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CANTO VIII.

ARGUMENT.

Indian festival for victory-Old warrior brought in wounded
-Recognises his long-lost son, and dies-Discovery-
Conclusion with the old warrior's funeral, and prophetic
oration by the Missionary.

THE morn returns, and reddening seems to shed
One ray of glory on the patriot dead!

Round the dark stone, the victor chiefs behold!
Still on their locks the gouts of gore hang cold!
There stands the brave Caupolican, the pride
Of Chili, young Lautaro by his side!
Near the grim circle, pendent from the wood,
Twelve hundred Spanish heads are dropping blood.
Shrill sound the pipes of death: in festive dance,
The Indian maids with myrtle boughs advance;
The tinkling sea-shells on their ankles ring,
As, hailing thus the victor youth, they sing :-

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Here, on the scene with recent slaughter red, To soothe the spirits of the brave who bled, Raise we, to-day, the war-feast of the dead.

Bring forth the chief in bonds !—Fathers, to-day, Devote we to our gods the noblest prey."

Lautaro turn'd his eyes, and, gazing round, Beheld Valdivia, and Anselmo, bound! One stood in arms, as with a stern despair, His helmet cleft in twain, his temples bare,Where streaks of blood, that dropt upon his mail, Served but to show his face more deadly pale: His eyebrows, dark and resolute, he bent, And stood, composed, to wait the dire event. Still on the cross his looks Anselmo cast, As if all thought of this vain world was pass'd,And in a world of light, without a shade, E'en now his meek and guileless spirit stray'd. Where stood the Spanish chief, a muttering sound Rose, and each club was lifted from the ground; When, starting from his father's corpse, his sword Waving before his once triumphant lord, Lautaro cried, "My breast shall meet the blow: But save-save him, to whom my life I owe !" Valdivia mark'd him with unmoved eye, Then look'd upon his bonds, nor deign'd reply; When Mariantu,-stealing with slow pace, And lifting high his iron-jagged mace,— Smote him to earth: a thousand voices rose, Mingled with shouts and yells, "So fall our

foes!"

Lautaro gave to tears a moment's space, As black in death he mark'd Valdivia's face, Then cried, "Chiefs, friends, and thou, Caupoli

can,

O, spare this innocent and holy man !
He never sail'd rapacious o'er the deep,
The gold of blood-polluted lands to heap.
He never gave the armed hosts his aid-

"As the snows of the mountain are swept by the But meekly to the Mighty Spirit pray'd, blast,

That in all lands the sounds of wo might cease, The earthquake of death o'er the white men has And brothers of the wide world dwell in peace!" pass'd; The victor youth saw generous sympathy Already steal to every warrior's eye;

Shout, Chili, in triumph! the battle is won,

And we dance round the heads that are black in Then thus again: O, if this filial tear

the sun!"

Lautaro, as if wrapt in thought profound, Oft turn'd an anxious look inquiring round. He is not here !-Say, does my father live?" Ere eager voices could an answer give, With faltering footsteps and declining head, And slowly by an aged Indian led, Wounded and weak the mountain chief appears: "Live, live!" Lautaro cried, with bursting tears, And fell upon his neck, and kissing press'd, With folding arms, his gray hairs to his breast. "O, live! I am thy son-thy long-lost child!" The warrior raised his look, and faintly smiled"Chili, my country, is avenged!" he cried: "My son !"-then sunk upon a shield-and died Lautaro knelt beside him, as he bow'd, And kiss'd his bleeding breast, and wept aloud. The sounds of sadness through the circle ran, When thus, with lifted axe, Caupolican,"What, for our fathers, brothers, children, slain, Canst thou repay, ruthless, inhuman Spain ?

Bear witness my own father was most dear!-
If this uplifted arm, this bleeding steel
Speak, for my country what I felt, and feel;
If, at this hour, I meet her high applause,
While my heart beats still ardent in her cause ;-
Hear, and forgive these tears that grateful flow,
O! hear how much to this poor man I owe.

"I was a child-when to my sire's abode,
In Chillan's vale, the armed horsemen rode :
Me, whilst my father cold and breathless lay,
Far off the crested soldiers bore away,
And for a captive sold. No friend was near,
To mark a young and orphan stranger's tear:
This humble man, with kind parental care,
Snatch'd me from slavery-saved from dark de-
spair;

And as my years increased, protected, fed,
And breathed a father's blessings on my head.
A Spanish maid was with him: need I speak?
Behold, affection's tear still wets my cheek!
Years, as they pass'd, matured in ripening grace
Her form unfolding, and her beauteous face:

She heard my orphan tale; she loved to hear,
And sometimes for my fortunes dropp'd a tear.
"Valdivia saw me, now in blooming age,
And claim'd me from the father as his page;
The chief too cherish'd me-yea, saved my life,
When in Peru arose the civil strife.
Yet still remembering her I loved so well,
Oft I return'd to the gray father's cell:
His voice instructed me; recall'd my youth
From rude idolatry to heavenly truth:
Of this hereafter. He my darkling mind
Clear'd, and from low and sensual thoughts refined.
Then first, with feelings new impress'd, I strove
To hide the tear of tenderness and love:
Amid the fairest maidens of Peru,

My eyes, my heart, one only object knew:
I lived that object's love and faith to share;
He saw, and bless'd us with a father's prayer.
"Here, at Valdivia's last and stern command,
I came a stranger in my native land!
Anselmo (so him call-now most in need-
And standing here in bonds, for whom I plead)
Came, by our chief so summon'd, and for aid
To the Great Spirit of the Christians pray'd:
Here as a son I loved him, but I left
A wife, a child, of my fond cares bereft,
Never to see again-for death awaits
My entrance now in Lima's jealous gates.

"Caupolican, didst thou thy father love?
Did his last dying look affection move?-
Pity this aged man; unbend thy brow:
He was my father-is my father now!"

Consenting mercy marks each warrior's mien.
But who is this?-what pallid form is seen?
As crush'd already by the fatal blow,—
Bound, and with looks white as a wreath of snow,
Her hands upon her breast,-scarce drawn her
breath,-

A Spanish woman knelt, expecting death,
Whilst, borne by a dark warrior at her side,
An infant shrunk from the red plumes, and cried.
Lautaro started-

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Injured maid of Spain ! Me-me-O, take me to thine arms again!" She heard his voice, with rushing thoughts oppress'd,

And one faint sigh, she sunk upon his breast.

Caupolican, with warm emotion, cried,

"Live! live, Lautaro! and his beauteous bride! Live, aged father!"-and forthwith commands A warrior to unbind Anselmo's hands.

She raised her head: his eyes first met her view(As round Lautaro's neck her arms she threw)"Ah, no!" she feebly spoke; "it is not true!It is some form of the distemper'd brain !" Then hid her face upon his breast again.

Dark flashing eyes, terrific, glared around:
Here, his brains scatter'd by the deadly wound,
The Spanish chief lay, on the gory ground.
With lowering brows, and mace yet dropping
blood,

And clotted hair, there Mariantu stood.
Anselmo mournful, yet in sorrow mild,
Stood opposite:--"A blessing on your child,"
The woman said, as slow revived her waking sense,
And then, with looks aghast, "O bear us hence !"

Now all th' assembled chiefs, assenting, cried,
"Live, live! Lautaro and his beauteous bride !"
With eager arms, Lautaro snatch'd his boy,
And kiss'd him in an agony of joy;

Then to Anselmo gave, who strove to speak,
And felt the tear first burning on his cheek:
The infant held his neck with strict embrace,
And kiss'd his pale emaciated face.

From the dread scene, wet with Valdivia's gore,
His wan and trembling charge Lautaro bore.
There was a bank, where slept the summer light,
A small stream whispering went in mazes bright,
And stealing from the sea, the western wind
Waved the magnolias on the slope inclined:
The woodpecker, in glittering plumage green,
And echoing bill, beneath the boughs was seen;
And, arch'd with gay and pendent flowers above,
The floripondio its rich trellis wove.
Lautaro bent with looks of love and joy
O'er his yet trembling wife and beauteous boy.
"O, by what miracle, beloved! say,
Hast thou escaped the perils of the way
From Lima, where our peaceful dwelling stood,
To these terrific shores, this vale of blood?"
Waked by his voice, as from the sleep of death,
Faint she replied, with slow recovering breath,
"Who shall express, when thou, best friend! wert

gone,

How sunk my heart!-deserted and alone

Would I were with thee!' oft I sat and sigh'd
When the pale moon shone on the silent tide-
At length resolved, I sought thee o'er the seas:
The brave bark cheerly went before the breeze,
That arms and soldiers to Valdivia bore,
From Lima bound to Chili's southern shore
I seized the fair occasion-ocean smiled,
As to the sire I bore his lisping child.

The storm arose with loud and sudden shock,
The vessel sunk, disparting on a rock.
Some mariners, amidst the billows wild,
Scarce saved, in one small boat, me and my child:
What I have borne, a captive since that day-
(Forgive these tears)-I scarce have heart to say!
None pitied, save one gentle Indian maid-
A wild maid,-of her looks I was afraid;
Her long black hair upon her shoulders fell,
And in her hand she bore a wreathed shell."
Lautaro for a moment turn'd aside,
And, "O my sister!" with faint voice he cried.
"Already free from sorrow and alarms,

I clasp'd in thought a husband in my arms,
When a dark warrior, station'd on the height,
Who held his solitary watch by night,
Before me stood, and lifting high his lance
Exclaim'd, No further, on thy life, advance!"
Faint, wearied, sinking to the earth with dread
Back to the dismal cave my steps he led.
Duly at eve, within the craggy cleft,
Some water, and a cake of maize, were left:
The thirteenth sun unseen went down the sky:
When morning came, they brought me forth to die
But hush'd be every sigh, each boding fear,
Since all I sought on earth, and all I love, is here!

*One of the most beautiful of the beautiful climbing plants of South America.

Her infant raised his hands, with glistening eye, Beside the grave stood aged Izdabel,

To reach a large and radiant butterfly,

That flutter'd near his face; with looks of love,
And truth and tenderness, Lautaro strove
To calm her wounded heart; the holy sire,
His eyes faint lighted with a transient fire,
Hung o'er them, and to Heaven his prayer addrest,
While, with uplifted hands, he wept and blest.
An Indian came, with feathers crown'd,
And knelt before Lautaro on the ground.
"What tidings, Indian ?"

INDIAN.

"When I led thy sire, Whom late thou saw'st upon his shield expire, Son of our ulmen, didst thou mark no trace, In these sad looks, of a remember'd face? Dost thou remember Izdabel? Look, here! It is thy father's hatchet and his spear."

"Friend of my infant days, how I rejoice," Lautaro cried, "once more to hear that voice! Life like a dream, since last we met, has fledO my beloved sister, thou art dead !"

INDIAN.

"I come to guide thee, through untrodden ways,
To the lone valley, where thy father's days
Were pass'd; where every cave, and every tree,
From morn to morn, remember'd him of thee!"
Lautaro cried, "Here, faithful Indian, stay;
I have a last sad duty yet to pay,

A little while we part -Thou here remain:"
He spake, and pass'd like lightning o'er the plain.
"Ah, cease, Castilian maid! thy vain alarms!
See where he comes-his father in his arms!"
"Now lead," he cried.-The Indian, sad and still,
Paced on from wood to vale, from vale to hill;
Her infant tired, and hush'd a while to rest,
Smiled, in a dream, upon its mother's breast;
The pensive mother gray Anselmo led:
Behind, Lautaro bore his father dead.

Beneath the branching palms they slept at night; The small birds waked them ere the morning light.

Before their path, in distant view, appear'd
The mountain smoke, that its dark column rear'd
O'er Andes' summits, in the pale blue sky,
Lifting their icy pinnacles so high.

Four days they onward held their eastern way:
On the fifth rising morn before them lay
Chillan's lone glen, amid whose windings green
The warrior's loved and last abode was seen.
No smoke went up,-stillness was all around,
Save where the waters fell with soothing sound,
Save where the thenca sung so loud and clear,
And the bright humming-bird was spinning near.
Yet here all human tumults seem'd to cease,
And sunshine rested on the spot of peace;
The myrtles bloom'd as fragrant and as green
As if Lautaro scarce had left the scene,
And in his ear the falling water's spray
Seem'd swelling with the sounds of yesterday.
"Where yonder rock the aged cedars shade,
There shall my father's bones in peace be laid."
Beneath the cedar's shade they dug the ground;
The small and sad communion gather'd round.

And broke the spear, and cried, "Farewell!-fare

well!-"

Lautaro hid his face, and sigh'd "Adieu!"
As the stone hatchet in the grave he threw.
The little child, that to its mother clung,
With sidelong looks, that on her garment hung,
Listen'd, half-shrinking, as with awe profound,
And dropt its flowers, unconscious, on the ground.
The alpaca, now grown old, and almost wild,
Which poor Olola cherish'd, when a child,
Came from the mountains, and with earnest gaze,
Seem'd as remembering those departed days,
When his tall neck he bent, with aspect bland,
And lick'd, in silence, the caressing hand!

And now Anselmo, his pale brow inclined,
The warrior's relics, dust to dust, consign'd
With Christian rites, and sung, on bending knee,
"Eternam pacem dona, Domine."

Then rising up, he closed the holy book;
And lifting in the beam his lighted look,
(The cross, with meekness, folded on his breast,)
"Here, too," he cried, "my bones in peace shall
rest!

Few years remain to me, and never more
Shall I behold, O Spain! thy distant shore!
Here lay my bones, that the same tree may wave
O'er the poor Christian's and the Indian's grave.
Then may it-(when the sons of future days
Shall hear our tale, and on the hillock gaze,)
Then may it teach, that charity should bind,
Where'er they roam, the brothers of mankind!
The time shall come, when wildest tribes shall hear
Thy voice, O Christ! and drop the slaughtering

spear.

"Yet, we condemn not him who bravely stood, To seal his country's freedom with his blood; And if, in after-times, a ruthless band Of fell invaders sweep my native land, May she, by Chili's stern example led, Hurl back his thunder on th' assailant's head; And learn one virtue from her ancient foe!" Sustain'd by freedom, strike th' avenging blow,

EPILOGUE.

THESE notes I sung when strove indignant Spain To rend th' abhorr'd invader's iron chain !

With beating heart, we listen'd from afar To each faint rumour of the various war; Now trembled, lest her fainting sons should yield Now follow'd thee to the ensanguined field; Thee, most heroic Wellington, and cried, When Salamanca's plain in shouts replied, "All is not lost! The scatter'd eagles fly-All is not lost! England and victory!"

Hark! the noise hurtles in the frozen north! France pours again her banner'd legions forth, With trump, and plumed horsemen! Whence that cry?

Lo! ancient Moscow flaming to the sky!
Imperial fugitive! back to the gates

Of Paris! while despair the tale relates,
Of dire discomfiture, and shame, and flight,
And the dead, bleaching on the snows of night.
Shout! for the heart ennobling transport fills!
Conquest's red banner floats along the hills

That gird the guilty city! Shout amain,
For Europe, England,-for deliver'd Spain !
Shout, for a world avenged!

Mountains of inmost Afric, where no ray
Hath ever pierced, from Beth'lem's star of day,
Savages, fierce with clubs, and shaggy hair,
Who woods and thickets with the lion share,
gore-Hark! the glad echoes of the cliffs repeat,

The toil is o'er,Enough wide earth hath reek'd with human At Waterloo, amidst the countless dead, The war-fiend gave his last loud shriek, and fled. Thou stood'st in front, my country! on that day Of horrors; thou more awful didst display Thy long-tried valour, when from rank to rank Death hurrying strode, and that vast army shrank Soldiers of England, the dread day is won! Soldiers of England, on, brave comrades, on! Pursue them! Yes, ye did pursue, till night Hid the foul rout of their disastrous flight.

Halt on this hill-your wasted strength repair, And close your labours, to the well known air, Which e'en your children sing, "O Lord, arise!" Peals the long line, "Scatter his enemies!" Back to the scenes of home, the evening fire, Or May-day sunshine on the village spire, The blissful thought by that loved air is led, Here heard amidst the dying and the dead.*

'Twas when affliction with cold shadow hung On half the wasted world, these notes I sung. Thus pass'd the storm, and o'er a night of woes More beautiful the morn of freedom rose. Now with a sigh, I close, alas! the strain, And mourn thy fate, abused, insulted Spain ! When, for stern Valour, baring his bold breast, I see wan Bigotry, in monkish vest,† Point, scowling, to the dungeon's gloom, and wave The sword insulting o'er the fallen brave, (The sword of him who foreign hate withstood, Whose point yet drops with the invader's blood,) Then, where yon dark‡ tribunal shames the day, Hurl it with curses and with scorn away!

"How beauteous, in the desert, are the feet Of them, who bear, o'er wastes and trackless sands, Tidings of mercy to remotest lands!"

Patiently plodding, the Moravian mild

Sees stealing culture creep along the wild
And twice ten thousand leagues o'er ocean's roar,
And far from friends whom he may see no more,
Constructs the warmer but, or delves the sod;
Cheerful, as still beneath the eye of God.
Where, muttering spoil, or death, the Caffre prowl'd,
Or moonlight wolves, a gaunt assembly, howl'd,
No sounds are heard along the champaign wide,
But one small chapel bell, at eventide,
Whilst notes unwonted linger in the air,
The songs of Sion, or the voice of prayer!
And thou, the light of God's eternal word,
Record, and Spirit of the living Lord,
Hid and unknown from half the world,—at length,
Rise like the sun, and go forth in thy strength!
Already towering o'er old Ganges stream,
The dark pagoda brightens in thy beam:
And the dim eagles, on the topmost height
Of Jaggernaut, shine as in morning light!'
Beyond the snows of savage Labrador

The ray pervades pale Greenland's wintry shore-
The demon spell, that bound the slumbering sense,
Dissolves before its holy influence,

As the gray rock of ice, a shapeless heap,
Thaws in the sunshine of the summer deep.
Proceed, auspicious and eventful day!
Banner of Christ, thy ampler folds display!
Let Atlas shout with Andes, and proclaim

Turn from the thought: and if one generous heart To earth, and sea, and skies, a Saviour's name,

In these fictitious scenes has borne a part,
For the poor Indian in remotest lands,

The sable slave, that lifts his bleeding hands,
For wretchedness, and ignorance, and need,
O let the aged missionary plead !

The tale is told-a tale of days of yore,
The soldier-the gray father-are no more;

And the brief shades, that pleased a while the eye

Are faded, like the landscapes of the sky.
Yet may the moral still remain impress'd
To warm the patriot, or the pious breast.
Where'er aggression marches, may the brave
Rush unappall'd their father's land to save!
Where sounds of glad salvation are gone out
Unto all lands, as with an angel's shout,
May holy zeal its energies employ !
Rocks of Saldanna, break forth into joy!
Isles, o'er the waste of desert ocean strown,

Rivers, that sweep through shades and sands unknown,

*Alluding to a most interesting fact in the history of that eventful struggle, closed by the national air of God save the King,

+ Alluding to the unjust treatment of those brave men who saved the life and the throne of a bigoted and ungrateful prince.

Till angel voices in the sound shall blend, And one hosanna from all worlds ascend!

SONG OF THE CID.+

THE Cid is sitting, in martial state,
Within Valentia's wall;
And chiefs of high renown attend

The knightly festival.

Brave Alvar Fanez, and a troop

Of gallant men, were there; And there came Donna Ximena,

His wife and daughters fair.

When the foot-page bent on his knee,
What tidings brought he then ?
"Morocco's king is on the seas,
With fifty thousand men."

"Now God be praised!" the Cid he cried,

"Let every hold be stored:

Let fly the holy gonfalon,

And give St. James,' the word."

* Referred to in p. 505.

+ Compare with Southey's admirable translation of the Cid.

The Inquisition.

t Banner consecrated by the pope.

And now, upon the turret high,

Was heard the signal drum;
And loud the watchman blew his trump,
And cried, "They come! they come!"
The Cid then raised his sword on high,

And by God's mother swore,
These walls, hard-gotten, he would keep,
Or bathe their base in gore.
"My wife, my daughter, what, in tears!
Nay, hang not thus your head;
For you shall see how well we fight;
How soldiers earn their bread.
"We will go out against the Moors,

And crush them in your sight;" And all the Christians shouted loud, "May God defend the right!"

He took his wife and daughter's hand,
So resolute was he,

And led them to the highest tower
That overlooks the sea.

They saw how vast a pagan power
Came sailing o'er the brine;
They saw, beneath the morning light,
The Moorish crescents shine.

These ladies then grew deadly pale,

As heart-struck with dismay;
And when they heard the tambours beat,
They turn'd their head away.

The thronged streamers glittering flew,
The sun was shining bright,
"Now cheer," the valiant Cid he cried;
"This is a glorious sight!"

Whilst thus, with shuddering look aghast,
These fearful ladies stood,

The Cid he raised his sword, and cried,
"All this is for your good.

"Ere fifteen days are gone and past,
If God assist the right,

Those tambours that now sound to scare,
Shall sound for your delight."

The Moors who press'd beneath the towers
Now" Allah! Allah!" sung;

Each Christian knight his broad-sword drew,
And loud the trumpets rung.

Then up, the noble Cid bespoke

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Let each brave warrior go,

And arm himself, in dusk of morn,

Ere chanticleer shall crow;

"And in the lofty minster church,

On Santiago call,-
That good Bishoppe Hieronymo,*
Shall there absolve you all.

"But let us prudent counsel take, In this eventful hour:

For yon proud infidels, I ween,
They are a mighty power."

Then Alvar Fanez counsell'd well,

"We will deceive the foe,

The common phraseology of the old metrical allad.

And ambush with three hundred men, Ere the first cock does crow :

"And when against the Moorish men
The Cid leads up his powers,-
We, rushing from the hollow glen,
Will fall on them with ours."

This counsel pleased the chieftain well: He said, it should be so;

And the good bishop should sing mass,
Ere the first cock did crow.

The day is gone, the night is come;
At cock-crow all appear
In Pedro's church to shrive themselves,
And holy mass to hear:

On Santiago there they call'd,
To hear them and to save;
And that good bishop, at the mass,

Great absolution gave.

"Fear not," he cried, "when thousands bleed, When horse on man shall roll!

Whoever dies, I take his sins,

And God shall save his soul.

"A boon! a boon !" the bishop cried,
"I have sung mass to-day;

Let me be foremost in the fight,
And lead the bloody fray."

Now Alvar Fanez and his men

Had gain'd the thicket's shade;
And, with hush'd breath and anxious eye,
Had there their ambush laid.

Four thousand men, with trump, and shout,
Forth issued from the gate;

Where my brave Cid, in harness bright,
On Baviéca sate.

They pass'd the ambush on the left,

And march'd o'er dale and down,
Till soon they saw the Moorish camp
Betwixt them and the town.

My Cid then spurr'd his horse, and set
The battle in array.

The first beam on his standard shone
Which Pero bore that day

When this the Moors astonied saw,
"Allah!" began their cry:
The tambours beat, the cymbals rung,
As they would rend the sky.

"Banner, advance !" my Cid cried then,
And raised aloft his sword;

The whole host answer'd with a shout,
"St. Mary, and our Lord!"

That good Bishop, Hieronymo,
Bravely his battle bore;

And cried, as he spurr'd on his resolute steed, "Hurrah! for the Campeador !"

The Moorish and the Christian host

Mingle their dying cries,

And many a horse along the plain
Without his rider flies.

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