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Songs of a Stranger

by Louisa Stuart Costello

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HIS INDIAN LOVE TO DIOGO ALVAREZ, ON HIS DEPARTURE FROM BAHIA.
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 


33

HIS INDIAN LOVE TO DIOGO ALVAREZ, ON HIS DEPARTURE FROM BAHIA.

“The first settler in Bahia was Diogo Alvarez, a native of Viana, young, and of noble family, who, with that spirit of enterprise then common among his countrymen, embarked to seek his fortune in strange countries. He was wrecked on the shoals on the north of the bay of Bahia (1510). Part of the crew were lost, others escaped this death to suffer one more dreadful—the natives seized and eat them. Diogo saw there was no other possible chance of saving his life than by making himself useful to these cannibals. He therefore exerted himself in recovering things from the wreck, and by these exertions succeeded in conciliating their favour. Among other things, he was fortunate to get on shore some barrels of powder and a musket, which he put in order at his first leisure, after his masters were returned to their village; and one day, when the opportunity was favourable, brought down a bird before them. The women and children shouted ‘Caramaru!’—a man of fire! and cried out that he would destroy them: but he told the men, whose astonishment had less of fear mingled with it, that he would go with them to war and kill their enemies. They marched against the Tapuyas: the fame of this dreadful engine went before them, and the Tapuyas fled. From a slave he became a sovereign—the chiefs of the savages thought themselves happy if he would accept their daughters as his wives. He fixed his abode on the spot where Villa Velha was afterwards erected. At length, a French vessel came within the bay, and Diogo resolved to revisit his native country. He embarked with his favourite wife: the others could not bear this abandonment. Some of them swam after the ship, in hopes of being taken on board; and one followed so far, that before she could reach the shore again her strength failed her, and she sank.

“They were received with signal honours at the court of France, and returned again to Brazil.”— Southey's Hist. of Brazil.

“The natives call the mermen, or sea-apes, which are to be found here, Upupiara, and represent them as mischievous animals, which go up the river in summer.”— Ibid .

See the beautiful description of the leafless parasite plants in Southey's History of Brazil; also of a little white bird called the ringer, because its note resembles the sound of a bell; and of a tree called Escapu, from which there falls a copious dew like a shower. See also the Willow Isles.

When thou stoodst amidst thy countrymen
Our captive and our foe,
What voice of pity was it then
That check'd the fatal blow?
When the name of the mighty ‘Man of Fire’
Re-echoed to the sky,
And our chiefs forgot their deadly ire—
Who hail'd thy victory?
What voice like the softest, sweetest note
That rings from the slender white bird's throat,
Has soothed thee so oft to rest?
And thou hast said, so tenderly,
That to sit among willow isles with me
Was to be ever blest!

34

Oh! have we not wander'd in silent night
When the thick dews fell from the weeping bough;
And then these eyes, like the stars, were bright—
But are wet like those mournful branches now.
Like the leafless plant that twines around
The forest tree so fair and high,
And when in that withering clasp 'tis bound,
Leaves the blighted trunk to die,—
Thy vows round my trusting heart have bound,
And now thou leav'st me to misery!
[OMITTED]
[OMITTED]
Thou wilt not return—thy words are vain!
Thou wilt cross the deep blue sea;
And some dark-eyed maid of thy native Spain
Will hold thee far from me.
The summer will come, and our willow shore
Will hear the merman sing;
But thou wilt list to his song no more
When the rocks with his music ring:

35

He will murmur thy falsehood to every cave—
Or will tell of thy death on the stormy wave.
Ah! no; ah! no; 'tis of mine he'll tell—
I will weep no more—farewell!—farewell!
Look from thy bark, how I follow afar;
How I scorn the winds' and the billows' war;—
I sink! the waves ring loudly my knell;
My sorrows are passing—farewell!—farewell!