hour, what Moments have we pass'd,
In Bliss, too soft, too exquisite, to last!
To grace the Losing of my virgin Zone,
While in the Temple's sacred Arch I sate,
In Meditation on the nuptial State,
My nimble Fingers through my Quipos mov'd,
To tell how Zilia, and her Aza, lov'd;
Here did my Thoughts recall the happy Hour,
When thy dread Father shar'd with thee his Power;
That Power to visit the Divine Abode,
Where vulgar Feet irreverend never trod:
Then, when thou stood'st amidst our virgin Train,
My Heart embrac'd the voluntary Chain.
How sweet to us appear'd thy youthful Mien,
Whom but the Ynca's Self alone had seen:
My ravish'd Eyes pursued you as you mov'd,
While frequent Sighs betray'd how much I lov'd;
380
Alternate Joy, and bitter Care, confess'd:
Even, while thy new-acquainted Beauty charm'd,
Attendant Jealousy my Soul alarm'd;
With new-born Hate, the gazing Throng I see,
And blam'd their Frailty, to be mov'd like me.
But, when I learn'd my happy Self decreed,
As next in Blood, to share thy princely Bed,
What Joys I felt, when your assenting Voice
Confirm'd and ratified the public Choice:
Oh! since that Hour, what Moments have we pass'd,
In Bliss, too soft, too exquisite, to last!
Now, by Degrees, the parti-colour'd Blue
Of both our Loves the faithful Painting drew,
When, on a sudden, a tumultuous Sound
Awak'd my Thoughts; the Temple shook around:
Then was my warm Imagination fir'd
With what my Tenderness for you inspir'd;
Trembling with Hope, impatient I await
The Ynca's Office, to unite our Fate;
Thy manly Beauties all my Thoughts employ;
Fearless, I spring to meet my coming Joy.
But, ah! what different horrid Scenes appear!
The sad Remembrance fills my Soul with Fear;
The Temple Pavement stain'd with human Gore;
And the Sun's Image prostrate on the Floor;
Our frighted Virgins from the Murderers fly;
And helpless Mamas, struck with Thunder, die.
Trembling, I sought the Temple's deep Recess;
But there no Shelter found for my Distress.
Can'st thou believe it?—these unhallow'd Bands
On the Sun's Daughter urg'd their impious Hands;
Their frantic Rage the Sun himself disdain'd,
Nor fear'd due Vengeance from his Rites prophan'd;
Their ruling Passion Want of Gold supplies,
To that alone they offer Sacrifice;
The Thirst of Gold was first the guilty Source
Of our Misfortunes, and their bloody Force.
Of both our Loves the faithful Painting drew,
When, on a sudden, a tumultuous Sound
Awak'd my Thoughts; the Temple shook around:
Then was my warm Imagination fir'd
With what my Tenderness for you inspir'd;
Trembling with Hope, impatient I await
The Ynca's Office, to unite our Fate;
Thy manly Beauties all my Thoughts employ;
Fearless, I spring to meet my coming Joy.
But, ah! what different horrid Scenes appear!
The sad Remembrance fills my Soul with Fear;
The Temple Pavement stain'd with human Gore;
And the Sun's Image prostrate on the Floor;
Our frighted Virgins from the Murderers fly;
And helpless Mamas, struck with Thunder, die.
381
But there no Shelter found for my Distress.
Can'st thou believe it?—these unhallow'd Bands
On the Sun's Daughter urg'd their impious Hands;
Their frantic Rage the Sun himself disdain'd,
Nor fear'd due Vengeance from his Rites prophan'd;
Their ruling Passion Want of Gold supplies,
To that alone they offer Sacrifice;
The Thirst of Gold was first the guilty Source
Of our Misfortunes, and their bloody Force.
Torn from the solemn, sanctified Recess,
Yet premature, and in my virgin Dress,
My Feet, unwilling, trod the sacred Floor,
And pass'd, unworthy, through the nuptial Door;
From thence to Prison, where the glimmering Light
Just beam'd sufficient to encrease my Fright:
But, while this horrid Desolation reigns,
By happy Chance, my Quipos still remains:
This is a Treasure, as the mystic Twine
Must act the Chaqui 'twixt my Soul and thine:
Fallacious Hope! unless some pitying God
Would speed my Work to thy unknown Abode.
But, Oh! even now, perhaps my Aza stands,
Prone o'er his Fate, amidst those treacherous Bands;
Even while my Soul describes its suffering Fears,
Perhaps these Threads receive a Widow's Tears:
Forbid it, Heaven! relieve our present Woes;
And urge thy Vengeance only on our Foes.
Could I myself perform the Chaqui's Part,
And bring these Tidings of thy Zilia's Smart,
For that short Bliss I'd all my Days forego
That the Sun dooms my Pilgrimage below.
My Heart is rack'd; ah! whither am I driven?
Aza!—my dear-lov'd Aza—Mercy, Heaven!
Yet premature, and in my virgin Dress,
My Feet, unwilling, trod the sacred Floor,
And pass'd, unworthy, through the nuptial Door;
From thence to Prison, where the glimmering Light
Just beam'd sufficient to encrease my Fright:
But, while this horrid Desolation reigns,
By happy Chance, my Quipos still remains:
This is a Treasure, as the mystic Twine
Must act the Chaqui 'twixt my Soul and thine:
Fallacious Hope! unless some pitying God
Would speed my Work to thy unknown Abode.
But, Oh! even now, perhaps my Aza stands,
Prone o'er his Fate, amidst those treacherous Bands;
Even while my Soul describes its suffering Fears,
Perhaps these Threads receive a Widow's Tears:
382
And urge thy Vengeance only on our Foes.
Could I myself perform the Chaqui's Part,
And bring these Tidings of thy Zilia's Smart,
For that short Bliss I'd all my Days forego
That the Sun dooms my Pilgrimage below.
My Heart is rack'd; ah! whither am I driven?
Aza!—my dear-lov'd Aza—Mercy, Heaven!
LETTER II.
Inscribed to Miss O REILLY.
May
Pacha Camac,
ever-bounteous Lord,
The pious Chaqui's happy Zeal reward,
By whom my Quipos reach'd thy willing Hands,
And I was bless'd with thy ador'd Commands;
Oh! may the Tree of Virtue ever shed
Its happy Influence on his loyal Head!
Long did my Heart its painful Fears express,
For thy unknown, perhaps, thy vast Distress;
But, when I saw the dear returning Twine,
My Soul expanded in the Search of thine:
My Aza lives, he lives unhurt, and free;
Thanks to the Sun for this one kind Decree:
I am all Rapture, Extacy of Bliss,
No common Frame can taste a Joy like this:
Waking, my Lover all my Thoughts employs;
In Dreams, my Fancy paints succeeding Joys.
Thou liv'st, my Aza, and the solemn Chains,
The Tye, that should unite us, still remains:
Your kind Expressions have, in Part, assuag'd
The sobbing Grief that in my Bosom rag'd:
My Soul, enlighten'd, its Existence owes
To my kind Genius; as the full-blown Rose
Its brilliant Colours from the Sun derives,
So in thy Worth my whole Perfection lives.
But why, alas! when royal Aza's free,
Am I thus kept in dismal Slavery?
My grated Prison still renews my Fears;
Ah! how uncouth, how dreary it appears!
With what Distraction do I view the Scene!
Is this a Dwelling for Peruvia's Queen?
Are these the Robes thy destin'd Wife should wear?
Is this the nuptial Bed I thought to share?
Alas! these Walls afford no costly Pride,
No Bed expectant of a royal Bride:
All's dark and dismal, where the mournful Gloom
Suits but too well the joy-forbidding Room.
But why, dear Man, do I complain of thee?
Can'st thou relieve, or set the Prisoner free?
Ah no! my Lord, those outward Marks of State,
Too well convince me of thy servile Fate:
Can'st thou not feel thy Liberty debarr'd,
In all the Attendance of the watchful Guard?
Through all their fulsome Honours you may trace,
Yours is but Bondage with a milder Face:
Fly from thy Error, and preserve thy Life;
And seek the Arms of thy expecting Wife.
Since Viracocha
has our Loss foretold,
By Dint of Thunder through a Thirst for Gold;
Let us our Pomp with Chearfulness resign,—
If Heaven so wills, shall Mortals dare repine?—
Some lonely Cottage shall secure our Peace,
And all our Days find Liberty and Ease;
No foreign Tyrants shall disturb our Cell;
Nor home-bred Treasons enter where we dwell:
O'er my fond Heart you'll hold imperial Sway,
While I shall boast the Title to obey:
We'll feel the Effects of Avarice no more;
Nor dread the fickle Million's frantic Hour:
We'll beg Protection from the Powers above,
Rich in Possession of each others Love:
Secure in thee, I'll fear no future Harms;
But bless the Fate that gave thee to my Arms.
The pious Chaqui's happy Zeal reward,
By whom my Quipos reach'd thy willing Hands,
And I was bless'd with thy ador'd Commands;
Oh! may the Tree of Virtue ever shed
Its happy Influence on his loyal Head!
Long did my Heart its painful Fears express,
For thy unknown, perhaps, thy vast Distress;
But, when I saw the dear returning Twine,
My Soul expanded in the Search of thine:
My Aza lives, he lives unhurt, and free;
Thanks to the Sun for this one kind Decree:
383
No common Frame can taste a Joy like this:
Waking, my Lover all my Thoughts employs;
In Dreams, my Fancy paints succeeding Joys.
Thou liv'st, my Aza, and the solemn Chains,
The Tye, that should unite us, still remains:
Your kind Expressions have, in Part, assuag'd
The sobbing Grief that in my Bosom rag'd:
My Soul, enlighten'd, its Existence owes
To my kind Genius; as the full-blown Rose
Its brilliant Colours from the Sun derives,
So in thy Worth my whole Perfection lives.
But why, alas! when royal Aza's free,
Am I thus kept in dismal Slavery?
My grated Prison still renews my Fears;
Ah! how uncouth, how dreary it appears!
With what Distraction do I view the Scene!
Is this a Dwelling for Peruvia's Queen?
Are these the Robes thy destin'd Wife should wear?
Is this the nuptial Bed I thought to share?
Alas! these Walls afford no costly Pride,
No Bed expectant of a royal Bride:
All's dark and dismal, where the mournful Gloom
Suits but too well the joy-forbidding Room.
But why, dear Man, do I complain of thee?
Can'st thou relieve, or set the Prisoner free?
Ah no! my Lord, those outward Marks of State,
Too well convince me of thy servile Fate:
Can'st thou not feel thy Liberty debarr'd,
In all the Attendance of the watchful Guard?
Through all their fulsome Honours you may trace,
Yours is but Bondage with a milder Face:
Fly from thy Error, and preserve thy Life;
And seek the Arms of thy expecting Wife.
384
By Dint of Thunder through a Thirst for Gold;
Let us our Pomp with Chearfulness resign,—
If Heaven so wills, shall Mortals dare repine?—
Some lonely Cottage shall secure our Peace,
And all our Days find Liberty and Ease;
No foreign Tyrants shall disturb our Cell;
Nor home-bred Treasons enter where we dwell:
O'er my fond Heart you'll hold imperial Sway,
While I shall boast the Title to obey:
We'll feel the Effects of Avarice no more;
Nor dread the fickle Million's frantic Hour:
We'll beg Protection from the Powers above,
Rich in Possession of each others Love:
Secure in thee, I'll fear no future Harms;
But bless the Fate that gave thee to my Arms.
Alas! my Love, how little did I know
The sharp Misfortunes I was destin'd to!
What horrid Space, what Oceans must divide
Thy widow'd Arms from thy still virgin Bride?
Perhaps my Griefs shall ne'er approach your Ear,
Nor this work'd Tissue in your Sight appear;
But I am fix'd the brave Attempt to make;
It sooths my Care, it is for Aza's Sake.
How shall my Fingers o'er the Clue prevail,
To tell my Ynca the surprizing Tale?
How shall I paint the Ideas I receiv'd,
And what, when told, can scarcely be believ'd?
'Twas now the Time, when peaceful Slumbers close
The Eyes of Mortals to relieve their Woes;
In Tears I lay extended on the Ground;
The Dungeon echoed with a fearful Sound;
Two savage Spaniards, thunder-bearing Men,
Perforce compel me from my gloomy Den:
In this Distress, my female Fears prevail;
My Knees bend trembling; and my Senses fail;
Lost in a Swoon, I can no further tell
What, for a Time, thy poor Betroth'd befel.
But when, compell'd by Youth, and Nature's Force,
The sanguine Stream resum'd its wonted Course;
When once Reflection was return'd again,
And quick Sensation realiz'd my Pain;
My rolling Eyes with wild Attention gaze,
Struck with alternate Terror, and Amaze:
What meant the Change, my Soul was yet to learn;
Anxious, I wait the wish'd-for Light's Return;
When I beheld a Room of small Extent,
From whence exhal'd a loath'd, offensive Scent:
The Chamber moves; alas! my Brain turns round;
I'm all convuls'd upon this rolling Ground;
With tottering Haste, I seek my wretched Bed,
Desponding, while my Steps precarious tread:
Perplexing Wonder, certainly design'd,
By some destructive Power, to hurt Mankind.
Now round my Head the dizzy Mists arise,
And dusky Vapours fleet before my Eyes;
Convulsive Throws my tortur'd Breast invade,
And my cold Limbs refuse their wonted Aid;
Large Drops of Sweat bedew my pallid Cheek,
While deep-fetch'd Groans my inward Torments speak.
At last, with Sickness, Grief, and Care opprest,
My Pain subsided, and I sunk to Rest:
Some friendly Power, in Pity to my Smart,
In stiptic Slumber sooth'd my bleeding Heart;
“For, Nature, tir'd, and harrass'd out with Care,
“Sinks down to Rest, sometimes, amidst Despair.”
Scarce was I lost in unaccustom'd Ease,
(Ah! fleeting Bliss! short Interval of Peace!)
When a tremendous, and more horrid Sound,
Than that of Yalpa, shook the Mansion round:
Such Shock shall happen, when the Moon is hurl'd,
By angry Fate, to crush the nether World:
Dread Thunders roar, and fire-wing'd Lightnings play;
While Clouds of sulphurous Smoak obscure the Day:
At first, the Tumult threaten'd from afar,
The cool Commencement of the distant War;
But, when more near the deafening Horror drew,
Then to its Height the fierce Contention grew:
After a While it gradually decreas'd;
'Till, at the last, the loud Explosion ceas'd:
When, now, methought, I heard the piteous Cries
Of blasted Spaniards rend the avenging Skies—
For, can these Wretches e'er presume that Heaven
O'erlooks their Crimes; or, hope those Crimes forgiven?
Almighty Justice always strikes, though slow,
Like the high-lifted Arm, the mightier Blow.—
Alas! alas! what recent Cause for Fear!
Strange bloody Men before my Eyes appear;
With brutal Rage they through the Chamber broke,
And in their Hands their sanguine Sabres smoke.
Now what Anxiety my Bosom feels!
Around my Heart the lazy Stream congeals:
Ah me!—I faint!—Oblivion, once again,
Relieves my Soul from its accustom'd Pain.
The sharp Misfortunes I was destin'd to!
What horrid Space, what Oceans must divide
Thy widow'd Arms from thy still virgin Bride?
Perhaps my Griefs shall ne'er approach your Ear,
Nor this work'd Tissue in your Sight appear;
But I am fix'd the brave Attempt to make;
It sooths my Care, it is for Aza's Sake.
How shall my Fingers o'er the Clue prevail,
To tell my Ynca the surprizing Tale?
How shall I paint the Ideas I receiv'd,
And what, when told, can scarcely be believ'd?
'Twas now the Time, when peaceful Slumbers close
The Eyes of Mortals to relieve their Woes;
385
The Dungeon echoed with a fearful Sound;
Two savage Spaniards, thunder-bearing Men,
Perforce compel me from my gloomy Den:
In this Distress, my female Fears prevail;
My Knees bend trembling; and my Senses fail;
Lost in a Swoon, I can no further tell
What, for a Time, thy poor Betroth'd befel.
But when, compell'd by Youth, and Nature's Force,
The sanguine Stream resum'd its wonted Course;
When once Reflection was return'd again,
And quick Sensation realiz'd my Pain;
My rolling Eyes with wild Attention gaze,
Struck with alternate Terror, and Amaze:
What meant the Change, my Soul was yet to learn;
Anxious, I wait the wish'd-for Light's Return;
When I beheld a Room of small Extent,
From whence exhal'd a loath'd, offensive Scent:
The Chamber moves; alas! my Brain turns round;
I'm all convuls'd upon this rolling Ground;
With tottering Haste, I seek my wretched Bed,
Desponding, while my Steps precarious tread:
Perplexing Wonder, certainly design'd,
By some destructive Power, to hurt Mankind.
Now round my Head the dizzy Mists arise,
And dusky Vapours fleet before my Eyes;
Convulsive Throws my tortur'd Breast invade,
And my cold Limbs refuse their wonted Aid;
Large Drops of Sweat bedew my pallid Cheek,
While deep-fetch'd Groans my inward Torments speak.
At last, with Sickness, Grief, and Care opprest,
My Pain subsided, and I sunk to Rest:
Some friendly Power, in Pity to my Smart,
In stiptic Slumber sooth'd my bleeding Heart;
386
“Sinks down to Rest, sometimes, amidst Despair.”
Scarce was I lost in unaccustom'd Ease,
(Ah! fleeting Bliss! short Interval of Peace!)
When a tremendous, and more horrid Sound,
Than that of Yalpa, shook the Mansion round:
Such Shock shall happen, when the Moon is hurl'd,
By angry Fate, to crush the nether World:
Dread Thunders roar, and fire-wing'd Lightnings play;
While Clouds of sulphurous Smoak obscure the Day:
At first, the Tumult threaten'd from afar,
The cool Commencement of the distant War;
But, when more near the deafening Horror drew,
Then to its Height the fierce Contention grew:
After a While it gradually decreas'd;
'Till, at the last, the loud Explosion ceas'd:
When, now, methought, I heard the piteous Cries
Of blasted Spaniards rend the avenging Skies—
For, can these Wretches e'er presume that Heaven
O'erlooks their Crimes; or, hope those Crimes forgiven?
Almighty Justice always strikes, though slow,
Like the high-lifted Arm, the mightier Blow.—
Alas! alas! what recent Cause for Fear!
Strange bloody Men before my Eyes appear;
With brutal Rage they through the Chamber broke,
And in their Hands their sanguine Sabres smoke.
Now what Anxiety my Bosom feels!
Around my Heart the lazy Stream congeals:
Ah me!—I faint!—Oblivion, once again,
Relieves my Soul from its accustom'd Pain.
387
LETTER III.
INSCRIBED TO MISS O NEIL.
When from my Swoon, where my unhappy Lot,
My Woes, my Hopes, even Aza was forgot,
In Tears I wak'd; for still my Grief supplies
The briny Torrent that o'erflows my Eyes:
At first, around a spacious Room they range,
In Contemplation of a second Change;
Next, but well pleas'd, and wondering, they survey'd
The sumptuous Couch on which my Limbs were laid:
But still this House the plunging Motion feels,
And my sick Stomach, as before, rebels.
No more the cruel, whisker'd Spaniards, now,
Affront my Sorrows with a gloomy Brow;
A Crew of gentle Savages approach,
And, smiling, stand respectful round my Couch:
In these, no cursed Ravishers are seen,
Unlike in Countenance, in Dress, in Mien;
But, oh! how different from my much-lov'd Lord,
By bounteous Nature fram'd to be ador'd!
Where, in what mortal Visage can I find
Such Beauty, and such Majesty combin'd?
Thou perfect Pattern of excelling Worth,
Form'd or to bless, or to command the Earth,
When shall my Eyes behold thy manly Charms?
When wilt thou fold me in a Husband's Arms?
My Woes, my Hopes, even Aza was forgot,
In Tears I wak'd; for still my Grief supplies
The briny Torrent that o'erflows my Eyes:
At first, around a spacious Room they range,
In Contemplation of a second Change;
Next, but well pleas'd, and wondering, they survey'd
The sumptuous Couch on which my Limbs were laid:
But still this House the plunging Motion feels,
And my sick Stomach, as before, rebels.
No more the cruel, whisker'd Spaniards, now,
Affront my Sorrows with a gloomy Brow;
A Crew of gentle Savages approach,
And, smiling, stand respectful round my Couch:
In these, no cursed Ravishers are seen,
Unlike in Countenance, in Dress, in Mien;
But, oh! how different from my much-lov'd Lord,
By bounteous Nature fram'd to be ador'd!
Where, in what mortal Visage can I find
Such Beauty, and such Majesty combin'd?
Thou perfect Pattern of excelling Worth,
Form'd or to bless, or to command the Earth,
388
When wilt thou fold me in a Husband's Arms?
The sullen Aspects of my former Foes,
Phlegm, Pride, Disdain, and Cruelty disclose;
Whene'er they speak, expressive Accents seem
First deeply weigh'd, to indicate the Theme;
Their haughty Gloom, and supercilious Pride,
Affect Contempt for all the World beside;
Their Look betrays the Temper of their Mind,
By Malice sway'd, to Cruelty inclin'd.
Think it not strange, that Heaven's all-wise Commands
Should be deputed to such worthless Hands;
Nor that the avenging Deity can please
To scourge our Sins by Delegates like these;
Thou knowest when Criminals are doom'd to bleed,
The vilest Hand performs the fatal Deed.
Phlegm, Pride, Disdain, and Cruelty disclose;
Whene'er they speak, expressive Accents seem
First deeply weigh'd, to indicate the Theme;
Their haughty Gloom, and supercilious Pride,
Affect Contempt for all the World beside;
Their Look betrays the Temper of their Mind,
By Malice sway'd, to Cruelty inclin'd.
Think it not strange, that Heaven's all-wise Commands
Should be deputed to such worthless Hands;
Nor that the avenging Deity can please
To scourge our Sins by Delegates like these;
Thou knowest when Criminals are doom'd to bleed,
The vilest Hand performs the fatal Deed.
In these, a sprightly, more engaging Air
Flatters my Hope, and mitigates Despair:
My Pallet Side officious they attend,
And their kind Aid most willing seem to lend;
For still I'm sick: But he, among the Rest,
Who look'd the Cazique, most Concern express'd.
But, if thou canst, conceive my blushing Rage,
When one, whose Hairs confess'd an hoary Age,
Abruptly seiz'd on my reluctant Hand;
Nor could my Strength his sudden Force withstand:
I tore it back; but he, with cool Disdain,
Smil'd at my Fears, and seiz'd my Hand again;
Since when, regardless of a Virgin's Shame,
Each Day, indecent, he repeats the same:
What would he have? can he presume to know,
By outward Contact, whence proceeds my Woe?
Go, foolish Man, explore my aking Heart;
'Tis there you'll find the Cause of Zilia's Smart.
Sometimes, I am apt to fancy they're inclin'd
To think me form'd superior to their Kind;
When they approach, they bow respectful down,
As we are wont, while worshipping the Sun.
Flatters my Hope, and mitigates Despair:
My Pallet Side officious they attend,
And their kind Aid most willing seem to lend;
For still I'm sick: But he, among the Rest,
Who look'd the Cazique, most Concern express'd.
But, if thou canst, conceive my blushing Rage,
When one, whose Hairs confess'd an hoary Age,
Abruptly seiz'd on my reluctant Hand;
Nor could my Strength his sudden Force withstand:
I tore it back; but he, with cool Disdain,
Smil'd at my Fears, and seiz'd my Hand again;
Since when, regardless of a Virgin's Shame,
Each Day, indecent, he repeats the same:
389
By outward Contact, whence proceeds my Woe?
Go, foolish Man, explore my aking Heart;
'Tis there you'll find the Cause of Zilia's Smart.
Sometimes, I am apt to fancy they're inclin'd
To think me form'd superior to their Kind;
When they approach, they bow respectful down,
As we are wont, while worshipping the Sun.
But, how shall I my fond Attempt pursue,
While fresh Misfortunes rise within my View!
My Limbs were just recovering by Degrees
Their former Strength, reliev'd from the Disease;
Tottering I rose, and crept from where I lay
To where my moving Room receiv'd the Day:
How shall I find Expressions to impart
My trembling Horrors to thy anxious Heart!
Nought have I left, but patiently to die,
Sinking beneath a hapless Destiny:
What did I see! oh! guess at my Surprize,
Where Nought appear'd but rolling Waves, and Skies?
Too well, alas! my prying Reason guess'd,
What, but too well, the reeling House confess'd:
At length, I ventur'd from my Door to take
Some Observations of the Fabrick's Make:
Such floating Castles, erst, the Spaniards bore,
Full-fraught with Thunder to our destin'd Shore;
Rang'd on the Sides, black Iron Teeth appear,
Commission'd ready for the Trade of War;
Large lofty Trees from out the Surface grow,
Whose taper Heads the gaudy Streamers shew;
Quick through the Air their Wings expanded sweep,
While their broad Bellies cut the indented Deep;
With headlong Force they dive into the Main,
Thence rising, climb the mountain Wave again:
Strange! whence these Savages derive their Skill,
That Winds and Seas yield passive to their Will:
Most sure, the Horrors, I describ'd before,
Were not the Effects of supernatural Power;
'Twas from those Instruments of Hell, design'd,
By Man's Invention, to destroy their Kind.
In vain, my wretched Fortune I deplore,
Torn from thy Arms, ne'er to behold thee more;
Each transient Moment, while my Threads disclose
My painful Lot, the widening Distance grows.
Since thou art lost, permit me to destroy
A hapless Life, I can no more enjoy:
The Seas, now kind, shall minister Relief;
A Moment's Space annihilates my Grief:
Courage, my Limbs, and aid my fatal Will:—
Alas! I feel the coward Woman still.
From whence proceeds this peace-obstructing Fear?
Why shrinks my Soul at Dissolution near?
'Tis Nature's Voice that intimates the Wrong;
Immortal Souls to Heaven itself belong:
'Tis an Hereafter, which aloud commands
To wait our Doom from our Creator's Hands:
If, by our Death, we from Distress would fly,
'Tis then, most sure, but Cowardice to die.
Perhaps I'm destin'd this Distress to prove,
To rise more worthy of my Aza's Love:
No—let me live—'till Pacha Camac deigns
To end, relieve, or mitigate my Pains.
While fresh Misfortunes rise within my View!
My Limbs were just recovering by Degrees
Their former Strength, reliev'd from the Disease;
Tottering I rose, and crept from where I lay
To where my moving Room receiv'd the Day:
How shall I find Expressions to impart
My trembling Horrors to thy anxious Heart!
Nought have I left, but patiently to die,
Sinking beneath a hapless Destiny:
What did I see! oh! guess at my Surprize,
Where Nought appear'd but rolling Waves, and Skies?
Too well, alas! my prying Reason guess'd,
What, but too well, the reeling House confess'd:
At length, I ventur'd from my Door to take
Some Observations of the Fabrick's Make:
Such floating Castles, erst, the Spaniards bore,
Full-fraught with Thunder to our destin'd Shore;
Rang'd on the Sides, black Iron Teeth appear,
Commission'd ready for the Trade of War;
Large lofty Trees from out the Surface grow,
Whose taper Heads the gaudy Streamers shew;
Quick through the Air their Wings expanded sweep,
While their broad Bellies cut the indented Deep;
With headlong Force they dive into the Main,
Thence rising, climb the mountain Wave again:
390
That Winds and Seas yield passive to their Will:
Most sure, the Horrors, I describ'd before,
Were not the Effects of supernatural Power;
'Twas from those Instruments of Hell, design'd,
By Man's Invention, to destroy their Kind.
In vain, my wretched Fortune I deplore,
Torn from thy Arms, ne'er to behold thee more;
Each transient Moment, while my Threads disclose
My painful Lot, the widening Distance grows.
Since thou art lost, permit me to destroy
A hapless Life, I can no more enjoy:
The Seas, now kind, shall minister Relief;
A Moment's Space annihilates my Grief:
Courage, my Limbs, and aid my fatal Will:—
Alas! I feel the coward Woman still.
From whence proceeds this peace-obstructing Fear?
Why shrinks my Soul at Dissolution near?
'Tis Nature's Voice that intimates the Wrong;
Immortal Souls to Heaven itself belong:
'Tis an Hereafter, which aloud commands
To wait our Doom from our Creator's Hands:
If, by our Death, we from Distress would fly,
'Tis then, most sure, but Cowardice to die.
Perhaps I'm destin'd this Distress to prove,
To rise more worthy of my Aza's Love:
No—let me live—'till Pacha Camac deigns
To end, relieve, or mitigate my Pains.
Scarce did our radiant mighty Sire display
The rising Glories that announce the Day,
When, on a sudden, the distracted Rout
Assail'd my Ears with a tumultuous Shout;
In nimble Dance they tread the floating Ground,
While the red Maijs flows in Plenty round;
As when our Priests prepare the sacred Rite,
To solemnize our glorious Feast of Light.
The rising Glories that announce the Day,
When, on a sudden, the distracted Rout
Assail'd my Ears with a tumultuous Shout;
391
While the red Maijs flows in Plenty round;
As when our Priests prepare the sacred Rite,
To solemnize our glorious Feast of Light.
But, now, the Chief, who kindly seems to bear
In my Misfortunes more than common Share,
Led me to where I just before had view'd,
In vast Distress, the madly raging Flood:
Here, to a Tube or necromantic Wand
My Eye, affix'd, beheld a distant Land;
Thence, by the Cazique's frequent Signs, I find
Our floating Mansion for that Land design'd;
That no Solemnities their Thoughts employ,
But this sole Reason of their present Joy:
'Tis sure thy Empire; for the chearful Day
Here feels the Impulse of the solar Ray.
Will pitying Fate my Aza then restore,
And part poor Zilia from her Love no more?
My blissful Soul excessive Joys shall prove,
When once united to the Man I love,
I shall again return thy warm Embrace:
Can any Woes such Extacy efface?
The past are vanish'd; Thoughts of future Joy
Fill all my Soul, and every Sense employ.
In my Misfortunes more than common Share,
Led me to where I just before had view'd,
In vast Distress, the madly raging Flood:
Here, to a Tube or necromantic Wand
My Eye, affix'd, beheld a distant Land;
Thence, by the Cazique's frequent Signs, I find
Our floating Mansion for that Land design'd;
That no Solemnities their Thoughts employ,
But this sole Reason of their present Joy:
'Tis sure thy Empire; for the chearful Day
Here feels the Impulse of the solar Ray.
Will pitying Fate my Aza then restore,
And part poor Zilia from her Love no more?
My blissful Soul excessive Joys shall prove,
When once united to the Man I love,
I shall again return thy warm Embrace:
Can any Woes such Extacy efface?
The past are vanish'd; Thoughts of future Joy
Fill all my Soul, and every Sense employ.
392
LETTER IV.
INSCRIBED TO MISS NUGENT.
At length the Mansion gains the welcome Shore,
While from its Sides repeated Thunders roar;
Unmov'd, unhurt, the gathering Croud appear,
With Shouts of Gladness, unrestrain'd by Fear:
Surprizing! how the Thunderers employ
The self same Art, to please, and to destroy.
No Object, yet, confirms the promis'd Bliss;
Thy dear-lov'd Empire differs wide from this:
We disembark; and now once more I stand,
(Freed from my Fear) on firm and solid Land;
My Sickness left me; and my Pains decreas'd,
All but the cruel Inmate of my Breast.
As yet, none else but Savages appear,
Their Dress the same with that my Keepers wear;
Houses on Houses still aspiring rise,
And lofty Turrets threat the neighbouring Skies;
No costly Trappings deck the outward Wall,
Like the Sun's Temple in thy Capital:
Though unadorn'd with that external Shew;
Within, what Wonders stand expos'd to View!
Just as my Feet had gain'd a sumptuous Room,
(My Thoughts engross'd by my precarious Doom)
Facing the Door, behold compleatly dress'd,
A virgin Daughter of the Sun confess'd:
A secret Joy my throbbing Bosom warms,
To clasp my Sister-Sufferer to my Arms;
The Maid, transported, with an equal Haste,
Moves as I move, and flies to be embrac'd:
Delusion all; my Arms are stretch'd in vain;
Fruitless I rush against the glossy Plain;
A shining Surface to my Sight supplies
The extended Form, but all Access denies;
And, when my Tears in briny Currents flow,
She seems to feel a Sympathy of Woe:
While on the Maid attentively I gaz'd,
My Grief was banish'd by my Wonder rais'd:
The friendly Cazique's Form I seem'd to view,
Close by the first that my Attention drew;
Here, while I touch him with a dubious Hand,
There, I behold the just Resemblance stand:
Strange! that the self-same Person should appear,
At the same Time, so distant, and so near.
No more I seek that Daughter of the Sun,
Taught to believe the Virgin Form my own;
But, why, or, wherefore? Ignorance combin'd
With blinded Error still obscures my Mind.
The utmost Knowlege our Amutas boast
Would Nought avail on this surprizing Coast:
Where'er I go, the wildly-staring Throng,
Gaping, surround me as I move along;
They gaze astonish'd, as they ne'er had seen
A Virgin Garb, or e'er at Cusco been.
My Soul no Bliss can taste, 'till Aza's Arms,
Encircling, guard me from all future Harms:
While thus I wander, widow'd, and alone,
The World's a Desart wild, when thou art gone;
No Path to guide my Footsteps to the Goal;
No Place to rest my weak and wearied Soul.
Still more and more Uncertainties appear;
My Hopes are foil'd with Doubts, and with Despair;
'Tis dark and dubious all: But yet, I find
This Nation form'd beneficent and kind;
Of Temper open, unreserved, and free;
But oft inclin'd to trifling Levity:
With such Velocity their Accents flow,
My Ears can scarce pursue them as they go;
Fluent in Words, accustom'd in Grimace,
A talking, active, thoughtless, pleasing Race;
Always in Action, ever brisk and gay,
In gladsome Mirth they pass the live-long Day;
As we are 'custom'd, when, with willing Hands,
We cultivate our richly-grateful Lands.
While from its Sides repeated Thunders roar;
Unmov'd, unhurt, the gathering Croud appear,
With Shouts of Gladness, unrestrain'd by Fear:
Surprizing! how the Thunderers employ
The self same Art, to please, and to destroy.
No Object, yet, confirms the promis'd Bliss;
Thy dear-lov'd Empire differs wide from this:
We disembark; and now once more I stand,
(Freed from my Fear) on firm and solid Land;
My Sickness left me; and my Pains decreas'd,
All but the cruel Inmate of my Breast.
As yet, none else but Savages appear,
Their Dress the same with that my Keepers wear;
Houses on Houses still aspiring rise,
And lofty Turrets threat the neighbouring Skies;
No costly Trappings deck the outward Wall,
Like the Sun's Temple in thy Capital:
Though unadorn'd with that external Shew;
Within, what Wonders stand expos'd to View!
Just as my Feet had gain'd a sumptuous Room,
(My Thoughts engross'd by my precarious Doom)
393
A virgin Daughter of the Sun confess'd:
A secret Joy my throbbing Bosom warms,
To clasp my Sister-Sufferer to my Arms;
The Maid, transported, with an equal Haste,
Moves as I move, and flies to be embrac'd:
Delusion all; my Arms are stretch'd in vain;
Fruitless I rush against the glossy Plain;
A shining Surface to my Sight supplies
The extended Form, but all Access denies;
And, when my Tears in briny Currents flow,
She seems to feel a Sympathy of Woe:
While on the Maid attentively I gaz'd,
My Grief was banish'd by my Wonder rais'd:
The friendly Cazique's Form I seem'd to view,
Close by the first that my Attention drew;
Here, while I touch him with a dubious Hand,
There, I behold the just Resemblance stand:
Strange! that the self-same Person should appear,
At the same Time, so distant, and so near.
No more I seek that Daughter of the Sun,
Taught to believe the Virgin Form my own;
But, why, or, wherefore? Ignorance combin'd
With blinded Error still obscures my Mind.
The utmost Knowlege our Amutas boast
Would Nought avail on this surprizing Coast:
Where'er I go, the wildly-staring Throng,
Gaping, surround me as I move along;
They gaze astonish'd, as they ne'er had seen
A Virgin Garb, or e'er at Cusco been.
394
Encircling, guard me from all future Harms:
While thus I wander, widow'd, and alone,
The World's a Desart wild, when thou art gone;
No Path to guide my Footsteps to the Goal;
No Place to rest my weak and wearied Soul.
Still more and more Uncertainties appear;
My Hopes are foil'd with Doubts, and with Despair;
'Tis dark and dubious all: But yet, I find
This Nation form'd beneficent and kind;
Of Temper open, unreserved, and free;
But oft inclin'd to trifling Levity:
With such Velocity their Accents flow,
My Ears can scarce pursue them as they go;
Fluent in Words, accustom'd in Grimace,
A talking, active, thoughtless, pleasing Race;
Always in Action, ever brisk and gay,
In gladsome Mirth they pass the live-long Day;
As we are 'custom'd, when, with willing Hands,
We cultivate our richly-grateful Lands.
Was I to judge, from different Manners shewn,
Among this savage Nation, and my own,
My Hopes would vanish; but that I have been told,
Ere that the Spaniards sought our sordid Gold;
What glorious Paths thy conquering Sire pursu'd
To distant Realms, and Provinces subdu'd;
This may be one of those; the Sun here seems,
Pleas'd to adorn it with his purest Beams;
How long must I remain unsatisfy'd,
Of this my Fate, all Use of Speech deny'd;
That high Distinction, which all-gracious Heaven
To Man, its Image, o'er the Brute has given,
Avails not me; condemn'd to inward Moan,
My sad Complaints are understood by none:
How long, ye Powers, am I ordain'd to wait,
Ere I can know my still precarious Fate?
Oh! could I once the Knowlege but attain
Of this new Language, 'twould allay my Pain;
But all in vain, is every Art essay'd;
Nor aught avails my willing China's Aid:
Language deny'd, I oft indeed divine
The Cazique's Meaning, by the mystic Sign:
These Signs to all the Savages are known,
Not, as I guess'd, confin'd to me alone;
Sudden, and quick in Thought, Words scarce suffice,
Their Bodies' Motion must assist the Voice;
The imperfect Sentence lingers half-express'd,
From the shrugg'd Shoulder we must guess the Rest.
Wouldst thou believe it? in this barbarous Place,
That Men and Men most frequently embrace?
The Women's Cheeks here meet the public Kiss;
No Blush succeeds, nor is it held amiss.
To their Vivacity, our serious Air,
And slow Expression, aukward must appear:
But yet, might I relenting Fate implore
To guide thy Steps to this fantastic Shore,
My Aza's Presence such Content would give,
Even here, delighted with my Lord, I'd live.
Whate'er they do, an unaffected Ease
Reigns through the Whole; and, haply, by Degrees,
What now astonishes, may learn to please.
But wherefore here?—for, what avails the Place?
My wish'd-for Blessing is thy kind Embrace;
With thee, my Love, I'd through the Desart roam,
Through parch'd Savannas, or the Forest's Gloom;
Thy manly Virtue should my Soul sustain,
To smile at Labour, and habituate Pain.
Among this savage Nation, and my own,
My Hopes would vanish; but that I have been told,
Ere that the Spaniards sought our sordid Gold;
What glorious Paths thy conquering Sire pursu'd
To distant Realms, and Provinces subdu'd;
This may be one of those; the Sun here seems,
Pleas'd to adorn it with his purest Beams;
How long must I remain unsatisfy'd,
Of this my Fate, all Use of Speech deny'd;
That high Distinction, which all-gracious Heaven
To Man, its Image, o'er the Brute has given,
Avails not me; condemn'd to inward Moan,
My sad Complaints are understood by none:
395
Ere I can know my still precarious Fate?
Oh! could I once the Knowlege but attain
Of this new Language, 'twould allay my Pain;
But all in vain, is every Art essay'd;
Nor aught avails my willing China's Aid:
Language deny'd, I oft indeed divine
The Cazique's Meaning, by the mystic Sign:
These Signs to all the Savages are known,
Not, as I guess'd, confin'd to me alone;
Sudden, and quick in Thought, Words scarce suffice,
Their Bodies' Motion must assist the Voice;
The imperfect Sentence lingers half-express'd,
From the shrugg'd Shoulder we must guess the Rest.
Wouldst thou believe it? in this barbarous Place,
That Men and Men most frequently embrace?
The Women's Cheeks here meet the public Kiss;
No Blush succeeds, nor is it held amiss.
To their Vivacity, our serious Air,
And slow Expression, aukward must appear:
But yet, might I relenting Fate implore
To guide thy Steps to this fantastic Shore,
My Aza's Presence such Content would give,
Even here, delighted with my Lord, I'd live.
Whate'er they do, an unaffected Ease
Reigns through the Whole; and, haply, by Degrees,
What now astonishes, may learn to please.
But wherefore here?—for, what avails the Place?
My wish'd-for Blessing is thy kind Embrace;
With thee, my Love, I'd through the Desart roam,
Through parch'd Savannas, or the Forest's Gloom;
396
To smile at Labour, and habituate Pain.
Of late, a Cusipata
tries to teach
My aukward Tongue this strange invented Speech:
Some Words I have learn'd, though scarcely can express;
Yet, still, I'll try to sooth my sad Distress,
At least in Part: Oh! much I long to know
The Story, Cause, and Progress of our Woe.
My aukward Tongue this strange invented Speech:
Some Words I have learn'd, though scarcely can express;
Yet, still, I'll try to sooth my sad Distress,
At least in Part: Oh! much I long to know
The Story, Cause, and Progress of our Woe.
LETTER V.
INSCRIBED TO MISS DALY.
Silence no more my lonely Spirit grieves;
The Cusipata's Art my Tongue relieves;
The Bar's remov'd that heighten'd my Distress,
And Perseverance meets the wish'd Success;
I'm so proficient in this Language grown,
'Twill soon become familiar as my own:
Even now, attentive, I can comprehend
The Conversation of my pious Friend.
From him I learn, that, in the dreadful Hour,
When my Soul trembled at the Thunder's Roar,
Even then, my Fate was kind, when least I thought,
And the first Means of my Redemption wrought;
That France (the Kingdom where I now reside)
Had sent its Force to curb the Spanish Pride;
Who met, and fought, and that the Power of Spain
Was taken, sunk, or scatter'd o'er the Main;
That in the Engagement, which had caus'd my Fear,
I chang'd my Fortune by the Chance of War;
That I am free; but, that the Vanquish'd bore
Thee, still a Prisoner to the Spanish Shore;
Since when, our Chief, in Charity to me,
Dispatch'd a Chaqui in the Search of thee.
How does my Soul with Expectation burn
For this slow-footed Messenger's Return!
The Cusipata's Art my Tongue relieves;
The Bar's remov'd that heighten'd my Distress,
And Perseverance meets the wish'd Success;
I'm so proficient in this Language grown,
'Twill soon become familiar as my own:
Even now, attentive, I can comprehend
The Conversation of my pious Friend.
397
When my Soul trembled at the Thunder's Roar,
Even then, my Fate was kind, when least I thought,
And the first Means of my Redemption wrought;
That France (the Kingdom where I now reside)
Had sent its Force to curb the Spanish Pride;
Who met, and fought, and that the Power of Spain
Was taken, sunk, or scatter'd o'er the Main;
That in the Engagement, which had caus'd my Fear,
I chang'd my Fortune by the Chance of War;
That I am free; but, that the Vanquish'd bore
Thee, still a Prisoner to the Spanish Shore;
Since when, our Chief, in Charity to me,
Dispatch'd a Chaqui in the Search of thee.
How does my Soul with Expectation burn
For this slow-footed Messenger's Return!
The very Means, my savage Friends employ,
To heal my Woes, embitter all my Joy:
By different Sports they strive to entertain;
Alas! my Heart! they but encrease my Pain.
Alone, most happy; there, when unconfin'd,
My Thoughts can rove, and Aza fill my Mind:
But, yet, how strange! how whimsical must seem
A wish'd Remembrance of the dreadful Theme;
For, while my Aza rises to my View,
Our past Misfortunes find Remembrance too.
No more of this; for this you know too well:
Prepare your Wonder for the Things I tell.
To heal my Woes, embitter all my Joy:
By different Sports they strive to entertain;
Alas! my Heart! they but encrease my Pain.
Alone, most happy; there, when unconfin'd,
My Thoughts can rove, and Aza fill my Mind:
But, yet, how strange! how whimsical must seem
A wish'd Remembrance of the dreadful Theme;
For, while my Aza rises to my View,
Our past Misfortunes find Remembrance too.
No more of this; for this you know too well:
Prepare your Wonder for the Things I tell.
A costly Robe, as in this Country worn,
And form'd to cover, less, than to adorn,
With Gold and Silver, exquisitely wrought,
The Cazique order'd, and my China brought;
A stiffen'd Substance round my Waist she join'd,
Which aukward felt, uneasy, and confin'd;
Next, on my Hips a strange Machine she ty'd,
Which low descended in Circumference wide;
The shining Vest she pins with willing Care;
And forms in sporting Curls my flowing Hair;
A flimsy Covering on my Head she plac'd,
With colour'd Strings and various Flowers grac'd:
When, by her Help, I stood in Pomp array'd,
Pleas'd with her Task and me, the smiling Maid
Brought that mysterious doubling Plain to shew
A Metamorphosis I scarce could know.
The Cazique entering, as in Thought profound,
With reverential Awe survey'd me round;
He gaz'd in Silence; blush'd; then stept aside;
Dismiss'd my China; gaz'd again, and sigh'd;
Then press'd my Hand, and blush'd and sigh'd again,
With all the Tokens of afflictive Pain:
Alarm'd at this, I gently ask'd to know
If I occasion'd all that Depth of Woe;
But he, regardless of my kind Demand,
In Tears repuls'd me with a trembling Hand:
What could this mean? I had again requir'd
The fatal Cause; but sudden he retir'd:
Most sure, he feels Concern for my Distress;
And deeply pities what he can't redress:
Perhaps Resemblance may his Sorrows move;
And he, like me, laments his absent Love:
Perhaps, my Image, in this Dress, revives
The dear Remembrance, for whose Sake he grieves.
It may be so: But I with Pleasure see
His Kindness not the least estrang'd to me.
And form'd to cover, less, than to adorn,
With Gold and Silver, exquisitely wrought,
The Cazique order'd, and my China brought;
398
Which aukward felt, uneasy, and confin'd;
Next, on my Hips a strange Machine she ty'd,
Which low descended in Circumference wide;
The shining Vest she pins with willing Care;
And forms in sporting Curls my flowing Hair;
A flimsy Covering on my Head she plac'd,
With colour'd Strings and various Flowers grac'd:
When, by her Help, I stood in Pomp array'd,
Pleas'd with her Task and me, the smiling Maid
Brought that mysterious doubling Plain to shew
A Metamorphosis I scarce could know.
The Cazique entering, as in Thought profound,
With reverential Awe survey'd me round;
He gaz'd in Silence; blush'd; then stept aside;
Dismiss'd my China; gaz'd again, and sigh'd;
Then press'd my Hand, and blush'd and sigh'd again,
With all the Tokens of afflictive Pain:
Alarm'd at this, I gently ask'd to know
If I occasion'd all that Depth of Woe;
But he, regardless of my kind Demand,
In Tears repuls'd me with a trembling Hand:
What could this mean? I had again requir'd
The fatal Cause; but sudden he retir'd:
Most sure, he feels Concern for my Distress;
And deeply pities what he can't redress:
Perhaps Resemblance may his Sorrows move;
And he, like me, laments his absent Love:
Perhaps, my Image, in this Dress, revives
The dear Remembrance, for whose Sake he grieves.
It may be so: But I with Pleasure see
His Kindness not the least estrang'd to me.
One Morn, before our ever-glorious Sire
Rejoic'd the World with his celestial Fire,
When scarce the glimmering Twilight was return'd,
And the grey Arch of Heaven had re-adorn'd,
My early China beckon'd me to rise;
I straight obey'd, though Sleep still seal'd my Eyes:
The Cazique led me through the outward Door,
Where stood a Form I ne'er had seen before:
By two high Steps a Chamber's Height we gain;
Low was the Roof, and could but few contain;
On either Side, directly opposite,
A large square Void receiv'd the Air and Light;
Through these I look'd with cautionary Care,
And saw the Chamber balanc'd in the Air,
Uplifted high: What Terrors did I prove,
When this strange Prodigy began to move:
By Trees, Fields, Houses, rapidly we pass'd,
Which seem'd to meet us with an equal Haste:
This present Motion to my Memory brought
The floating Mansion, full with Thunder fraught,
Whence first I view'd with Fear the foaming Wave,
And lost all Title, but a Royal Slave.
These sad Reflections, and my new Surprize,
Urg'd the round Tear into my floating Eyes:
The attentive Cazique saw, and, doubtless, guess'd,
In Part, the Pangs of my disorder'd Breast.
At length, he made me, from the Window's Height,
View and observe the Causes of my Fright:
On rolling Orbs the tottering Chamber hung;
Nor mov'd spontaneous, but compell'd along
By Hamas, patient of the painful Thong.
Arts, more than human Genius, unconfin'd,
Declare this Nation bless'd above Mankind:
But, sure, some great Defect intestine reigns,
Or soon the vanquish'd World would own their Chains.
Rejoic'd the World with his celestial Fire,
399
And the grey Arch of Heaven had re-adorn'd,
My early China beckon'd me to rise;
I straight obey'd, though Sleep still seal'd my Eyes:
The Cazique led me through the outward Door,
Where stood a Form I ne'er had seen before:
By two high Steps a Chamber's Height we gain;
Low was the Roof, and could but few contain;
On either Side, directly opposite,
A large square Void receiv'd the Air and Light;
Through these I look'd with cautionary Care,
And saw the Chamber balanc'd in the Air,
Uplifted high: What Terrors did I prove,
When this strange Prodigy began to move:
By Trees, Fields, Houses, rapidly we pass'd,
Which seem'd to meet us with an equal Haste:
This present Motion to my Memory brought
The floating Mansion, full with Thunder fraught,
Whence first I view'd with Fear the foaming Wave,
And lost all Title, but a Royal Slave.
These sad Reflections, and my new Surprize,
Urg'd the round Tear into my floating Eyes:
The attentive Cazique saw, and, doubtless, guess'd,
In Part, the Pangs of my disorder'd Breast.
At length, he made me, from the Window's Height,
View and observe the Causes of my Fright:
On rolling Orbs the tottering Chamber hung;
Nor mov'd spontaneous, but compell'd along
By Hamas, patient of the painful Thong.
Arts, more than human Genius, unconfin'd,
Declare this Nation bless'd above Mankind:
400
Or soon the vanquish'd World would own their Chains.
Four Times, the Sun had rested in the Main,
As oft, return'd to chear the World again;
By his Example, we pursued our Way,
And end our Journey, as he clos'd the Day.
Through all the vast Inquietudes and Pains,
I feel for thee, even now, perhaps, in Chains,
Still, my dear Lord, I blush not to confess,
Some Beams of Pleasure temper my Distress;
Such as, before, to Zilia were unknown,
Immur'd within the Temple of the Sun,
Given to the Mama's venerable Guard,
From every Notion of a World debarr'd.
How do my Eyes with Wonder, now, survey
The glorious Beauties of the rising Day!
How view the Sun emblazoning the Earth,
To give the generative Herbage Birth!
Before his Face the dusky Vapour yields,
And quits, repugnant, the gay teeming Fields:
Next, o'er the Mountain's lofty Summit driven,
The Prospect rises of an azure Heaven;
Now, unconfin'd, the Eye with Wonder roves,
O'er Hills, and Vallies, Rivers, Lawns, and Groves;
We see the regular Confusion lye
In stately, wild, disorder'd Majesty:
Or, in the Evening, when the Sun declines,
How gay the Westward with his Radiance shines!
How can we view that heaven-illumin'd Blaze,
Without Astonishment, Delight, and Praise!
The tinctur'd Clouds, in various Colours shewn,
Adorn'd in Gold, and gathering round the Sun;
Huge Mountains seem to our bewilder'd Sight
Alternate vary'd into Shade, and Light.
Here let me hold: 'Tis wonderous all! and stands,
Confess'd, the Work of Pacha Camac's Hands.
As oft, return'd to chear the World again;
By his Example, we pursued our Way,
And end our Journey, as he clos'd the Day.
Through all the vast Inquietudes and Pains,
I feel for thee, even now, perhaps, in Chains,
Still, my dear Lord, I blush not to confess,
Some Beams of Pleasure temper my Distress;
Such as, before, to Zilia were unknown,
Immur'd within the Temple of the Sun,
Given to the Mama's venerable Guard,
From every Notion of a World debarr'd.
How do my Eyes with Wonder, now, survey
The glorious Beauties of the rising Day!
How view the Sun emblazoning the Earth,
To give the generative Herbage Birth!
Before his Face the dusky Vapour yields,
And quits, repugnant, the gay teeming Fields:
Next, o'er the Mountain's lofty Summit driven,
The Prospect rises of an azure Heaven;
Now, unconfin'd, the Eye with Wonder roves,
O'er Hills, and Vallies, Rivers, Lawns, and Groves;
We see the regular Confusion lye
In stately, wild, disorder'd Majesty:
Or, in the Evening, when the Sun declines,
How gay the Westward with his Radiance shines!
How can we view that heaven-illumin'd Blaze,
Without Astonishment, Delight, and Praise!
The tinctur'd Clouds, in various Colours shewn,
Adorn'd in Gold, and gathering round the Sun;
Huge Mountains seem to our bewilder'd Sight
Alternate vary'd into Shade, and Light.
401
Confess'd, the Work of Pacha Camac's Hands.
Oh Heaven!—What's this?—Impossible!—My Eyes
Must, sure, deceive me; or, new Wonders rise:
A thousand, lofty Spires at once appear;
And a thick Smoak o'ercasts the tainted Air;
A noisome Smell invades my loathing Sense,
And my Breast feels the baneful Influence.
But, now, I find the Spires, within my View,
Rise from the City we are destin'd to:
'Tis, sure, most large; perhaps, the dread Abode,
And favourite Temple of the reigning God.
Must, sure, deceive me; or, new Wonders rise:
A thousand, lofty Spires at once appear;
And a thick Smoak o'ercasts the tainted Air;
A noisome Smell invades my loathing Sense,
And my Breast feels the baneful Influence.
But, now, I find the Spires, within my View,
Rise from the City we are destin'd to:
'Tis, sure, most large; perhaps, the dread Abode,
And favourite Temple of the reigning God.
Could I but hope to meet my Aza there,
To bless my Eyes with what they hold most dear;
Would Heaven, indulgent to my just Request,
Accept the Prayers of Innocence distress'd;
Or, would it, there, in thy Embraces grant
The kind Asylum that my Sufferings want;
'Tis that I seek, 'tis there I wish to lie;
If that's refus'd me, I would ask—to die.
To bless my Eyes with what they hold most dear;
Would Heaven, indulgent to my just Request,
Accept the Prayers of Innocence distress'd;
Or, would it, there, in thy Embraces grant
The kind Asylum that my Sufferings want;
'Tis that I seek, 'tis there I wish to lie;
If that's refus'd me, I would ask—to die.
402
LETTER VI.
INSCRIBED TO MISS BOYLE.
Welcome, thrice welcome, thou returning Light,
To calm the Terrors of the restless Night!
From whence those passing Fires, and wakeful Noise
Of rolling Huts, those fear-inspiring Cries?
Do they in Paris Midnight Revels keep,
Whose Rites deprive the Stranger's Soul of Sleep?
Arriving late, desponding, and dismay'd,
I sought some Place to rest my raging Head:
In vain my Pallet promises Repose;
The nightly Tumult all that Hope o'erthrows:
Even all the live-long Night, I trembling lay,
In Expectation of the coming Day;
Anxious I wait for what the Fates intend,
Or when my Life, or when my Woes, shall end;
No Beam of Hope breaks in, but, through the Whole,
Darkness and Doubt o'erwhelm my troubled Soul:
No News of thee, no Aza comes to bless
His Zilia's Eyes, still swimming in Distress.
But, now, alas! I feel myself undone;
For, now I weep, my Quipos almost gone;
That lov'd Amusement, where my Soul employ'd
A Correspondence which my Love enjoy'd;
My Hopes were flatter'd by the dear Deceit;
My Heart in plaintive Cadence ceas'd to beat:
Delusive Fancy! the Illusion flies;
And horrid Truth appalls my opening Eyes.
My first Intention was, that, if once more
Fate should hereafter my dear Lord restore,
To bless his Zilia on her native Shore,
These Knots might aid my Memory, to trace
The various Customs of this savage Race:
If I, at present, such Obstructions find,
To regulate the Ideas of my Mind;
How shall I, then, without Assistance left,
And of my Quipos' wonted Knots bereft?
'Tis true, these Savages employ an Art,
To tell the Eyes the Meaning of the Heart:
On a thin Substance, beautifully white,
The tracing Feather pictures to the Sight
The Sense reveal'd: But, can my simple Brain
This wonderous Art, this Knowlege e'er obtain?
'Tis Love must aid me, the Attempt to make;
'Tis Love must guide me, for my Aza's Sake.
But, while the Remnant of these Threads afford
A Correspondence with my absent Lord,
These Threads shall tell the Wonders that I see,
And paint the Affection of my Soul for thee.
The gentle Cazique, studious to devise
New various Means to dry my streaming Eyes,
Led me, reluctant, to a spacious Room,
Whose numerous Lights forbad the nightly Gloom;
Here Wealth, Magnificence, and Splendor vye
With Art, and Order, to attract the Eye:
High on the Wall, in various Colours wove,
The enliven'd Figures seem almost to move;
Those glossy Plains, that human Art has taught
To double Objects, wonderfully wrought,
In golden Frames, deceive the dazzled Sight,
By the Reflection of the opposing Light;
Large gilded Stands their marble Coverings bore;
And vary'd Carpets form'd the enamell'd Floor.
But, now, a Croud of Savages appear,
Whose urgent Jargon strikes my tortur'd Ear:
Here black Curacas, sprucely dress'd, behold,
And sumptuous Anquis, plated o'er with Gold:
With vast Magnificence the Women shone,
In borrow'd Charms, and Beauty not their own;
For, would'st thou think it? here, the Power of Art,
Not Nature's Gift, must reach the Lover's Heart;
The Brush, and Paint, and Washes have supply'd
The Want of Charms that Nature has deny'd;
To the best Artists Men their Homage pay;
And sigh for Charms, that bloom but for a Day.
To calm the Terrors of the restless Night!
From whence those passing Fires, and wakeful Noise
Of rolling Huts, those fear-inspiring Cries?
Do they in Paris Midnight Revels keep,
Whose Rites deprive the Stranger's Soul of Sleep?
Arriving late, desponding, and dismay'd,
I sought some Place to rest my raging Head:
In vain my Pallet promises Repose;
The nightly Tumult all that Hope o'erthrows:
Even all the live-long Night, I trembling lay,
In Expectation of the coming Day;
Anxious I wait for what the Fates intend,
Or when my Life, or when my Woes, shall end;
No Beam of Hope breaks in, but, through the Whole,
Darkness and Doubt o'erwhelm my troubled Soul:
No News of thee, no Aza comes to bless
His Zilia's Eyes, still swimming in Distress.
But, now, alas! I feel myself undone;
For, now I weep, my Quipos almost gone;
That lov'd Amusement, where my Soul employ'd
A Correspondence which my Love enjoy'd;
403
My Heart in plaintive Cadence ceas'd to beat:
Delusive Fancy! the Illusion flies;
And horrid Truth appalls my opening Eyes.
My first Intention was, that, if once more
Fate should hereafter my dear Lord restore,
To bless his Zilia on her native Shore,
These Knots might aid my Memory, to trace
The various Customs of this savage Race:
If I, at present, such Obstructions find,
To regulate the Ideas of my Mind;
How shall I, then, without Assistance left,
And of my Quipos' wonted Knots bereft?
'Tis true, these Savages employ an Art,
To tell the Eyes the Meaning of the Heart:
On a thin Substance, beautifully white,
The tracing Feather pictures to the Sight
The Sense reveal'd: But, can my simple Brain
This wonderous Art, this Knowlege e'er obtain?
'Tis Love must aid me, the Attempt to make;
'Tis Love must guide me, for my Aza's Sake.
But, while the Remnant of these Threads afford
A Correspondence with my absent Lord,
These Threads shall tell the Wonders that I see,
And paint the Affection of my Soul for thee.
The gentle Cazique, studious to devise
New various Means to dry my streaming Eyes,
Led me, reluctant, to a spacious Room,
Whose numerous Lights forbad the nightly Gloom;
Here Wealth, Magnificence, and Splendor vye
With Art, and Order, to attract the Eye:
High on the Wall, in various Colours wove,
The enliven'd Figures seem almost to move;
Those glossy Plains, that human Art has taught
To double Objects, wonderfully wrought,
404
By the Reflection of the opposing Light;
Large gilded Stands their marble Coverings bore;
And vary'd Carpets form'd the enamell'd Floor.
But, now, a Croud of Savages appear,
Whose urgent Jargon strikes my tortur'd Ear:
Here black Curacas, sprucely dress'd, behold,
And sumptuous Anquis, plated o'er with Gold:
With vast Magnificence the Women shone,
In borrow'd Charms, and Beauty not their own;
For, would'st thou think it? here, the Power of Art,
Not Nature's Gift, must reach the Lover's Heart;
The Brush, and Paint, and Washes have supply'd
The Want of Charms that Nature has deny'd;
To the best Artists Men their Homage pay;
And sigh for Charms, that bloom but for a Day.
Scarce was I enter'd, when the motley Throng
Respectful view'd me, as I pass'd along;
Each lowly bow'd, or dropp'd the bended Knee,
And paid me Homage, only due to thee:
With strange, ill-manner'd Scrutiny they gaze;
And seem to wonder, but yet seem to praise.
While, thus expos'd, and 'compass'd round, I stood,
My Cheeks confess'd the shame-attracted Blood;
Most hateful this! But, now, as if inspir'd
With the same Thought, they all at once retir'd:
To Cards! to Cards! a female Savage cries;
To Cards! the assenting Croud with Joy replies.
Now, round the Table's green Expanse they croud;
Now, burst in Clamours, sudden, wild, and loud.
The Cazique pointed to my wondering View
Small, square, thin Leaves, array'd in milk-white Hue,
On one Side this; on the Reverse appears
Large deep-stain'd Spots, and mystic Characters:
These are the Ministers that Fortune gives;
With these, her misled Votaries deceives;
'Tis from their Aspect each his Fate attends;
On these, their short-liv'd Happiness depends,
Or lasting Misery; and the shining Ore
That decks the Board, must yield to Fortune's Power:
Precarious Chance! Now, each his Soul betrays;
And various Fortunes various Passions raise:
Here, Indignation eyes his parting Hoard,
While calm Contentment sweeps the shining Board;
Here, the pale Wretch, to Desperation driven,
Gnashes his Teeth, and seems to rail at Heaven:
The Females, too, perform their different Parts,
While their Eyes tell the Emotion of their Hearts;
Now, for a Moment, bright, serene, and clear;
Then, on a sudden, clouded with Despair;
The unsuccessful, and successful Card,
Alternate kiss'd, and torn, as a Reward
Of Fortune's Caprice. Whence this Thirst of Gain?
'Twas hell-ordain'd for human Nature's Bane:
How vast a Difference 'twixt thy Zilia's Soul,
And these, whom Wealth, and Want, alone controul,
For thee, dear Aza, spring my Care and Grief;
From thee, I hope for Comfort and Relief;
From Pride, from Avarice, from Ambition free,
I only ask for Liberty, and thee.
Respectful view'd me, as I pass'd along;
Each lowly bow'd, or dropp'd the bended Knee,
And paid me Homage, only due to thee:
With strange, ill-manner'd Scrutiny they gaze;
And seem to wonder, but yet seem to praise.
While, thus expos'd, and 'compass'd round, I stood,
My Cheeks confess'd the shame-attracted Blood;
Most hateful this! But, now, as if inspir'd
With the same Thought, they all at once retir'd:
To Cards! to Cards! a female Savage cries;
To Cards! the assenting Croud with Joy replies.
405
Now, burst in Clamours, sudden, wild, and loud.
The Cazique pointed to my wondering View
Small, square, thin Leaves, array'd in milk-white Hue,
On one Side this; on the Reverse appears
Large deep-stain'd Spots, and mystic Characters:
These are the Ministers that Fortune gives;
With these, her misled Votaries deceives;
'Tis from their Aspect each his Fate attends;
On these, their short-liv'd Happiness depends,
Or lasting Misery; and the shining Ore
That decks the Board, must yield to Fortune's Power:
Precarious Chance! Now, each his Soul betrays;
And various Fortunes various Passions raise:
Here, Indignation eyes his parting Hoard,
While calm Contentment sweeps the shining Board;
Here, the pale Wretch, to Desperation driven,
Gnashes his Teeth, and seems to rail at Heaven:
The Females, too, perform their different Parts,
While their Eyes tell the Emotion of their Hearts;
Now, for a Moment, bright, serene, and clear;
Then, on a sudden, clouded with Despair;
The unsuccessful, and successful Card,
Alternate kiss'd, and torn, as a Reward
Of Fortune's Caprice. Whence this Thirst of Gain?
'Twas hell-ordain'd for human Nature's Bane:
How vast a Difference 'twixt thy Zilia's Soul,
And these, whom Wealth, and Want, alone controul,
For thee, dear Aza, spring my Care and Grief;
From thee, I hope for Comfort and Relief;
From Pride, from Avarice, from Ambition free,
I only ask for Liberty, and thee.
406
LETTER VII.
INSCRIBED TO MISS SCOTT.
Aza, my Love! how long a Time is past,
Since my fantastic Soul address'd thee last:
Light of my Days! e'er since my Quipos fail'd,
Two hundred bright returning Suns I have hail'd:
Now, a new pleasing Art some Comfort brings,
And serves in Lieu of the descriptive Strings;
Taught by these Savages, my tutor'd Hand
Marks o'er the Paper, as my Thoughts command;
The feather'd Pen, deep-dy'd, performs its Part,
And strikes my Wonder, while it paints my Heart:
But, oh! alas! what Terrors have assail'd,
What different Passions o'er my Soul prevail'd!
Now, green-ey'd Jealousy, and pallid Fear;
Now, short-liv'd Hope, still haunted by Despair:
But hold, my Grief, and let my Lines unfold
Still stranger Things than e'er my Quipos told.
Since my fantastic Soul address'd thee last:
Light of my Days! e'er since my Quipos fail'd,
Two hundred bright returning Suns I have hail'd:
Now, a new pleasing Art some Comfort brings,
And serves in Lieu of the descriptive Strings;
Taught by these Savages, my tutor'd Hand
Marks o'er the Paper, as my Thoughts command;
The feather'd Pen, deep-dy'd, performs its Part,
And strikes my Wonder, while it paints my Heart:
But, oh! alas! what Terrors have assail'd,
What different Passions o'er my Soul prevail'd!
Now, green-ey'd Jealousy, and pallid Fear;
Now, short-liv'd Hope, still haunted by Despair:
But hold, my Grief, and let my Lines unfold
Still stranger Things than e'er my Quipos told.
High o'er the Town, a solemn Fabric rears
Its venerable Head, the Work of Years;
Like the Sun's Temple; but whose towering Height,
Stupendous, baffles and fatigues the Sight;
Of vast Extent, which summon'd me awhile
To admire the Beauties of the outward Pile:
But, when I enter'd that superb Abode,
The Anti-chamber of the reigning God,
What noble Objects did I there behold!
The lofty Roof adorn'd with pendant Gold;
Supporting Pillars in due Order stand,
Which boast the Exactness of the Sculptor's Hand;
Here, on each Side six Marble Figures plac'd,
The hollow'd Wall with awful Grandeur grac'd,
'Bove human Size; in every Space between,
Adorn'd in Gold, the Painter's Skill is seen;
Where real Life and Spirit seem to warm,
In different Ways, each artificial Form.
My trembling Soul, with Expectation fir'd,
Painted the God most gloriously attir'd,
With Scenes of Bliss, and exquisite Delight,
All Heaven disclos'd insufferably bright:
But how deceiv'd! when through the brazen Door
I trod the inward consecrated Floor:
In Front, a naked human Form I view'd,
Fix'd to a Cross, which o'er an Altar stood;
A Wreath of Thorns his heavenly Crown supply'd,
While the Blood trickled down his wounded Side;
No glorious Rays bedeck'd his drooping Head;
No Signs, but what excessive Pain betray'd;
Though pale in Death, the writhing Limbs confess
The late felt Pangs of infinite Distress:
Strange! that these Savages should hope Relief
From one in Death, unconscious of their Grief:
Perhaps some Mystery to this belongs;
And my dark Soul their brighter Knowlege wrongs;
Perhaps his Life was for his Children given,
To atone their Crimes, and ascertain their Heaven:
What could it mean? even I myself, in Thought,
Fear'd, lov'd, and wonder'd, at I knew not what.
But, now, a Figure, matron-like, appears,
Whose tender Arm a smiling Infant bears;
Weeping, she stands within a glittering Shrine,
Where precious Stones, and Gold, alternate shine:
To her, these Savages most frequent pray;
To her, their Vows, their Adoration pay;
But, how absurd! how carelessly express'd!
The Deity alone appears distress'd.
Here, a young Virgin, kneeling 'midst her Prayers,
Her Aza's Oaths with Approbation hears:
Meanwhile, the Youth with double Ardour burns,
And plays the Lover, and the Saint by Turns.
See! where, install'd, the bloated Ynca sleeps,
Oh! impious Mortal! while the Godhead weeps.
The Thought of Worship, doubtless, first was given,
To bless Mankind, the Boon of gracious Heaven:
But, sure, these Wretches have this Gift misus'd;
Or, by degenerate Priests have been abus'd;
Or, some dark Angel, studious to betray,
Has led their Souls, maliciously, astray.
Not so, thy Yncas watch the sacred Fire;
Not so, thy Virgins hail their rising Sire;
Not so, thy Youths pollute the Temple Floor,
Or dare to trifle with Almighty Power:
Alas! my Aza, may some pitying God
Reclaim their Steps from this mistaken Road!
Its venerable Head, the Work of Years;
Like the Sun's Temple; but whose towering Height,
Stupendous, baffles and fatigues the Sight;
407
To admire the Beauties of the outward Pile:
But, when I enter'd that superb Abode,
The Anti-chamber of the reigning God,
What noble Objects did I there behold!
The lofty Roof adorn'd with pendant Gold;
Supporting Pillars in due Order stand,
Which boast the Exactness of the Sculptor's Hand;
Here, on each Side six Marble Figures plac'd,
The hollow'd Wall with awful Grandeur grac'd,
'Bove human Size; in every Space between,
Adorn'd in Gold, the Painter's Skill is seen;
Where real Life and Spirit seem to warm,
In different Ways, each artificial Form.
My trembling Soul, with Expectation fir'd,
Painted the God most gloriously attir'd,
With Scenes of Bliss, and exquisite Delight,
All Heaven disclos'd insufferably bright:
But how deceiv'd! when through the brazen Door
I trod the inward consecrated Floor:
In Front, a naked human Form I view'd,
Fix'd to a Cross, which o'er an Altar stood;
A Wreath of Thorns his heavenly Crown supply'd,
While the Blood trickled down his wounded Side;
No glorious Rays bedeck'd his drooping Head;
No Signs, but what excessive Pain betray'd;
Though pale in Death, the writhing Limbs confess
The late felt Pangs of infinite Distress:
Strange! that these Savages should hope Relief
From one in Death, unconscious of their Grief:
Perhaps some Mystery to this belongs;
And my dark Soul their brighter Knowlege wrongs;
Perhaps his Life was for his Children given,
To atone their Crimes, and ascertain their Heaven:
408
Fear'd, lov'd, and wonder'd, at I knew not what.
But, now, a Figure, matron-like, appears,
Whose tender Arm a smiling Infant bears;
Weeping, she stands within a glittering Shrine,
Where precious Stones, and Gold, alternate shine:
To her, these Savages most frequent pray;
To her, their Vows, their Adoration pay;
But, how absurd! how carelessly express'd!
The Deity alone appears distress'd.
Here, a young Virgin, kneeling 'midst her Prayers,
Her Aza's Oaths with Approbation hears:
Meanwhile, the Youth with double Ardour burns,
And plays the Lover, and the Saint by Turns.
See! where, install'd, the bloated Ynca sleeps,
Oh! impious Mortal! while the Godhead weeps.
The Thought of Worship, doubtless, first was given,
To bless Mankind, the Boon of gracious Heaven:
But, sure, these Wretches have this Gift misus'd;
Or, by degenerate Priests have been abus'd;
Or, some dark Angel, studious to betray,
Has led their Souls, maliciously, astray.
Not so, thy Yncas watch the sacred Fire;
Not so, thy Virgins hail their rising Sire;
Not so, thy Youths pollute the Temple Floor,
Or dare to trifle with Almighty Power:
Alas! my Aza, may some pitying God
Reclaim their Steps from this mistaken Road!
Another Circumstance demands my Pen,
The chief Amusement of these wayward Men:
As, heretofore, I have seen on Cusco's Stage,
They paint the Portraits of a former Age;
They to our Memory were alone reviv'd,
Who fell with Glory, or in Virtue liv'd;
Worthy Examples to instruct Mankind,
To mend the Heart, and humanize the Mind:
Not so instructive do these Scenes appear;
Villains, and Fools, are represented here;
The impetuous Actor whirls his Arms around,
And tears his Hair, or, falling, bites the Ground,
'Till his devoted Side receives the Knife,
And mad Self-Murder ends an impious Life.
Such Crimes as these, that shock the Sight of Heaven,
From our Remembrance rather should be driven:
For, from the Stage, Examples may prevail
O'er tender Minds, where wisest Precepts fail.
What Entertainment for a human Mind!
To view the Woes attending human Kind;
To see the Madman, in his abject State,
Pleas'd with his Frenzy, ridicule his Fate;
To hear the Wretched make their fruitless Moan;
And, unappall'd, withstand the dying Groan:
'Tis strange, yet certain, horrid Sights like these,
Among this Nation find the Means to please.
Can female Appetites such Food digest?
Can Pity find no Harbour in their Breast?
From tyrant Custom, they affect to hear
These tragic Scenes, unconscious of a Tear:
Fierce sanguine Passions manly Souls disgrace,
And substitute the brutal in their Place.
The chief Amusement of these wayward Men:
As, heretofore, I have seen on Cusco's Stage,
They paint the Portraits of a former Age;
They to our Memory were alone reviv'd,
Who fell with Glory, or in Virtue liv'd;
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To mend the Heart, and humanize the Mind:
Not so instructive do these Scenes appear;
Villains, and Fools, are represented here;
The impetuous Actor whirls his Arms around,
And tears his Hair, or, falling, bites the Ground,
'Till his devoted Side receives the Knife,
And mad Self-Murder ends an impious Life.
Such Crimes as these, that shock the Sight of Heaven,
From our Remembrance rather should be driven:
For, from the Stage, Examples may prevail
O'er tender Minds, where wisest Precepts fail.
What Entertainment for a human Mind!
To view the Woes attending human Kind;
To see the Madman, in his abject State,
Pleas'd with his Frenzy, ridicule his Fate;
To hear the Wretched make their fruitless Moan;
And, unappall'd, withstand the dying Groan:
'Tis strange, yet certain, horrid Sights like these,
Among this Nation find the Means to please.
Can female Appetites such Food digest?
Can Pity find no Harbour in their Breast?
From tyrant Custom, they affect to hear
These tragic Scenes, unconscious of a Tear:
Fierce sanguine Passions manly Souls disgrace,
And substitute the brutal in their Place.
Can Zilia hope for Pity, in an Age,
Where her Misfortunes may adorn the Stage,
Where Cusco's Fate, in Time, may entertain,
With Virgins, Yncas, reverend Mamas slain,
And the Sun's Temple be prophan'd again:
Oh! could they add, how providential Fate
Reliev'd the Sufferers from their slavish State;
How grateful Subjects hail'd their bounteous Lord,
For Peace, Religion, Liberty restor'd;
How royal Aza, from his Bondage free,
Releas'd his Zilia from Captivity;
How, by their Virtues, the Peruvian Throne,
In them restor'd, with double Lustre shone:
Oh! flattering Hopes! how soon do ye subside!
How fade the Prospects of such airy Pride!
Perhaps, my Fate has no such Joys in Store;
Perhaps my Aza doats on me no more;
But, why should I anticipate my Care!
I'll kneel to Heaven in most pathetic Prayer;
'Till listening Angels shall observe my Grief,
And bring thee, anxious, to my quick Relief.
Where her Misfortunes may adorn the Stage,
Where Cusco's Fate, in Time, may entertain,
With Virgins, Yncas, reverend Mamas slain,
And the Sun's Temple be prophan'd again:
Oh! could they add, how providential Fate
Reliev'd the Sufferers from their slavish State;
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For Peace, Religion, Liberty restor'd;
How royal Aza, from his Bondage free,
Releas'd his Zilia from Captivity;
How, by their Virtues, the Peruvian Throne,
In them restor'd, with double Lustre shone:
Oh! flattering Hopes! how soon do ye subside!
How fade the Prospects of such airy Pride!
Perhaps, my Fate has no such Joys in Store;
Perhaps my Aza doats on me no more;
But, why should I anticipate my Care!
I'll kneel to Heaven in most pathetic Prayer;
'Till listening Angels shall observe my Grief,
And bring thee, anxious, to my quick Relief.
Last Night, I dream'd,—oh! horrid, horrid Night!
My waking Soul still trembles with the Fright—
While in the Temple's Floor methought I stood,
(Still flow'd the Streams of visionary Blood)
All on a sudden, Peals of Thunder broke,
And the vast Dome from its Foundations shook,
When, thus, the God, in doleful Accents spoke:
‘'Tis past, 'tis done; forbear, fond Maid, in vain,
‘To hope for Blessings thou can'st ne'er obtain:
‘The Lot is cast; nor can my Power divide
‘The sacred Knot, that Heaven itself has ty'd,
‘Can senseless Idols, form'd by mortal Hand,
‘In Competition with the Godhead stand?’
This said, he fell spontaneous on the Floor;
The golden Lamps display'd their Fire no more;
When, lo, methought, upon the Altar's Height,
A bloody Cross beam'd forth celestial Light:
Alas! I fear, this Prodigy may prove
Obnoxious to our Faith, or to my Love;
Perhaps the Crisis of my Fate is nigh;
Ah! love me, Aza! love me, or I die!
My waking Soul still trembles with the Fright—
While in the Temple's Floor methought I stood,
(Still flow'd the Streams of visionary Blood)
All on a sudden, Peals of Thunder broke,
And the vast Dome from its Foundations shook,
When, thus, the God, in doleful Accents spoke:
‘'Tis past, 'tis done; forbear, fond Maid, in vain,
‘To hope for Blessings thou can'st ne'er obtain:
‘The Lot is cast; nor can my Power divide
‘The sacred Knot, that Heaven itself has ty'd,
‘Can senseless Idols, form'd by mortal Hand,
‘In Competition with the Godhead stand?’
This said, he fell spontaneous on the Floor;
The golden Lamps display'd their Fire no more;
When, lo, methought, upon the Altar's Height,
A bloody Cross beam'd forth celestial Light:
Alas! I fear, this Prodigy may prove
Obnoxious to our Faith, or to my Love;
Perhaps the Crisis of my Fate is nigh;
Ah! love me, Aza! love me, or I die!
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LETTER VIII.
Ah! wretched Maid! those heart-felt Sighs forbear!
Why trickles thus the unavailing Tear?
Too well, I know, these Sighs must rise in vain;
Too true, these Tears unpity'd must complain:
Oh! could my Soul, endu'd with proper Pride,
Its Love, its Grief, its Indignation hide!
But burst it will; my Patience can no more:
But, to what Friend? whose Aid can I implore?
My Brain's disturb'd; alas! alas! I rave;
What can I do? a poor forsaken Slave!
Like Birds, that spend their little idle Rage,
And, fruitless, mourn, indignant of their Cage,
From Thought to Thought, my fluttering Spirits rove,
Betray'd to Bondage, and, ah! lost to Love.
Why did the hasty Messenger return
With such Dispatch, for hapless me to mourn?
Curs'd be the Wretch that brought the Tidings here,
Whose blasting Tale, like Thunder, sought my Ear;
Curs'd be the Day, when I was doom'd to see
My Husband's Heart, estrang'd from widow'd me;
Curs'd be that Face, whose more persuasive Charms
Have lur'd the faithless Aza to her Arms.
Why trickles thus the unavailing Tear?
Too well, I know, these Sighs must rise in vain;
Too true, these Tears unpity'd must complain:
Oh! could my Soul, endu'd with proper Pride,
Its Love, its Grief, its Indignation hide!
But burst it will; my Patience can no more:
But, to what Friend? whose Aid can I implore?
My Brain's disturb'd; alas! alas! I rave;
What can I do? a poor forsaken Slave!
Like Birds, that spend their little idle Rage,
And, fruitless, mourn, indignant of their Cage,
From Thought to Thought, my fluttering Spirits rove,
Betray'd to Bondage, and, ah! lost to Love.
Why did the hasty Messenger return
With such Dispatch, for hapless me to mourn?
Curs'd be the Wretch that brought the Tidings here,
Whose blasting Tale, like Thunder, sought my Ear;
Curs'd be the Day, when I was doom'd to see
My Husband's Heart, estrang'd from widow'd me;
Curs'd be that Face, whose more persuasive Charms
Have lur'd the faithless Aza to her Arms.
Can'st thou presume, unpunish'd, to begin
Thy new Belief with such a flagrant Sin?
Can'st thou, with all thy Crimes upon thy Head,
Approach the new-sought Shrine without a Dread?
Can Christian Gods of perjur'd Vows approve?
Can Vows, once perjur'd, charm a Maid to love?
The specious Sophistry of Priests has drawn
Thy wavering Heart from me, and from the Sun:
Their barren Promises such Hopes have given
Of present Freedom, and a future Heaven;
If to their Notions, willing, you subscribe,
Thy Soul is dazzled with the mighty Bribe.
First, by these Methods, you abjure your Throne;
Can'st thou be free, when Royalty is gone?
Peruvia's Realms, where thou wert once ador'd,
Must yield Obedience to a foreign Lord:
Go, boast your Freedom, foolish Man! but, still,
You breathe dependant on your Tyrant's Will.
Can'st thou, unconscious of a Blush, behold
The Spaniard shine in thy once-subject Gold?
Or, from his Hands, contentedly, receive
The scanty Portion, which he deigns to give?
Then, for those Scenes that crafty Priests devise,
The least Reflection shames the thin Disguise:
Not thy Hereafter, but their own Applause
For thy Conversion, is the real Cause;
In thee, reform'd, their Excellence is shewn;
They grant thee Merit, to enhance their own.
Has gracious Providence its Power consign'd
To these pale Wretches, over Human-kind?
Who can believe, that Men, of mortal Mould,
Can grant, refuse, or barter Heaven for Gold?
These will absolve you from your sacred Vow,
That once you swore, but, oh! abjur'd it now;
They'll call it Virtue, Piety, to break
A Pagan Vow for their Religion's Sake:
Nor will suffice this Circumstance alone;
A Christian Wife confirms you all their own.
Thy new Belief with such a flagrant Sin?
Can'st thou, with all thy Crimes upon thy Head,
Approach the new-sought Shrine without a Dread?
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Can Vows, once perjur'd, charm a Maid to love?
The specious Sophistry of Priests has drawn
Thy wavering Heart from me, and from the Sun:
Their barren Promises such Hopes have given
Of present Freedom, and a future Heaven;
If to their Notions, willing, you subscribe,
Thy Soul is dazzled with the mighty Bribe.
First, by these Methods, you abjure your Throne;
Can'st thou be free, when Royalty is gone?
Peruvia's Realms, where thou wert once ador'd,
Must yield Obedience to a foreign Lord:
Go, boast your Freedom, foolish Man! but, still,
You breathe dependant on your Tyrant's Will.
Can'st thou, unconscious of a Blush, behold
The Spaniard shine in thy once-subject Gold?
Or, from his Hands, contentedly, receive
The scanty Portion, which he deigns to give?
Then, for those Scenes that crafty Priests devise,
The least Reflection shames the thin Disguise:
Not thy Hereafter, but their own Applause
For thy Conversion, is the real Cause;
In thee, reform'd, their Excellence is shewn;
They grant thee Merit, to enhance their own.
Has gracious Providence its Power consign'd
To these pale Wretches, over Human-kind?
Who can believe, that Men, of mortal Mould,
Can grant, refuse, or barter Heaven for Gold?
These will absolve you from your sacred Vow,
That once you swore, but, oh! abjur'd it now;
They'll call it Virtue, Piety, to break
A Pagan Vow for their Religion's Sake:
Nor will suffice this Circumstance alone;
A Christian Wife confirms you all their own.
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The warring Passions in my Breast confound
My weaken'd Reason, and my Brain turns round.
Hold, let me think, is 't not exceeding strange,
To see how prone we Mortals are to change?
A Christian, too; but let me not upbraid
The brighter Beauties of that happier Maid;
She from Perdition can relieve your Soul:
Yet, who'll deny but Perjury is foul?
My weaken'd Reason, and my Brain turns round.
Hold, let me think, is 't not exceeding strange,
To see how prone we Mortals are to change?
A Christian, too; but let me not upbraid
The brighter Beauties of that happier Maid;
She from Perdition can relieve your Soul:
Yet, who'll deny but Perjury is foul?
Forgive me, Sir, the mighty Conflict's past;
And Rage subsides within my plaintive Breast.
Art thou inconstant? Are we doom'd to part?
Am I an outcast Alien from your Heart?
Am I, for ever, oh! heart-breaking Word!
For ever torn from my remorseless Lord?
Does not one Spark of Charity remain?
Shall I ne'er see that much-lov'd Face again?
Oh! could'st thou guess what agonizing Smart
Even now torments my love-afflicted Heart,
Thy generous Soul would sympathize with mine,
And all my Horrors be adopted thine.
How we have lov'd, the almighty Powers can prove,
Who once beheld us bless'd with mutual Love.
Dost thou remember on the sacred Floor,
When on your Knees eternal Love you swore?
My tender Heart an equal Ardour knew,
Receiv'd your Vows, and, ah! believ'd them true:
Did I not burn, with a sincerer Flame,
Than e'er can warm your favourite Spanish Dame?
Even now, my Mind, contemplating your Charms,
Doats on the Man, who fills another's Arms.
Of this no more: And, as my fatal Lot
Is cast to mourn, neglected and forgot,
I only ask the Tribute of a Tear,
When Death shall free me from my sad Despair:
When a desponding Wretch you chance to see,
Rous'd by that Scene, bestow a Thought on me.
And Rage subsides within my plaintive Breast.
Art thou inconstant? Are we doom'd to part?
Am I an outcast Alien from your Heart?
Am I, for ever, oh! heart-breaking Word!
For ever torn from my remorseless Lord?
Does not one Spark of Charity remain?
Shall I ne'er see that much-lov'd Face again?
Oh! could'st thou guess what agonizing Smart
Even now torments my love-afflicted Heart,
Thy generous Soul would sympathize with mine,
And all my Horrors be adopted thine.
How we have lov'd, the almighty Powers can prove,
Who once beheld us bless'd with mutual Love.
Dost thou remember on the sacred Floor,
When on your Knees eternal Love you swore?
My tender Heart an equal Ardour knew,
Receiv'd your Vows, and, ah! believ'd them true:
Did I not burn, with a sincerer Flame,
Than e'er can warm your favourite Spanish Dame?
Even now, my Mind, contemplating your Charms,
Doats on the Man, who fills another's Arms.
Of this no more: And, as my fatal Lot
Is cast to mourn, neglected and forgot,
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When Death shall free me from my sad Despair:
When a desponding Wretch you chance to see,
Rous'd by that Scene, bestow a Thought on me.
May'st thou, most happy, with my Rival live
In all the Bliss propitious Heaven can give;
May both with Pleasure tread this mortal Stage,
And drop together in a calm old Age;
May blessed Angels waft your Souls to Bliss,
In some new World, on your Release from this;
Be all your Errors in the Grave forgiven;
And all your Virtues rise with you to Heaven.
Now hold, my Heart—Adieu! thou dear-lov'd Lord!
How my Hand trembles at that fatal Word!
Conceive the poignant Horror that I feel;
I faint!—I die!—Eternally farewell!
In all the Bliss propitious Heaven can give;
May both with Pleasure tread this mortal Stage,
And drop together in a calm old Age;
May blessed Angels waft your Souls to Bliss,
In some new World, on your Release from this;
Be all your Errors in the Grave forgiven;
And all your Virtues rise with you to Heaven.
Now hold, my Heart—Adieu! thou dear-lov'd Lord!
How my Hand trembles at that fatal Word!
Conceive the poignant Horror that I feel;
I faint!—I die!—Eternally farewell!
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