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IV. VOL. IV.

27

TRANSLATIONS TAKEN FROM THE NOTES TO THE THIRD EPISTLE OF AN ESSAY ON EPIC POETRY

29

IMITATION.

Henry! I wish that you, and Charles, and I,
By some sweet spell within a bark were plac'd,
A gallant bark with magic virtue grac'd,
Swift at our will with every wind to fly:
So that no changes of the shifting sky,
No stormy terrors of the watery waste,
Might bar our course, but heighten still our taste
Of sprightly joy, and of our social tie:
Then, that my Lucy, Lucy fair and free,
With those soft nymphs on whom your souls are bent,
The kind magician might to us convey,
To talk of love throughout the live-long day;
And that each fair might be as well content
As I in truth believe our hearts would be.
33

THE INFERNO OF DANTE.

CANTO I.

In the mid season of this mortal strife,
I found myself within a gloomy grove,
Far wandering from the ways of perfect life:
The place I know not, where I chanc'd to rove;
It was a wood so wild, it wounds me sore
But to remember with what ills I strove:
35

Such still my dread, that death is little more.
But I will tell the good which there I found.
High things 'twas there my fortune to explore:
Yet how I enter'd on that secret ground
I know not to explain; so much in sleep
My mortal senses at that hour were drown'd.
But when I reach'd the bottom of a steep,
That rose to terminate the dreary vale,
Which made cold terrors thro' my bosom creep,
I look'd on high, where breath'd a purer gale,
And saw the summit glisten with that ray
Which leads the wand'rer safe o'er hill and dale.
This soon began to chase those fears away,
Which held my struggling spirit bound so fast
During that night of darkness and dismay:
And, as th' exausted wretch, by fortune cast
Safe from the stormy deep upon the shore,
Turns to survey the perils he has past,
So turn'd my soul, ere yet its dread was o'er,
Back to contemplate that mysterious strait
Where living mortal never past before.
Arising soon from this repose elate,
Up the rough steep my journey I begin,
My lower foot sustaining all my weight.
Here, while my toilsome way I slowly win,
Behold a nimble Panther springs to sight!
And beauteous spots adorn his motley skin:
37

He at my presence shew'd no signs of fright,
But rather strove to bar my doubtful way;
I often turn'd, and oft resolv'd on flight.
'Twas now the chearful hour of rising day;
The sun advanc'd in that propitious sign
Which first beheld his radiant beams display
Creation's charms, the work of love divine!
So that I now was rais'd to hope sublime,
By these bright omens of a fate benign,
The beauteous Beast and the sweet hour of prime.
But soon I lost that hope; and shook yet more
To see a Lion in this lonely clime:
With open jaws, athirst for human gore,
He rush'd towards me in his hungry ire;
Air seem'd to tremble at his savage roar.
With him, enflam'd with every fierce desire,
A famish'd She-wolf, like a spectre, came;
Beneath whose gripe shall many a wretch expire.
Such sad oppression seiz'd my sinking frame,
Such horror at these strange tremendous sights,
My hopes to climb the hill no longer aim;
But, as the wretch whom lucre's lust incites,
In the curst hour which scatters all his wealth,
Sinks in deep sorrow, dead to all delights,
So was I robb'd of all my spirit's health,
And to the quarter where the sun grows mute,
Driven by this Beast, who crept on me by stealth.
39

While I retreated from her dread pursuit,
A manly figure my glad eyes survey'd,
Whose voice was like the whisper of a lute.
Soon as I saw him in this dreary glade,
Take pity on me, to this form I cry'd,
Be thou substantial man, or fleeting shade!—
A man I was (the gracious form reply'd)
And both my parents were of Lombard race;
They in their native Mantua liv'd and dy'd:
I liv'd at Rome, rich in a monarch's grace,
Beneath the good Augustus' letter'd reign,
While fabled Gods were serv'd with worship base.
A Bard I was: the subject of my strain
That just and pious Chief who sail'd from Troy,
Sinking in ashes on the sanguine plain.
But thou, whom these portentous sights annoy,
Why dost thou turn? why not ascend the mount,
Source of all good, and summit of all joy!—
Art thou that Virgil? thou! that copious fount
Of richest eloquence, so clear, so bright?
I answer'd, blushing at his kind account;
O thou! of Poets the pure guide and light!
Now let me profit by that fond esteem
Which kept thy song for ever in my sight!
Thou art my Master! thou my Bard supreme,
From whom alone my fond ambition drew
That purer style which I my glory deem!
41

O! from this Beast, so hideous to the view,
Save me! O save me! thou much-honour'd Sage!
For growing terrors all my power subdue.—
A different road must lead thee from her rage,
(He said, observant of my starting tears)
And from this wild thy spirit disengage;
For that terrific Beast, which caus'd thy fears,
Worries each wretch that in her road she spies,
Till death at length, his sole relief, appears.
So keen her nature, sleep ne'er seals her eyes;
Her ravenous hunger no repast can sate;
Food only serves to make its fury rise.
She calls from different animals her mate;
And long shall she produce an offspring base,
Then from a mighty victor meet her fate.
Nor pomp nor riches shall that victor grace,
But truth, and love, and all excelling worth;
He from his rescu'd land all ill shall chase,
The saviour of the realm that gives him birth,
Of Italy, for whom Camilla fell,
And Turnus, fighting for his native earth,
And Nisus, with the friend he lov'd so well.
The Beast this victor to that den shall drive
Whence Envy let her loose, her native hell!
Now for thy good, well-pleas'd, I will contrive,
That by my aid, while I thy steps controul,
Thou shalt in safety at those realms arrive
43

Where thou shalt see the tortur'd spirits roll,
And hear each mourn his miserable fate,
Calling for death on his immortal soul.
Then shalt thou visit those, who in a state
Of purifying fire are still content,
And for their promis'd heaven submissive wait:
If to that heaven thy happy course is bent,
A worthier guard will soon my place supply;
A purer spirit, for thy guidance sent!
For that Immortal Power, who rules on high,
Because I ne'er his perfect laws have known,
His sacred presence will to me deny.
There in the realms of light he fix'd his throne;
There o'er the world Almighty Lord he reigns:
O blest the servant whom he deigns to own!—
Poet (I answer'd) by thy living strains,
And by that God, tho' not reveal'd to thee,
That I may 'scape from these, and heavier pains,
Be thou my leader, where thy way is free!
So that my eyes St. Peter's gate may find,
And all the wonders of the deep may see!
He led, and I attentive march'd behind.

CANTO II.

The day was sinking, and the dusky air
On all the animals of earth bestow'd
Rest from their labours. I alone prepare
45

To meet new toil, both from my dreary road,
And pious wish to paint in worthy phrase
The Unerring Mind, and his divine abode.
O sacred Muses! now my genius raise!
O Memory, who writest what I saw,
From hence shall spring thy ever-during praise!
Kind Poet (I began, with trembling awe)
Mark if my soul be equal to this aim!
Nor into scenes too hard my weakness draw!
Thy Song declares, the Chief of pious fame
Appear'd among the blest, retaining still
His mortal senses and material frame;
Yet, if the great Opposer of all ill
Shew'd grace to him, as knowing what and who
Should from him rise, and mighty things fulfil,
Most worthy he appear'd, in Reason's view,
That Heaven should chuse him as the Roman Sire,
Scource of that empire which so widely grew,
Mark'd in its growth by the angelic choir
To be the seat where Sanctity should rest,
And Peter's heirs yet raise dominion higher.
From his dark journey, in thy Song exprest,
He learn'd mysterious things; from whence arose
Rome's early grandeur and the Papal vest.
To Paul, while living, heaven's high powers disclose
Their secret bliss, that he may thence receive
Strength in that faith from which salvation flows.
47

But how may I this high exploit atchieve?
I'm not Æneas, nor the holy Paul:
Of this unworthy I myself believe:
If then I follow at thy friendly call,
Midway perchance my trembling soul may sink:
Wise as thou art, thou may'st foresee my fall.
Now as a man who, shudd'ring on the brink
Of some great venture, sudden shifts his mind,
And feels his spirit from the peril shrink;
So, in this scene of doubt and darkness join'd,
Wavering I wasted thought in wild affright,
And the first ardour of my soul resign'd.
If thy faint words I understand aright,
(Reply'd the mighty and magnanimous shade)
Those mists of fear have dimm'd thy mental sight,
Which oft the feat of human sense invade,
And make blind mortals from high deeds recoil,
By Terror's airy phantasies betray'd:
But, that such fears thy soul no more may soil,
I'll tell thee whence I came; at whose request;
When first I pitied thy uncertain toil.
From the suspended host in which I rest,
A lovely Spirit call'd me, fair as light;
Eager I waited on her high behest;
While eyes beyond the solar radiance bright,
And with the sweetness of an angel's tongue,
Thus her soft words my willing aid invite:
49

O ever gentle shade, from Mantua sprung!
Whose fame unfading on the earth shall last
As long as earth in ambient air is hung;
My friend, whose love all base desire surpast,
In yon drear desart finds his passage barr'd,
And compass'd round with terrors stands aghast;
And much I fear, beset with dangers hard,
He may be lost beyond all friendly reach,
And I from heaven descend too late a guard.
But go! and with thy soft soul-soothing speech,
And all the aid thy wisdom may inspire,
The ways of safety to this wanderer teach!
My name is Beatrice: the heavenly quire
For this I left, tho' ever left with pain;
But love suggested what I now desire.
When I the presence of my lord regain,
On thee my praises with delight shall dwell.
So spake this angel, in her heavenly strain.
Bright Fair, (I cry'd) who didst on earth excel
All that e'er shone beneath the lunar sphere,
And every mind to virtuous love impel!
Had I e'en now perform'd the task I hear,
That swift performance I should think too slow:
Nor needs there more; your gracious will is clear:
Yet how you venture, I would gladly know,
From those pure realms, to which again you fly,
So near the center of eternal woe.
51

What you require (she said, in kind reply)
I briefly will explain: how thus I dare,
Unconscious of alarm, these depths to try.
From these things only springs our fearful care,
By which our hapless friends may suffer ill;
But not from other; for no fear is there.
Such am I form'd, by Heaven's most gracious will,
That torture cannot touch my purer frame,
E'en where fierce fires his flaming region fill.
A gentle spirit (Lucia is her name)
In heaven laments the hardships of my friend,
For whom I ask your aid: to me she came,
And kindly bade me to his woes attend:
Behold (she said) thy servant in distress!
And I his safety to thy care commend.
Lucia, the friend of all whom ills oppress,
Me, where I sate with pensive Rachel, sought,
In heavenly contemplation's deep recess:
In mercy's name (she cry'd) thus lost in thought,
Seest thou not him who held thy charms so dear,
Whom Love to rise above the vulgar taught?
And dost thou not his lamentation hear,
Nor see the horror, which his strength impairs,
On yon wide torrent, with no haven near?
Never was mind, intent on worldly cares,
So eager wealth to gain, or loss to shun,
As, when acquainted with these deadly snares,
53

I flew from the blest confines of the sun,
Trusting that eloquence, which to thy name
And to thy followers such praise has won.
She having thus explain'd her gracious aim,
Turn'd her bright eyes, which tears of pity fill:
And hence more swift to thy relief I came;
And, pleas'd to execute her heavenly will,
I sav'd thee from the fury of that Beast,
Which barr'd thy journey up the brighter hill.
Why then, O why has all thy ardour ceas'd?
And whence this faintness in thy feeble mind?
Why has its noble energy decreas'd,
When these pure Spirits, for thy good combin'd,
Watch o'er thy safety in their heavenly seat,
And I reveal the favour thou shalt find?—
As tender flowers, reviv'd by solar heat,
That thro' the chilling night have sunk deprest,
Rise and unfold, the welcome ray to meet;
So rose my spirit, of new life possest;
And, my warm heart on high atchievements bent,
I thus my animating guide addrest:
Gracious that Spirit who thy succour sent!
And friendly thou, who freely hast display'd
Thy zeal to execute her kind intent!
Thy soothing words have to my soul convey'd
Such keen desire to those bright realms to soar,
I scorn the terror that my step delay'd.
55

Now lead!—thy pleasure I dispute no more.
My lord, my master thou! and thou my guard!—
I ended here; and, while he march'd before,
The gloomy road I enter'd, deep and hard.

CANTO III.

“Thro' me you pass to Mourning's dark domain;
Thro' me, to scenes where Grief must ever pine;
Thro' me, to Misery's devoted train.
Justice and power in my Great Founder join,
And love and wisdom all his fabrics rear;
Wisdom above controul, and love divine!
Before me, Nature saw no works appear.
Save works eternal: such was I ordain'd.
Quit every hope, all ye who enter here!”—
These characters, where misty darkness reign'd,
High o'er a lofty gate I saw engrav'd.
Ah Sire! (said I) hard things are here contain'd.
He, sapient Guide! my farther question sav'd,
With spirit answering, “Here all doubt resign,
All weak distrust, and every thought deprav'd;
At length we've reach'd that gloomy drear confine,
Where, as I said, thou'lt see the mournful race
For ever robb'd of Reason's light benign.”
57

Then, stretching forth his hand with gentle grace,
From whence new comfort thro' my bosom flows,
He led me in to that mysterious place.
There sighs, and wailings, and severest woes,
Deeply resounded through the starless air;
And as I first advanc'd, my fears arose.
Each different cry, the murmuring notes of care,
Accents of misery, and words of ire,
With all the sounds of discord and despair,
To form such tumult in this scene conspire,
As flies for ever round the gloomy waste,
Like sand when quicken'd by the whirlwind's fire.
I then (my mind with error still disgrac'd)
Exclaim'd—O Sire! what may this trouble mean?
What forms are these by sorrow so debas'd?—
He soon reply'd—Behold, these bounds between,
All who without or infamy or fame
Clos'd the blank business of their mortal scene!
They join those angels, of ignoble name,
Who not rebell'd, yet were not faithful found;
Without attachment! self alone their aim!
Heaven shuts them out from its unsullied bound:
And Hell refuses to admit this train,
Leste'en the damn'd o'er these their triumphs sound.
O Sire! (said I) whence then this grievous pain,
That on our ears their lamentations grate?—
This (he reply'd, I will in brief explain:
59

These have no hope that death may mend their fate;
And their blind days form so confus'd a mass,
They pine with envy of each other's state:
From earth their name has perish'd like the grass:
E'en Mercy views them with a scornful eye.
We'll speak of them no more: Behold! and pass!—
I look'd, and saw a banner rais'd on high,
That whirl'd, unconscious of a moment's stand,
With rapid circles in the troubled sky:
Behind it, driven by Fate's supreme command,
Came such a host! I ne'er could have believ'd
Death had collected so complete a band.
When now I had the forms of all perceiv'd,
I saw the shade of that ignoble priest,
Of sovereign power by indolence bereav'd.
Instant I knew, from every doubt releas'd,
These were the base, the miscreated crew
To whom the hate of God had never ceas'd.
Vile forms! ne'er honor'd with existence true!
Naked they march'd, and sorely were they stung
By wasps and hornets, that around them flew;
These the black blood from their gall'd faces wrung;
Blood mixt with tears, that, trickling to their feet,
Fed the fastidious worms which round them clung.
When now I farther pierc'd the dark retreat,
Numbers I saw beside a mighty stream:
Sudden I cry'd—Now, Sire, let me entreat
61

To know what forms in distant prospect seem
To pass so swiftly o'er a flood so wide,
As I discern by this imperfect gleam?—
That shalt thou know (return'd my gracious Guide)
When the near respite from our toil we reach,
On sullen Acheron's infernal tide.—
With downcast eyes, that pardon now beseech,
And hoping silence may that pardon win,
E'en to the river I abstain'd from speech.
And lo! towards us, with a shrivell'd skin,
A hoary boatman steers his crazy bark,
Exclaiming, “Woe to all ye sons of sin!
Hope not for heaven, nor light's celestial spark!
I come to waft you to a different lot;
To Torture's realm, with endless horror dark:
And thou, who living view'st this sacred spot,
Haste to depart from these, for these are dead!”
But when he saw that I departed not,
In wrath he cry'd, “Thro' other passes led,
Not here, shalt thou attempt the farther shore;
But in a bark to bear thy firmer tread.”—
O Charon, said my Guide, thy strife give o'er;
For thus 'tis will'd in that superior scene
Where will is power. Seek thou to know no more!—
Now grew the bearded visage more serene
Of the stern boatman on the livid lake,
Whose eyes so lately glar'd with anger keen:
63

But all the naked shades began to quake;
Their shuddering figures grew more pale than earth,
Soon as they heard the cruel words he spake:
God they blasphem'd, their parents' injur'd worth,
And all mankind; the place, the hour, that saw
Their first formation, and their future birth.
Then were they driven, by Fate's resistless law,
Weeping, to that sad scene prepar'd for all
Who fear not God with pure devotion's awe.
Charon, with eyes of fire and words of gall,
Collects his crew, and high his oar he wields,
To strike the tardy wretch who slights his call.
As leaves in autumn thro' the woody fields
Fly in succession, when each trembling tree
Its ling'ring honors to the whirlwind yields;
So this bad race, condemn'd by Heaven's decree,
Successive hasten from that river's side:
As birds, which at a call to bondage flee,
So are they wafted o'er the gloomy tide;
And ere from thence their journey is begun,
A second crew awaits their hoary guide.—
My gracious Master kindly said—My son!
All those who in the wrath of God expire,
From every clime haste hither, one by one;
Nor would their terrors from this stream retire,
Since heavenly justice so impels their mind,
That fear is quicken'd into keen desire.
65

Here may no spirit pass, to good inclin'd;
And hence, if Charon seem'd to thwart thy will,
Hence wilt thou deem his purpose not unkind.—
He paus'd; and horrors of approaching ill
Now made the mournful troop so stand aghast,
Their fears yet strike me with a deadly chill!
The groaning earth sent forth a hollow blast,
And flash'd a fiery glare of gloomy red!
The horrid scene my fainting power surpast:
I fell, and, as in sleep, my senses fled.
93

SONNET

FROM THE LADY LEONORA DE ICIZ, BARONESS OF RAFALES, TO DON ALONZO DE ERCILLA.

Marble, that forms the Hero's mimic frame,
And laurels, that reward the Poet's strain,
Accept, Ercilla, from thy grateful Spain!
Thy sword and pen alike this tribute claim.
Our Warriors honour thy heroic name;
Thy birth is envy'd by Ambition's train;
Thy verses teach the Bard of happiest vein
A finer polish, and a nobler aim.
May glory round the world thy merit spread!
In Memory's volume may thy praises stand,
In characters that time shall ne'er destroy!
Thy songs, and thy exploits, without the dread
To be surpass'd by a superior hand,
With equal right their equal fame enjoy!
94

A SKETCH OF THE ARAUCANA.
[_]

Hayley's translations include only extracts from the original poems.

CANTO I.

I Sing not love of ladies, nor of sights
Devis'd for gentle dames by courteous knights;
Nor feasts, nor tourneys, nor that tender care
Which prompts the Gallant to regale the Fair;
But the bold deeds of Valour's fav'rite train,
Those undegenerate sons of warlike Spain,
Who made Arauco their stern laws embrace,
And bent beneath their yoke her untam'd race.
Of tribes distinguish'd in the field I sing;
Of nations who disdain the name of King;
Courage, that danger only taught to grow,
And challenge honour from a generous foe;
And persevering toils of purest fame,
And feats that aggrandize the Spanish name:
For the brave actions of the vanquish'd spread
The brightest glory round the victor's head.
[OMITTED]
95

CANTO II.

Many there are who, in this mortal strife,
Have reach'd the slippery heights of splendid life:
For Fortune's ready hand its succour lent;
Smiling she rais'd them up the steep ascent,
96

To hurl them headlong from that lofty seat
To which she led their unsuspecting feet;
E'en at the moment when all fears disperse,
And their proud fancy sees no sad reverse.
Little they think, beguil'd by fair success,
That Joy is but the herald of Distress:
The hasty wing of Time escapes their sight,
And those dark evils that attend his flight:
Vainly they dream, with gay presumption warm,
Fortune for them will take a steadier form;
She, unconcern'd at what her victims feel,
Turns with her wonted haste her fatal wheel.
[OMITTED] The Indians first, by novelty dismay'd,
As Gods rever'd us, and as Gods obey'd;
But when they found we were of woman born,
Their homage turn'd to enmity and scorn:
Their childish error when our weakness show'd,
They blush'd at what their ignorance bestow'd;
Fiercely they burnt with anger and with shame,
To see their masters but of mortal frame.
97

Disdaining cold and cowardly delay,
They seek atonement, on no distant day:
Prompt and resolv'd, in quick debate they join,
To form of deep revenge their dire design.
Impatient that their bold decree should spread,
And shake the world around with sudden dread,
Th' assembling Chieftains led so large a train,
Their ready host o'erspread th' extensive plain.
No summons now the soldier's heart requires;
The thirst of battle every breast inspires;
No pay, no promise of reward, they ask,
Keen to accomplish their spontaneous task;
And, by the force of one avenging blow,
Crush and annihilate their foreign foe.
Of some brave Chiefs, who to this council came,
Well may'st thou, Memory, preserve the name;
Tho' rude and savage, yet of noble soul,
Justly they claim their place on Glory's roll,
Who robbing Spain of many a gallant son,
In so confin'd a space such victories won;
Whose fame some living Spaniards yet may spread,
Too well attested by our warlike dead.
[OMITTED]
99

Assembled Chiefs! ye guardians of the land!
Think not I mourn from thirst of lost command,
To find your rival spirits thus pursue
A post of honour which I deem my due.
These marks of age, you see, such thoughts disown
In me, departing for the world unknown;
But my warm love, which ye have long possest,
Now prompts that counsel which you'll find the best.
Why should we now for marks of glory jar?
Why wish to spread our martial name afar?
Crush'd as we are by Fortune's cruel stroke,
And bent beneath an ignominious yoke,
Ill can our minds such noble pride maintain,
While the fierce Spaniard holds our galling chain.
Your generous fury here ye vainly shew;
Ah! rather pour it on th' embattled foe!
100

What frenzy has your souls of sense bereav'd?
Ye rush to self-perdition, unperceiv'd.
'Gainst your own vitals would ye lift those hands,
Whose vigour ought to burst oppression's bands?
If a desire of death this rage create,
O die not yet in this disgraceful state!
Turn your keen arms, and this indignant flame,
Against the breast of those who sink your fame,
Who made the world a witness of your shame.
Haste ye to cast these hated bonds away,
In this the vigour of your souls display;
Nor blindly lavish, from your country's veins,
Blood that may yet redeem her from her chains.
E'en while I thus lament, I still admire
The fervour of your souls; they give me fire:
But justly trembling at their fatal bent,
I dread some dire calamitous event;
Lest in your rage Dissension's frantic hand
Should cut the sinews of our native land.
If such its doom, my thread of being burst,
And let your old compeer expire the first!
Shall this shrunk frame, thus bow'd by age's weight,
Live the weak witness of a nation's fate?
No: let some friendly sword, with kind relief,
Forbid its sinking in that scene of grief.
Happy whose eyes in timely darkness close,
Sav'd from that worst of sights, his country's woes!
101

Yet, while I can, I make your weal my care,
And for the public good my thoughts declare.
Equal ye are in courage and in worth;
Heaven has assign'd to all an equal birth:
In wealth, in power, and majesty of soul,
Each Chief seems worthy of the world's controul.
These gracious gifts, not gratefully beheld,
To this dire strife your daring minds impell'd.
But on your generous valour I depend,
That all our country's woes will swiftly end.
A Leader still our present state demands,
To guide to vengeance our impatient bands;
Fit for this hardy task that Chief I deem,
Who longest may sustain a massive beam:
Your rank is equal, let your force be try'd,
And for the strongest let his strength decide.
[OMITTED]
102

Tho' from his birth one darken'd eye he drew
(The viewless orb was of the granite's hue),
Nature, who partly robb'd him of his sight,
Repaid this failure by redoubled might.
This noble youth was of the highest state;
His actions honour'd, and his words of weight:
Prompt and resolv'd in every generous cause,
A friend to Justice and her sternest laws:
Fashion'd for sudden feats, or toils of length,
His limbs possess'd both suppleness and strength:
Dauntless his mind, determin'd and adroit
In every quick and hazardous exploit.
[OMITTED]
103

CANTO III.

O cureless malady! Oh fatal pest!
Embrac'd with ardour and with pride carest;
Thou common vice, thou most contagious ill,
Bane of the mind, and frenzy of the will!
Thou foe to private and to public health;
Thou dropsy of the soul, that thirsts for wealth,
Insatiate Avarice!—'tis from thee we trace
The various misery of our mortal race.
[OMITTED]
104

The steady pikemen of the savage band,
Waiting our hasty charge, in order stand;
But when th' advancing Spaniard aim'd his stroke,
Their ranks, to form a hollow square, they broke;
An easy passage to our troop they leave,
And deep within their lines their foes receive;
Their files resuming then the ground they gave,
Bury the Christians in that closing grave.
105

As the keen Crocodile, who loves to lay
His silent ambush for his finny prey,
Hearing the scaly tribe with sportive sound
Advance, and cast a muddy darkness round,
Opens his mighty mouth, with caution, wide,
And, when th' unwary fish within it glide,
Closing with eager haste his hollow jaw,
Thus satiates with their lives his rav'nous maw:
So, in their toils, without one warning thought,
The murd'rous foe our little squadron caught
With quick destruction, in a fatal strife,
From whence no Christian soldier 'scap'd with life.
[OMITTED]
The hostile sword, now deeply dy'd in blood,
Drench'd the wide field with many a sanguine flood;
Courage still grows to form the fierce attack,
But wasted vigour makes the combat slack:
No pause they seek, to gain exhausted breath,
No rest, except the final rest of death:
The wariest combatants now only try
To snatch the sweets of vengeance ere they die.
106

The fierce disdain of death, and scorn of flight,
Give to our scanty troop such wond'rous might,
The Araucanian host begin to yield;
They quit with loss and shame the long-fought field:
They fly; and their pursuers shake the plain
With joyous shouts of Victory and Spain.
But dire mischance, and Fate's resistless sway,
Gave a strange issue to the dreadful day.
An Indian Youth, a noble Chieftain's son,
Who as our friend his martial feats begun,
Our Leader's Page, by him to battle train'd,
Who now beside him the hard fight sustain'd,
As he beheld his kindred Chiefs retire,
Felt an indignant flash of Patriot fire;
And thus incited to a glorious stand
The flying champions of his native land:
Misguided Country! by vain fear possest,
Ah whither dost thou turn thy timid breast?
Ye brave compatriots, shall your ancient fame
Be vilely buried in this field of shame?
Those laws, those rights, ye gloried to defend,
All perish, all, by this ignoble end!
From Chiefs of dreaded power, and honour'd worth,
Ye sink to abject slaves, the scorn of earth!
To the pure founders of your boasted race
Ye give the cureless wound of deep disgrace!
107

Behold the wasted vigour of your foe!
See, bath'd in sweat and blood, their coursers blow!
Lose not your mental force, your martial fires,
Our best inheritance from generous fires;
Sink not the noble Araucanian name
From glory's summit to the depths of shame;
Fly, fly the servitude your souls detest!
To the keen sword oppose the dauntless breast.
Why shew ye frames endued with manly power,
Yet shrink from danger in the trying hour?
Fix in your minds the friendly truth I speak;
Vain are your fears, your terror blind and weak:
Now make your names immortal; now restore
Freedom's lost blessings to your native shore:
Now turn, while Fame and Victory invite,
While prosp'rous Fortune calls you to the fight;
Or yet a moment cease, O cease to fly,
And for our country learn of me to die!
As thus he speaks, his eager steps advance,
And 'gainst the Spanish Chief he points his lance;
To lead his kindred fugitives from flight,
Singly he dares to tempt th' unequal fight:
Against our circling arms, that round him shine,
Eager he darts amidst the thickest line,
Keen as, when chaf'd by summer's fiery beam,
The young Stag plunges in the cooling stream.
[OMITTED]
108

Say, of these famous Chiefs can one exceed
Or match this young Barbarian's noble deed?
Vict'ry for them, her purpose unexplor'd,
Tempted by equal chance their happy sword:
What risk, what peril, did they boldly meet,
Save where Ambition urg'd the splendid feat;
Or mightier Int'rest fir'd the daring mind,
Which makes a Hero of the fearful Hind?
Many there are who with a brave disdain
Face all the perils of the deathful plain,
Who, fir'd by hopes of glory, nobly dare,
Yet fail the stroke of adverse chance to bear;
With animated fire their spirit shines,
Till the short splendor of their day declines;
But all their valour, all their strength expires,
When fickle Fortune from their side retires.
This youthful Hero, when the die was cast,
War's dire decree against his country past,
109

Made the stern Power the finish'd cause resume,
And finally reverse the cruel doom:
He, by his efforts in the dread debate,
Forc'd the determin'd will of adverse Fate;
From shouting Triumph rush'd the palm to tear,
And fix'd it on the brow of faint Despair.
[OMITTED]
110

CANTO IV.

[OMITTED]
Here, cried a Spaniard, far unlike his race,
Nor shall his abject name my verse debase,
Marking his few associates march along,
O that our band were but a hundred strong!
111

The brave Gonsalo with disdain replied:
Rather let two be sever'd from our side,
Kind Heaven! that Memory may our feats proclaim,
And call our little troop The Twelve of Fame!
[OMITTED]
Now in the turbid air a stormy cloud
Spreads its terrific shadow o'er the crowd;
The gathering darkness hides the solar ray,
And to th' affrighted earth denies the day;
The rushing winds, to which the forests yield,
Rive the tall tree, and desolate the field:
In drops distinct and rare now falls the rain;
And now with thickening fury beats the plain.
As the bold master of the martial drum,
Ere to the shock th' advancing armies come,
In aweful notes, that shake the heaven's high arch,
Intrepid strikes the slow and solemn march;
112

But, when the charging heroes yield their breath,
Doubles the horrid harmony of death:
So the dark tempest, with increasing sound,
Pours the loud deluge on the echoing ground.
[OMITTED]

CANTO V.

[OMITTED]
113

The vext air feels the thunder of the fight,
And smoke and flame involve the mountain's height;
Earth seems to open as the flames aspire,
And new volcano's spout destructive fire.
Lautaro saw no hopes of life allow'd,
Save by dispersing this terrific cloud,
That pours its lightning with so dire a shock,
Smiting his lessen'd host, who strew the rock;
And to the troop of Leucoton the brave
His quick command the skilful Leader gave:
He bids them fiercely to the charge descend,
And thus exhorts aloud each ardent friend:
My faithful partners in bright victory's meed,
Whom fortune summons to this noble deed,
Behold the hour when your prevailing might
Shall prove that Justice guards us in the fight!
Now firmly fix your lances in the rest,
And rush to honour o'er each hostile breast;
Through every bar your bloody passage force,
Nor let a brother's fall impede your course;
Be yon dread instruments of death your aim;
Possest of these you gain eternal fame:
114

The camp shall follow your triumphant trace,
And own you leaders in the glorious chace.
While these bold words their ardent zeal exalt,
They rush impetuous to the rash assault.
[OMITTED]

CANTO VI.

The valiant mind is privileg'd to feel
Superior to each turn of Fortune's wheel:
Chance has no power its value to debase,
Or brand it with the mark of deep disgrace:
So thought the noble Villagran, our Chief,
Who chose that death should end his present grief,
And smooth the horrid path, with thorns o'erspread,
Which Destiny condemn'd his feet to tread.
[OMITTED]
115

CANTO VII.

[OMITTED]
116

Their entrance in these walls let fancy paint,
O'erwhelm'd with anguish, and with labour faint:
These gash'd with ghastly wounds, those writh'd with pain,
And some their human semblance scarce retain;
They seem unhappy spirits 'scap'd from hell,
Yet wanting voice their misery to tell.
Their pangs to all their rolling eyes express,
And silence most declares their deep distress.
When weariness and shame at length allow'd
Their tongues to satisfy th' enquiring crowd,
From the pale citizens, amaz'd to hear
A tale surpassing e'en their wildest fear,
One general sound of lamentation rose,
That deeply solemniz'd a nation's woes;
The neighbouring mansions to their grief reply,
And every wall return'd the mournful cry.
[OMITTED]
'Tis just that Fame a noble deed display,
Which claims remembrance, even to the day
117

When Memory's hand no more the pen shall use,
But sink in darkness, and her being lose:
The lovely Mencia, an accomplish'd Dame,
A valiant spirit in a tender frame,
Here firmly shew'd, as this dread scene began,
Courage now found not in the heart of man.
The bed of sickness 'twas her chance to press;
But when she heard the city's loud distress,
Snatching such weapons as the time allow'd,
She rush'd indignant midst the flying crowd.
Now up the neighbouring hill they slowly wind,
And, bending oft their mournful eyes behind,
Cast a sad look, of every hope bereft,
On those rich plains, the precious home they left.
More poignant grief see generous Mencia feel,
More noble proof she gives of patriot zeal:
Waving a sword in her heroic hand,
In their tame march she stopt the timid band;
Cross'd the ascending road before their van,
And, turning to the city, thus began:
Thou valiant nation, whose unequall'd toils
Have dearly purchas'd fame and golden spoils,
Where is the courage ye so oft display'd
Against this foe, from whom ye shrink dismay'd?
Where those high hopes, and that aspiring flame,
Which made immortal praise your constant aim?
118

Where your firm souls, that every chance defied,
And native strength, that form'd your noble pride?
Ah whither would you fly, in selfish fear,
In frantic haste, with no pursuer near?
How oft has censure to your hearts assign'd
Ardor too keenly brave and rashly blind;
Eager to dart amid the doubtful fray,
Scorning the useful aid of wise delay?
Have we not seen you with contempt oppose,
And bend beneath your yoke unnumber'd foes;
Attempt and execute designs so bold,
Ye grew immortal as ye heard them told?
Turn! to your people turn a pitying eye,
To whom your fears these happy seats deny!
Turn! and survey this fair this fertile land,
Whose ready tribute waits your lordly hand;
Survey its pregnant mines, its sands of gold;
Survey the flock now wandering from its fold,
Mark how it vainly seeks, in wild despair,
The faithless shepherd, who forsakes his care.
E'en the dumb creatures of domestic kind,
Though not endow'd with man's discerning mind,
Now shew the semblance of a reasoning soul,
And in their masters' misery condole:
The stronger animals, of sterner heart,
Take in this public woe a feeling part;
119

Their plantive roar, that speaks their sense aright,
Justly upbraids your ignominious flight.
Ye fly from quiet, opulence, and fame,
Purchas'd by valour, your acknowledg'd claim;
From these ye fly, to seek a foreign seat,
Where dastard fugitives no welcome meet.
How deep the shame, an abject life to spend
In poor dependance on a pitying friend!
Turn!—let the brave their only choice await,
Or honourable life, or instant fate.
Return! return! O quit this path of shame!
Stain not by fear your yet unsullied name;
Myself I offer, if our foes advance,
To rush the foremost on the hostile lance;
My actions then shall with my words agree,
And what a woman dares your eyes shall see.
Return! return! she cried; but cried in vain;
Her fire seem'd frenzy to the coward train.
[OMITTED]
121

CANTO IX.

When to the city's weak defenceless wall
Its foes were rushing, at their trumpet's call,
The air grew troubled with portentous sound,
And mournful omens multiplied around;
122

With furious shock the elements engage,
And all the winds contend in all their rage.
From clashing clouds their mingled torrents gush,
And rain and hail with rival fury rush.
Bolts of loud thunder, floods of lightning rend
The opening skies, and into earth descend.
O'er the vast army equal terrors spread;
No mind escapes the universal dread;
No breast, tho' arm'd with adamantine power,
Holds its firm vigour in this horrid hour;
For now the fierce Eponamon appears,
And in a Dragon's form augments their fears;
Involving flames around the Dæmon swell,
Who speaks his mandate in a hideous yell:
He bids his votaries with haste invest
The trembling city, by despair deprest.
Where'er th' invading squadrons force their way,
He promises their arms an easy prey.
Spare not (he cry'd) in the relentless strife,
One Spanish battlement, one Christian life!
He spoke, and, while the host his will adore,
Melts into vapour, and is seen no more.
Quick as he vanish'd Nature's struggles cease;
The troubled elements are sooth'd to peace:
The winds no longer rage with boundless ire,
But, hush'd in silence, to their caves retire:
The clouds disperse, restoring as they fly
The unobstructed sun and azure sky:
123

Fear only held its place, and still possest
Usurp'd dominion o'er the boldest breast.
The tempest ceas'd, and heaven, serenely bright,
Array'd the moisten'd earth in joyous light:
When, pois'd upon a cloud that swiftly flew,
A Female form descended to their view,
Clad in the radiance of so rich a veil,
As made the sun's meridian lustre pale;
For it outshone his golden orb as far
As his full blaze outshines the twinkling star.
Her sacred features banish all their dread,
And o'er the host reviving comfort shed.
An hoary Elder by her side appear'd,
For age and sanctity of life rever'd;
And thus she spoke, with soft persuasive grace:
Ah! whither rush ye, blind devoted race?
Turn, while you can, towards your native plain,
Nor 'gainst yon city point your arms in vain;
For God will guard his faithful Christian band,
And give them empire o'er your bleeding land,
Since, thankless, false, and obstinate in ill,
You scorn submission to his sacred will.
Yet shun those walls; th' Almighty, there ador'd,
There arms his people with Destruction's sword.
So spoke the Vision, with an angel's tongue,
And thro' the spacious air to heaven she sprung.
[OMITTED]
128

CANTO XII.

[OMITTED]
130

What can redeem Lautaro's wounded name?
What plea preserve his failing arms from shame?
Did not my ardent soul this task demand,
Which now upbraids my unperforming hand?
On me, on me alone can censure fall;
Myself th' adviser and the guide of all.
Am I the Chief who, in Fame's bright career,
Ask'd to subdue the globe a single year?
While, at the head of this my glittering train,
I weakly threaten Spanish walls in vain,
Thrice has pale Cynthia, with replenish'd ray,
Seen my ill-order'd troop in loose array;
And the rich chariot of the blazing sun
Has from the Scorpion to Aquarius run.
At last, as fugitives these paths we tread,
And mourn twice fifty brave companions dead.
Could Fate's kind hand this hateful stain efface,
Could death redeem me from this worse disgrace,
My useless spear should pierce this abject heart,
Which has so ill sustain'd a soldier's part.
Unworthy thought! the mean, ignoble blow
Would only tempt my proud and vaunting foe
To boast that I preferr'd, in fear's alarm,
My own weak weapon to his stronger arm.
By Hell I swear, who rules the sanguine strife,
If Chance allow me yet a year of life,
131

I'll chase these foreign lords from Chile's strand,
And Spanish blood shall saturate our land.
No changing season, neither cold nor heat,
Shall make the firmer step of War retreat;
Nor shall the earth, nor hell's expanding cave,
From this avenging arm one Spaniard save.
Now the brave Chief, with solemnardour, swore
To his dear native home to turn no more;
From no fierce sun, no stormy winds to fly,
But patiently abide the varying sky,
And spurn all thoughts of pleasure and of ease,
Till rescu'd fame his tortur'd soul appease;
Till earth confess the brave Lautaro's hand
Has clos'd the glorious work his spirit plann'd.
In these resolves the Hero found relief,
And thus relax'd the o'erstrain'd cord of grief;
Whose pressure gall'd him with such mental pain,
That frenzy almost seiz'd his burning brain.
[OMITTED]
133

CANTO XIII.

[OMITTED]
A path where watchful centinels were spread,
A single path, to this lone station led:
No other signs of human step were trac'd;
For the vex'd land was desolate and waste.
134

It chanc'd that night the noble Chieftain prest
His anxious mistress to his gallant breast,
The fair Guacolda, for whose charms he burn'd,
And whose warm heart his faithful love return'd.
That night beheld the warlike savage rest,
Free from th' incumbrance of his martial vest;
That night alone allow'd his eyes to close
In the deceitful calm of short repose:
Sleep prest upon him like the weight of death;
But soon he starts, alarm'd, and gasps for breath.
The fair Guacolda, with a trembling tongue,
Anxious enquires from whence his anguish sprung.
My lovely Fair! the brave Lautaro cries,
An hideous vision struck my scornful eyes:
Methought that instant a fierce Chief of Spain
Mock'd my vain spear with insolent disdain;
His forceful arm my failing powers o'ercame,
And strength and motion seem'd to quit my frame.
But still the vigour of my soul I keep,
And its keen anger burst the bonds of sleep.
With quick despair, the troubled Fair one said,
Alas! thy dreams confirm the ills I dread.
'Tis come—the object of my boding fears!
Thy end, the source of my unceasing tears.
Yet not so wretched is this mournful hour,
Nor o'er me, Fortune, canst thou boast such pow'r,
135

But that kind death may shorten all my woes,
And give the agonizing scene to close.
Let my stern fate its cruel rage employ,
And hurl me from the throne of love and joy;
Whatever pangs its malice may devise,
It cannot rend affection's stronger ties.
Tho' horrible the blow my fears foresee,
A second blow will set my spirit free;
For cold on earth thy frame shall ne'er be found,
While mine with useless being loads the ground.
The Chief, transported with her tender charms,
Closely around her neck entwin'd his arms;
And, while fond tears her snowy breast bedew'd,
Thus with redoubled love his speech pursu'd:
My generous Fair, thy gloomy thoughts dismiss;
Nor let dark omens interrupt our bliss,
And cloud these moments that with transport shine,
While my exulting heart thus feels thee mine.
Thy troubled fancy prompts my mutual sigh;
Not that I think the hour of danger nigh:
But Love so melts me with his soft controul,
Impossibilities alarm my soul.
If thy kind wishes bid Lautaro live,
Who to this frame the wound of death can give?
Tho' 'gainst me all the powers of earth combine,
My life is subject to no hand but thine.
136

Who has restor'd the Araucanian name,
And rais'd it, sinking in the depths of shame,
When alien lords our nation's spirit broke,
And bent its neck beneath a servile yoke?
I am the Chief who burst our galling chain,
And freed my country from oppressive Spain;
My name alone, without my sword's display,
Humbles our foes, and fills them with dismay.
These happy arms while thy dear beauties fill,
I feel no terror, I foresee no ill.
Be not by false and empty dreams deprest,
Since truth has nothing to afflict thy breast.
Oft have I 'scap'd, inur'd to every state,
From many a darker precipice of fate;
Oft in far mightier perils risk'd my life,
And issued glorious from the doubtful strife.
With less'ning confidence, and deeper grief,
Trembling she hung upon the soothing Chief,
His lip with supplicating softness prest,
And urg'd with many a tear this fond request:
If the pure love, which, prodigal and free,
When freedom most was mine, I gave to thee;
If truth, which Heaven will witness and defend,
Weigh with my sovereign lord and gentle friend;
By these let me adjure thee; by the pain
Which at our parting pierc'd my every vein,
137

And all the vows, if undispers'd in air,
Which then with many a tear I heard thee swear;
To this my only wish at least agree,
If all thy wishes have been laws to me:
Haste, I entreat thee, arm thyself with care,
And bid thy soldiers for defence prepare.
The brave Barbarian quick reply'd—'Tis clear
How low my powers are rated by thy fear.
Canst thou so poorly of Lautaro deem?
And is this arm so sunk in thy esteem?
This arm, which, rescuing thy native earth,
So prodigally prov'd its valiant worth!
In my try'd courage how complete thy trust,
Whose terror weeps thy living lord as dust!
In thee, she cries, with confidence most pure,
My soul is satisfy'd, yet not secure.
What will thy arm avail in danger's course,
If my malignant fate has mightier force?
But let the mis'ry I forebode arise;
On this firm thought my constant love relies:
The sword whose stroke our union may disjoin,
Will teach my faithful soul to follow thine.
Since my hard destiny, with rage severe,
Thus threatens me with all that love can fear;
Since I am doom'd the worst of ills to see,
And lose all earthly good in losing thee;
138

O! suffer me to pass, ere death appears,
The little remnant of my life in tears!
The heart that sinks not in distress like this,
Could never feel, could never merit bliss.
Here from her eyes such floods of sorrow flow,
Compassion weeps in gazing on her woe!
The fond Lautaro, tho' of firmest power,
Sheds, as she speaks, a sympathetic shower.
But, to the tender scenes of love unus'd,
My artless pen, embarrass'd and confus'd,
From its sad task with diffidence withdraws,
And in its labour asks a little pause.

CANTO XIV.

What erring wretch, to Truth and Beauty blind,
Shall dare to satirize the Female Kind,
Since pure affection prompts their anxious care,
Their lovely weakness, and their fond despair?
This fair Barbarian, free from Christian ties,
A noble proof of perfect love supplies,
By kindest words, and floods of tears that roll
From the clear source of her impassion'd soul.
The cheering ardour of the dauntless Chief
Fails to afford her troubled mind relief;
Nor can the ample trench and guarded wall
Preserve her doubtful heart from fear's enthrall:
139

Her terrors, rushing with love's mighty force,
Level whatever would impede their course.
She finds no shelter from her cruel doom,
Save the dear refuge of Lautaro's tomb.
Thus their two hearts, where equal passion reign'd,
A fond debate with tender strife maintain'd;
Their differing words alike their love display,
Feed the sweet poison, and augment its sway.
The sleepy soldiers now their stories close,
And stretch'd around their sinking fires repose.
The path in front with centinels was lin'd,
And the high mountain was their guard behind;
But o'er that mountain, with advent'rous tread,
Bold Villagran his silent forces led.
His hasty march with painful toil he made;
Toil is the price that must for fame be paid.
Now near the fort, and halting in its sight,
He waits the coming aid of clearer light.
The stars yet shining, but their fires decay,
And now the reddening East proclaims the day.
Th' advancing troop no Indian eye alarms,
For friendly darkness hover'd o'er their arms;
And on the quarter where the mountain rose,
The careless guard despis'd the thought of foes.
No panting horse their still approach betray'd;
Propitious Fortune lent the Spaniards aid;
140

Fortune, who oft bids drowsy Sloth beware,
And lulls to sleep the watchful eye of Care.
When Night's obscure dominion first declines,
And glimmering light the dusky air refines,
The weary guards, who round the wall were plac'd,
Hail the new day, and from their station haste;
Secure of ill, no longer watch they keep,
Quick to forget their nightly toils in sleep:
Thro' all the fort there reign'd a calm profound;
In wine and slumber all its force was drown'd.
The Spanish Chief, who saw the fav'ring hour,
Led on by slow degrees his silent power.
No Indian eyes perceiv'd his near advance;
Fate seem'd to bind them in a cruel trance;
Each in sound slumber draws his easy breath,
Nor feels his slumber will be clos'd by Death.
So blind are mortals to that tyrant's sway,
They deem him distant, while they sink his prey.
Our eager soldiers now no longer halt,
While kind occasion prompts the keen assault;
A shout they raise, terrific, loud, and long,
Swell'd by the voice of all the ardent throng;
Whose ranks, obedient to their Leader's call,
Rush with light ardour o'er th' unguarded wall,
And gain the fort, where Sleep's oppressive weight
Expos'd his wretched victims, blind to fate.
141

As villains, conscious of their life impure,
Find in their guilty course no spot secure;
For vice is ever doom'd new fears to feel,
And tremble at each turn of Fortune's wheel;
At every noise, at each alarm that stirs,
Death's penal horror to their mind occurs;
Quick to their arms they fly with wild dismay,
And rush where hasty terror points the way:
So quick the Indians to the tumult came,
With sleep and valour struggling in their frame.
Unaw'd by danger's unexpected sight,
They rouse their fellows, and they rush to fight.
Tho' their brave bosoms are of armour bare,
Their manly hearts their martial rage declare.
No furious odds their gallant souls appal,
But resolute they fly to guard the wall.
It was the season when, with tender care,
Lautaro reason'd with his anxious Fair;
Carest, consol'd, and, in his anger kind,
Mildly reprov'd her weak, mistrusting mind.
Spite of his cheering voice she trembles still;
Severer terrors now her bosom fill:
For sterner sounds their soft debate o'ercome,
Drown'd in the rattle of th' alarming drum.
But not so quick, on Apprehension's wings,
The wretched miser from his pillow springs,
142

Whose hoarded gold forbids his mind to rest,
If doubtful noise the nightly thief suggest:
Nor yet so hasty, tho' with terror wild,
Flies the fond mother to her wounded child,
Whose painful cry her shuddering soul alarms,
As flew Lautaro at the sound of arms.
His mantle rapidly around him roll'd,
And, grasping a light sword with hasty hold,
Too eager for his heavier arms to wait,
The fierce Barbarian hurried to the gate.
O faithless Fortune! thou deceitful friend!
Of thy false favours how severe the end!
How quick thou cancell'st, when thy frown appears,
Th' accumulated gifts of long triumphant years!
To aid the Spaniards in their bold emprize,
Four hundred Indians march'd, their firm allies,
Who on the left their line of battle close,
And haste to combat with their painted bows;
Launching adroitly, in their rapid course,
Unnumber'd arrows with unerring force.
As brave Lautaro issued from his tent,
A shaft to meet the sallying Chief was sent;
Thro' his left side (ye valiant, mourn his lot!)
Flew the keen arrow, with such fury shot
It pierc'd his heart, the bravest and the best
That e'er was lodg'd within a human breast.
143

Proud of the stroke that laid such valour low,
Death seem'd to glory in th' important blow;
And, that no Mortal might his triumph claim,
In darkness hid the doubtful Archer's name.
Such force the keen resistless weapon found,
It stretch'd the mighty Chieftain on the ground,
And gave large outlet to his ardent blood,
That gush'd apace in a tumultuous flood.
From his sunk cheek its native colour fled;
His sightless eyes roll'd in his ghastly head;
His soul, that felt its glorious hopes o'erthrown,
Retir'd, indignant, to the world unknown.
[OMITTED]
149

CANTO XX.

[OMITTED]
150

While thus I strove my nightly watch to keep,
And struggled with th' oppressive weight of sleep,
As my quick feet, with many a silent stride,
Travers'd th' allotted ground from side to side,
My eye perceiv'd one quarter of the plain
White with the mingled bodies of the slain;
For our incessant fire, that bloody day,
Had slaughter'd numbers in the stubborn fray.
As oft I paus'd each distant noise to hear,
Gazing around me with attentive ear,
I heard from time to time a feeble sound
Towards the breathless Indians on the ground,
Still closing with a sigh of mournful length;
At every interval it gather'd strength;
And now it ceas'd, and now again begun,
And still from corse to corse it seem'd to run.
As night's encreasing shade my hope destroys,
To view the source of this uncertain noise,
Eager my mind's unquiet doubts to still,
And more the duties of my post fulfil,
With crouching steps I haste, and earnest eyes,
To the low spot from whence the murmurs rise;
And see a dusky Form, that seems to tread
Slow, on four feet, among the gory dead.
With terror, that my heart will not deny,
When this strange vision struck my doubtful eye,
151

Towards it, with a prayer to Heav'n, I prest,
Arms in my hand, my corselet on my breast;
But now the dusky Form, on which I sprung,
Upright arose, and spoke with plaintive tongue:
Mercy! to mercy hear my just pretence;
I am a woman, guiltless of offence!
If my distress, and unexampled plight,
No generous pity in thy breast excite;
If thy blood-thirsty rage, by tears uncheck'd,
Would pass those limits which the brave respect;
Will such a deed encrease thy martial fame,
When Heaven's just voice shall to the world proclaim
That by thy ruthless sword a woman died,
A widow, sunk in sorrow's deepest tide?
Yet I implore thee, if 'twas haply thine,
Or for thy curse, as now I feel it mine;
If e'er thy lot, in any state, to prove
How firm the faithful ties of tender love,
O let me bury one brave warrior slain,
Whose corse lies blended with this breathless train!
Remember, he who thwarts the duteous will
Becomes th' approver and the cause of ill.
Thou wilt not hinder these my pious vows;
War fiercest war, this just demand allows:
The basest tyranny alone is driven
To use the utmost power that chance has given.
152

Let but my soul its dear companion find,
Then sate thy fury, if to blood inclin'd;
For in such grief I draw my lingering breath,
Life is my dread, beyond the pangs of death.
There is no ill that now can wound my breast,
No good, but what I in my Love possest:
Fly then, ye hours! that keep me from the dead;
For he, the spirit of my life, is fled.
If adverse Heaven my latest wish deny,
On his dear corse to fix my closing eye,
My tortur'd soul, in cruel Fate's despight,
Will soar, the faithful partner of his flight.
And now her agony of heart implor'd
An end of all her sorrows from my sword.
Doubt and distrust my troubled mind assail,
That fears deceit in her affecting tale;
Nor was I fully of her faith secure,
Till oft her words the mournful truth insure;
Suspicion whisper'd, that an artful spy
By this illusion might our state descry.
Howe'er inclin'd to doubt, yet soon I knew,
Though night conceal'd her features from my view,
That truth was stamp'd on every word she said;
So full of grief, so free from guilty dread:
And that bold love, to every danger blind,
Had sent her forth her slaughter'd Lord to find,
153

Who, in the onset of our bloody strife,
For brave distinction sacrific'd his life.
Fill'd with compassion, when I saw her bent
To execute her chaste and fond intent,
I led her weeping to the higher spot,
To guard whose precincts was that night my lot;
Securely there I begg'd her to relate
The perfect story of her various fate;
From first to last her touching woes impart,
And by the tale relieve her loaded heart.
Ah! she replied, relief I ne'er can know,
Till Death's kind aid shall terminate my woe!
Earth for my ills no remedy supplies,
Beyond all suff'rance my afflictions rise:
Yet, though the task will agonize my soul,
Of my sad story I will tell the whole;
Grief, thus infore'd, my life's weak thread may rend,
And in the killing tale my pangs may end.
[OMITTED]
155

CANTO XXI.

In pure affection who has soar'd above
The tender pious proof of faithful love,
Which thus awak'd our sympathetic care
For this unhappy, fond, barbarian Fair?
O that just Fame my humble voice would raise
To swell in loudest notes her lasting praise!
To spread her merits, in immortal rhyme,
Through every language, and through every clime!
With pitying females she the night remain'd,
Where no rude step their privacy profan'd;
Though wretched, thankful for their soothing aid,
With hopes her duty would at length be paid.
Soon as the welcome light of morning came,
Though soundest sleep had seiz'd my jaded frame,
Though my tir'd limbs were still to rest inclin'd,
Solicitude awak'd my anxious mind.
Quick to my Indian Mourner I repair,
And still in tears I find the restless Fair;
The varying hours afford her no relief,
No transient momentary pause of grief.
156

With truest pity I her pangs assuage;
To find her slaughter'd Lord my word engage,
Restore his corse, and, with a martial band,
Escort her safely to her native land.
With blended doubt and sorrow, weeping still,
My promis'd word she pray'd me to fulfil.
Assembling now a menial Indian train,
I led her to explore the bloody plain:
Where heaps of mingled dead deform'd the ground,
Near to the fort the breathless Chief we found;
Clay-cold and stiff, the gory earth he prest,
A fatal ball had pass'd his manly breast.
Wretched Tegualda, who before her view'd
The pale disfigur'd form, in blood imbru'd,
Sprung forward, and with instantaneous force
Frantic she darted on the precious corse,
And press'd his lips, where livid death appears,
And bath'd his wounded bosom in her tears,
And kiss'd the wound, and the wild hope pursues
That her fond breath may yet new life infuse.
Wretch that I am! at length she madly cried,
Why does my soul these agonies abide?
Why do I linger in this mortal strife,
Nor pay to Love his just demand, my life?
Why, poor of spirit! at a single blow
Do I not close this bitter scene of woe?
157

Whence this delay? will Heaven to me deny
The wretch's choice and privilege, to die?
While, bent on death, in this despair she gasp'd,
Her furious hands her snowy neck inclasp'd;
Failing her frantic wish, they do not spare
Her mournful visage nor her flowing hair.
Much as I strove to stop her mad intent,
Her fatal purpose I could scarce prevent:
So loath'd she life, and with such fierce controul
The raging thirst of death inflam'd her soul.
When by my prayers, and soft persuasion's balm,
Her pangs of sorrow grew a little calm,
And her mild speech confirm'd my hope, at last,
That her delirious agony was past,
My ready Indian train, with duteous haste,
On a firm bier the clay-cold body plac'd,
And bore the Warrior, in whose fate we griev'd,
To where her vassals the dear charge receiv'd.
But, lest from ruthless War's outrageous sway
The mourning Fair might suffer on her way,
O'er the near mountains, to a safer land,
I march'd to guard her with my warlike band;
And there secure, for the remaining road
Was clear and open to her own abode,
She gratefully declin'd my farther care,
And thank'd and bless'd me in a parting prayer.
[OMITTED]
173

CANTO XXXIII.

[OMITTED]
176

With their accustom'd shouts, and greedy toil,
Our furious troops now riot in their spoil;
Through the lone village their quick rapine spread,
Nor leave unpillag'd e'en a single shed:
When, from a tent, that, plac'd on safer ground,
The neighbouring hill's uncultur'd summit crown'd,
A woman rush'd, who, in her hasty flight,
Ran through the roughest paths along the rocky height.
A Negro of our train, who mark'd her way,
Soon made the hapless fugitive his prey;
For thwarting crags her doubtful steps impede,
And the fair form was ill prepar'd for speed;
For at her breast she bore her huddled son;
To fifteen months the infant's life had run:
From our brave captive sprung the blooming boy,
Of both his parents the chief pride and joy.
The Negro carelessly his victim brought,
Nor knew th' important prize his haste had caught,
Our soldiers now, to catch the cooling tide,
Had sallied to the murmuring river's side:
177

When the unhappy Wife beheld her Lord,
His strong arms bound with a disgraceful cord,
Stript of each ensign of his past command,
And led the pris'ner of our shouting band;
Her anguish burst not into vain complaint,
No female terrors her firm soul attaint;
But, breathing fierce disdain, and anger wild,
Thus she exclaim'd, advancing with her child:
The stronger arm that in this shameful band
Has tied thy weak effeminated hand,
Had nobler pity to thy state exprest
If it had bravely pierc'd that coward breast.
Wert thou the Warrior whose heroic worth
So swiftly flew around the spacious earth,
Whose name alone, unaided by thy arm,
Shook the remotest clime with fear's alarm?
Wert thou the Victor whose triumphant strain
Promis'd with rapid sword to vanquish Spain;
To make new realms Arauco's power revere,
And spread her empire o'er the Arctic sphere?
Wretch that I am! how was my heart deceiv'd,
In all the noble pride with which it heav'd,
When through the world my boasted title ran,
Tresia, the wife of great Caupolican!
Now, plung'd in misery from the heights of fame,
My glories end in this detested shame,
178

To see thee captive in a lonely spot,
When death and honour might have been thy lot!
What now avail thy scenes of happier strife,
So dearly bought by many a nobler life;
The wondrous feats, that valour scarce believ'd,
By thee with hazard and with toil atchiev'd?
Where are the vaunted fruits of thy command,
The laurels gather'd by this fetter'd hand?
All sunk! all turn'd to this abhorr'd disgrace,
To live the slave of this ignoble race!
Say, had thy soul no strength, thy hand no lance,
To triumph o'er the fickle pow'r of chance?
Dost thou not know, that, to the Warrior's name,
A gallant exit gives immortal fame?
Behold the burthen which my breast contains,
Since of thy love no other pledge remains!
Hadst thou in glory's arms resign'd thy breath,
We both had follow'd thee in joyous death:
Take, take thy Son! he was a tie most dear,
Which spotless love once made my heart revere;
Take him!—by generous pain, and wounded pride,
The currents of this fruitful breast are dried;
Rear him thyself, for thy gigantic frame,
To woman turn'd, a woman's charge may claim:
A mother's title I no more desire,
Or shameful children from a shameful sire!
179

As thus she spoke, with growing madness stung,
The tender nursling from her arms she flung
With savage fury, hast'ning from our sight,
While anguish seem'd to aid her rapid flight.
Vain were our efforts; our indignant cries,
Nor gentle prayers, nor angry threats, suffice
To make her breast, where cruel frenzy burn'd,
Receive the little innocent she spurn'd.
[OMITTED]
185

SONNET I.

While on my head kind Fortune deign'd to pour
Her lavish boons, and through my willing soul
Made tides of extasy and pleasure roll,
I sung the raptures of each passing hour.
But Love, who heard me praise the golden shower,
Resolv'd my fond presumption to controul;
And painful darkness o'er my spirit stole,
Lest I should dare to tell his treacherous power.
187

O ye, whom his hard yoke compels to bend
To others' will, if in my various lay
Sad plaints ye find, and fears, and cruel wrong,
To suffering nature and to truth attend;
For in the measure ye have felt his sway,
Your sympathizing hearts will feel my song.

SONNET XIX.

ON THE DEATH OF THE POET'S MISTRESS, DONNA CATALINA DE ATAIDE, WHO DIED AT THE AGE OF TWENTY.

Go, gentle spirit! now supremely blest,
From scenes of pain and struggling virtue go:
From thy immortal seat of heavenly rest
Behold us lingering in a world of woe!
And if beyond the grave, to saints above,
Fond memory still the transient past pourtrays,
Blame not the ardour of my constant love,
Which in these longing eyes was wont to blaze.
But if from virtue's source my sorrows rise,
For the sad loss I never can repair,
Be thine to justify my endless sighs,
And to the Throne of Grace prefer thy prayer,
That Heaven, who made thy span of life so brief,
May shorten mine, and give my soul relief.
189

SONNET LXXII.

While prest with woes from which it cannot flee,
My fancy sinks, and slumber seals my eyes,
Her spirit hastens in my dreams to rise,
Who was in life but as a dream to me.
O'er a drear waste, so wide no eye can see
How far its sense-evading limit lies,
I follow her quick step; but ah! she flies!
Our distance widening by stern Fate's decree.
Fly not from me, kind shadow! I exclaim:
She, with fix'd eyes, that her soft thoughts reveal,
And seem to say, “Forbear thy fond design!”
Still flies:—I call her; but her half-form'd name
Dies on my falt'ring tongue.—I wake, and seel
Not e'en one short delusion may be mine.
217

TRANSLATION'S TAKEN FROM THE NOTES TO THE FOURTH EPISTLE OF AN ESSAY ON EPIC POETRY

219

THE SONNET OF GIUSTINA TO PETRARCH.

Gladly would I exchange inglorious ease
For future fame, the Poet's fond desire!
And still to live, in spite of death, aspire
By Virtue's light, that darkness cannot seize:
But, stupified by Custom's blank decrees,
The idle vulgar, void of liberal fire,
Bid me, with scorn, from Helicon retire,
And rudely blame my generous hope to please.
Distaffs, not laurels, to your sex belong,
They cry—as honour were beyond our view:
To such low cares they wish my spirit bent.
Say thou! who marchest, mid the favour'd few,
To high Parnassus, with triumphant song,
Should I abandon such a fair intent?
221

THE ANSWER OF PETRARCH.

Luxurious pleasure, and lethargic ease,
Have deaden'd in the world each bright desire:
Our thoughts no more with Nature's force aspire;
Custom's cold powers the drooping fancy seize:
So lost each light that taught the soul to please,
Each heavenly spark of life-directing fire,
That all, who join the Heliconian choir,
Are frantic deem'd by Folly's dull decrees.
What charms, what worth to Laurel-wreaths belong?
Naked and poor Philosophy we view,
Exclaims the crowd, on sordid gain intent.—
Associates in thy path thou'lt find but few;
The more I pray thee, Nymph of graceful song,
Indulge thy spirit in its noble bent!
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