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CANTO VI.

ARGUMENT.

On the sad night of that eventful day
When on the ground my murder'd father lay!
I should not then, dejected and alone,

The city of Conception-Castle-Lautaro-Wild Indian Have thought I heard his injured spirit groan.

maid-Zarinel-Missionary.

THE second moon had now began to wane,
Since bold Valdivia left the southern plain-
Goal of his labours, Penco's port and bay,
Far gleaming to the summer sunset lay.

The way-worn veteran, who had slowly pass'd
Through trackless woods, or o'er savannahs vast,
With hope impatient, sees the city spires
Gild the horizon, like ascending fires.

Now well-known sounds salute him, as more near
The citadel and battlements appear;

Th' approaching trumpets ring, at intervals;
The trumpet answers from the rampart walls,
Where many a maiden casts an anxious eye,
Some long-lost object of her love to 'spy,
Or watches, as the evening light illumes
The points of lances, or the passing plumes.
The grating drawbridge and the portal arch
Now echo to the long battalion's march;
Whilst every eye some friend remember'd greets,
Amid the gazing crowd that throngs the streets.

As bending o'er his mule, amid the throng,
Pensive and pale, Anselmo rode along,―
How sacred, 'mid the noise of arms, appear'd
His venerable mien and snowy beard.

Whilst every heart a silent prayer bestow'd,
Slow to the convent's massy gate he rode-
Around, the brothers, gratulating, stand,
And ask for tidings of the southern land.
As from the turret tolls the vesper-bell,
He seeks, a weary man, his evening cell.
No sounds of social cheer, no beds of state,
Nor gorgeous canopies his coming wait;
But o'er a little bread, with folded hands,
Thanking the God that gave, a while he stands ;
Then, while all thoughts of earthly sorrow cease,
Upon his pallet lays him down in peace.

The scene how different, where the castle-hall
Rings to the loud triumphant festival:
A hundred torches blaze, and flame aloof,-
Long quivering shadows streak the vaulted roof,-
Whilst, seen far off, th' illumined windows throw
A splendour on the shore and seas below.
Amid his captains, in imperial state,
Beneath a crimson canopy, elate,
Valdivia sits-while, striking loud the strings,
The wandering minstrel of Valentia sings.
'For Chili conquer'd, fill the bowl again!
For Chili conquer'd, raise th' heroic strain!"
'Bard," cried Valdivia, " sleep is on thy lid!
Wake, minstrel!-sing the war-song of the Cid!"
Lautaro left the hall of jubilee

Unmark'd, and wander'd by the moonlight sea;
He heard far off, in dissonant acclaim,

The song, the shout, and his loved country's name.
As swell'd at times the trump's insulting sound,
He raised his eyes impatient from the ground;
Then smote his breast indignantly, and cried,
"Chili! my country; would that I had died

Omitted in the poem, as too much impeding the

rative.

Ha! was it not his form-his face--his hair.
Hold, soldier! Stern, inhuman soldier, spare!
Ha! is it not his blood? Avenge,' he cries,
Avenge, my son, these wounds!" He faints -ha
dies.

Leave me, dread shadow! can I then forget
My father's look-his voice? he beckons yet!
Now on that glimmering rock I see him stand:
'Avenge!' he cries, and waves his dim-seen
hand!"

Thus mused the youth, distemper'd and forlorn,
When, hark! the sound as of a distant horn
Swells o'er the surge: he turn'd his look around,
And still, with many a pause, he heard the sound:
It came from yonder rocks; and, list! what strain
Breaks on the silence of the sleeping main?
"I heard the song of gladness:

It seem❜d but yesterday,

But it turn'd my thoughts to madness,

So soon it died away!

I sound my sea-shell; but in vain I try
To bring back that enchanting harmony!
Hark! heard ye not the surges say,
O! wretched maid, what canst (ou do?
O'er the moon-gleaming ocean, I'll wander away,
And paddle to Spain in my light canoe!"

The youth drew near, by the strange accents led
Where in a cave, wild sea-weeds round her head,
And holding a large sea-conch in her hand,
He saw, with wildering air, an Indian maiden stand,
A tatter'd panco* o'er her shoulders hung
On either side, her long black locks were flung;
And now by the moon's glimmer, he espies
Her high cheek bones, and bright, but hollow, eyes
Lautaro spoke: "O! say what cruel wrong
Weighs on thy heart? maiden, what bodes thy
song?"

She answer'd not, but blew her shell again;
Then thus renew'd the desultory strain:
"Yes, yes, we must forget! the world is wide;
My music now shall be the dashing tide:
In the calm of the deep I will frolic and swim
With the breath of the south, o'er the sea-blossom,t
skim.

Now listen-If ever you meet with that youth,
O! do not his falsehood reprove,

Nor say, though, alas, you would say but the

truth

His poor Olola died for love."

Lautaro stretch'd his hand-she said, "Adieu!"

And o'er the glimmering rocks like lightning flew,

He follow'd, and still heard at distance swell
The lessening echoes of that mournful shell.
It ceased at once-and now he heard no more
«Olola!--ha! his sister had that name!
Than the sea's murmur dying on the shore.

O, horrid fancies! shake not thus his frame."

Indian cloak.

+ The "sea-blossom," Holothuria, known to seamen by the name of "Portuguese man of war," is among the most nar-striking and beautiful objects in the calms of the Southern

ocean.

All night he wander'd by the desert main,
To catch the melancholy sounds again.

No torches blaze in Penco's castled hall
That echoed to the midnight festival.

The way-worn soldiers, by their toils opprest,
Had now retired to silence and to rest.
The minstrel only, who the song had sung
Of the brave Cid, as o'er the strings he hung,
Upon the instrument had fa!!'n asieep,
Weary, and now was hush'd in slumbers deep.
Tracing the scenes long past, in busy dreams
Again he wanders by his native streams;
Or sits, his evening saraband to sing
To the clear Minho's gentle murmuring.

Cold o'er the freckled clouds the morning broke
Aslant ere from his slumbers he awoke:
Still as he sat, nor yet had left the place,
The first weak light fell on his pallid face.
He wakes-he gazes round-the dawning day
Comes from the deep, in garb of cloudy gray.
The woods with crow of early turkeys ring,
The glancing birds beneath the castle sing.
And the sole sun his rising orb displays,

Him dost thou seek who injured thine and thee?
Here-strike the fell assassin-I am he!"

"Die!" he exclaim'd, and with convulsive start
Instant had plunged the dagger in his heart,
When the meek father, with his holy book,
And placid aspect, met his frenzied look,—
He trembled-struck his brow-and, turning round,
Flung the uplifted dagger to the ground.
Then murmur'd-"Father, Heaven has heard thy

prayer

"But O! the sister of my soul-lies there!
The Christian's God has triumph'd! Father, heap
Some earth upon her bones, whilst I go weep!"
Anselmo with calm brow approach'd the place,
And hasten'd with his staff his faltering pace:
"Ho! child of guilt and wretchedness," he cried,
"Speak!"-"Holy father," the sad youth replied,
"God bade the seas th' accusing victim roll
Dead at my feet, to teach my shuddering soul
Its guilt: O! father, holy father, pray

That Heaven may take the deep dire curse away.'
"O! yet," Anselmo cried, " live and repent,
For not in vain was this dread warning sent-

Radiant and reddening, through the scatter'd haze. The deep reproaches of thy soul I spare,

To recreate the languid sense a while,
When earth and ocean wore their sweetest smile,
He wander'd to the beach: the early air
Blew soft, and lifted, as it blew, his hair;
Flush'd was his cheek; his faded eye, yet bright,
Shone with a faint, but animated light,
While the soft morning ray seem'd to bestow
On his tired mind a transient kindred glow.
Then the sad thought of young Olola rose,
And the still glen beneath the mountain snows.
"I will return," he cried, "and whisper, live!
And say--(0! can I say?) Forgive! forgive!'
As thus, with shadow stretching o'er the sand,
He mused and wander'd on the winding strand,
At distance, toss'd upon the fuming tide,
A dark and floating substance he espied.
He stood, and where the eddying surges beat,
An Indian corpse was roll'd beneath his feet:
The hollow wave retired with sullen sound-
The face of that sad corpse was to the ground;
It seem'd a female, by the slender form;
He touch'd the hand-it was no longer warm;

Go! seek Heaven's peace by penitence and prayer."

The youth arose, yet trembling from the shock, And sever'd from the dead maid's hair a lockThis to his heart with trembling hand he press'd, And dried the salt sea moisture on his breast.

They laid her limbs within the sea-beat grave, And pray'd, "Her soul, O! blessed Mary, save!"

CANTO VII.

ARGUMENT.

Midnight-Valdivia's tent-Missionary-March to the
valley Arauco First sight of assembled Indians.

THE watchman on the tower his bugle blew,
And swelling to the morn the streamers flew,-
The rampart guns a dread alarum gave,
Smoke roll'd, and thunder echoed o'er the wave;
When, starting from his couch, Valdivia cried,
"What tidings?" "Of the tribes!" a scout replied
"E'en now, prepared thy bulwarks to assail,
Their gathering numbers darken all the vale!"
Valdivia call'd to the attendant youth,

He turn'd its face-0! God, that eye, though" Philip," he cried, " belike thy words Lave truth;

dim,

Seem'd with its deadly glare as fix'd on him.

How sunk his shuddering sense, how changed his

hue,

When poor Olola in that corpse he knew!
Lautaro, rushing from the rocks, advanced;
His keen eye, like a startled eagle's, glanced:
'Tis she-he knew her by a mark impress'd
From earliest infancy beneath her breast.

"O, my poor sister! when all hopes were past Of meeting, do we meet-thus meet-at last?" Then full on Zarinel, as one amazed,

With rising wrath and stern suspicion gazed; (For Zarinel still knelt upon the sand,

The formidable host, by holy James,
Might well appal our priests and city dames
"Dost thou not fear?-Nay-dost tho 1 no
reply?

Now by the rood, and all the saints on high,
I hold it sin-that thou shouldst lift thy hand
Against thy brothers in thy native land!
But, as thou saidst, those mighty enemies
Me and my feeble legions would despise,
Yes, by our holy lady, thou shalt ride,
Spectator of their prowess, by my side!
Come life, come death, our battle shall display
Its ensigns to the earliest beam of day!
With louder summons ring the rampart bell,

And to his forehead press'd the dead maid's hand.) And haste the shriving father from his cell"Speak! whence art thou?"

A soldier's heart rejoices in alarms:

Pale Zarinel, his head And let the trump at midnight sound to arms!"

Urraising, answered,

"Peace is with the dead!

And now, obedient to the chief's commands, The gray-hair'd priest before the soldier stands :

*Father," Valdivia cried, "fierce are our foes,-
The last event of war God only knows ;-
Let mass be sung.-Father, this very night
I would attend the high and holy rite.
Yet deem not that I doubt of victory,
Or place defeat or death before mine eye,-
it blenches not! But, whatsoe'er befall,
Good father! I would part in peace with all.
So tell Lautaro-his ingenuous mind
Perhaps may grieve, if late I seem'd unkind:-
Hear my heart speak-though far from virtue's way
Ambition's lure hath led my steps astray,
No wanton exercise of barbarous power
Harrows my shrinking conscience at this hour.
"If hasty passions oft my spirit fire,
They flash a moment, and the next expire;
Lautaro knows it.-There is somewhat more-
I would not, here-here, on this distant shore
(Should they, the Indian multitudes, prevail,
And this good sword and these firm sinews fail)
Amid my deadly enemies be found,
Unhostled, unabsolved, upon the ground,
A dying man,―thy look, thy reverend age,
Might save my poor remains from barbarous rage;
And thou mayst pay the last sad obsequies,
O'er the heap'd earth where a brave soldier lies:-
So God be with thee !"-

By the torches' light,
The slow procession moves: the solemn rite
Is chanted: through the aisles and arches dim,
At intervals, is heard th' imploring hymn.
Now all is still, that only you might hear-
(The tall and slender tapers burning clear,
Whose light Anselmo's pallid brow illumes
Now glances on the mailed soldier's plumes)-
Hear, sounding far, only the iron tread,
That echoed through the cloisters of the dead.
Dark clouds are wandering o'er the heaven's
wide way;

Now from the camp, at times, a horse's neigh
Breaks on the ear; and on the rampart heightt
The sentinel proclaims the middle watch of night.
By the dim taper's solitary ray,

Tired, in his tent, the sovereign soldier lay.
Meantime, as shadowy dreams arise, he roams
'Mid bright pavilions and imperial domes,
Where terraces, and battlements, and towers,
Glisten in air o'er rich romantic bowers.
Sudden the visionary pomp is past,-
The vacant court sounds to the moaning blast,-
A dismal vault appears,-where, with swoln eyes,
As starting from their orbs, a dead man lies:
It is Almagro's corpse !+-roll on, ye drums,
Lo! where the great, the proud Pizarro, comes!
Her gold, her richest gems, let fortune strew
Before the mighty conqueror of Peru!

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Ah! turn and see-a dagger in his hand
With scowling brow-see the assassin stand!
Pizarro falls!*-he welters in his gore!
Lord of the western world, art thou no more?
Valdivia, hark!-it was another groan!
Another shadow comes!-it is thy own!
Ah, bind not thus his arms!-give, give him breath.
Wipe from his bleeding brow those damps of death
Valdivia, starting, woke :-he is alone:
The taper in his tent yet dimly shone:
"Lautaro, haste!" he cried; "Lautaro, save
Thy dying master!-Ah! is this the brave,
The haughty victor?-Hush, the dream is past!
The early trumpets ring the second blast!
Arm, arm!-E'en now, th' impatient charger
neighs!

Again, from tent to tent, the trumpet brays!"
By torch-light, then, Valdivia gave command,
"Haste, let Del Oro take a chosen band,
With watchful caution, on his fleetest steed,
A troop observant on the heights to lead!"

Now beautiful, beneath the heaven's gray arch,
Appear'd the main battalion's moving march;
The banner of the cross was borne before,
And next, with aspect sad, and tresses hoar,
The holy man went thoughtfully, and prest
A crucifix, in silence, to his breast.
Valdivia, all in plated steel array'd,
Upon whose crest the morn's effulgence play'd,
Majestic rein'd his steed, and seem'd alone,
Worthy the southern world's imperial throne.
His features through the barred casque that glow,
His pole-axe, pendent from the saddle bow;
His steely armour, and the glitter bright
Of his drawn sabre, in the orient light,
Speak him not, now, for knightly tournament
Array'd, but on emprise of prowess bent,
And deeds of deadly strife: in blooming pride,
Th' attendant youth rode, pensive, by his side.
Their pennon'd lances, waving in the wind,
Two hundred clanking horsemen tramp'd behind,
In iron harness clad-the bugles blew,

And high in air the sanguine ensigns flew.
The arbalasters next, with cross-bows slung,
March'd, whilst the plumed Moors their cymbals

swung.

Auxiliar Indians here, a various train,

With spears and bows, darken'd the distant plain.
Drums roll'd, and fifes re-echoed shrill and clear,
At intervals, as near and yet more near,
While flags and intermingled halberts shine,
The long battalion drew its passing line.
Last roll'd the heavy guns, a sable tier,
By Indians drawn, with match-men in the rear
And many a straggling mule and sumpter train
Closed the embattled order on the plain,
Till naught beneath the azure sky appears
But the projecting points of scarce-discover'd spears
Slow up the hill, with floating vapours hoar,
Or by the blue lake's long retiring shore,
Now seen distinct, through the disparting haze,
The glittering file its banner'd length displays;
Now winding from the woods, again appears
The moving line of matchlocks and of spears,

Pizarro was assassinated.

Part seen, part lost: the long illustrious march
Circling the swamp, now draws its various arch;
And seems, as on it moves, meandering slow,
A radiant segment of a living bow.

Five days the Spaniards, trooping in array,
O'er plains, and headlands, held their eastern way.
On the sixth early dawn, with shuddering awe,
And horror, in the last defile they saw,
Ten pendant heads, from which the gore still run,
All gash'd and grim, and blackening in the sun :
These were the gallant troop that pass'd before,
The Indians' vast encampment to explore,-
Led by Del Oro, now with many a wound
Pierced, and a headless trunk upon the ground.
The horses startled, as they tramp'd in blood;
The troops a moment half-recoiling stood.

But boots not now to pause, or to retire ;
Valdivia's eye flash'd with indignant fire:

Dire was the strife, when ardent Teucapel
Advancing, in the front of carnage, fell.
At once, Ongolmo, Elicura, rush'd,

And swaying their huge clubs together, crush'd
Horseman and horse; then bathed their hands is

gore,

And limb from limb the panting carcass tore
Caupolican, where the main battle bleeds,
Hosts, and succeeding hosts, undaunted leads,
Till, torn and shatter'd by the ceaseless fire,
Thousands,with gnashing teeth, and clenched spews,
expire.

Pierced by a hundred wounds, Ongolmo lies,
And grasps his club terrific as he dies.

With breathless expectation, on the height,
Lautaro watch'd the long and dubious fight:
Pale and resign'd the meek man stood, and
press'd

"Onward! brave comrades, to the pass !" he cried-More close the holy image to his breast.
"Onward!" th' impatient cuirassiers replied.

And now, up to the hill's ascending crest,
With animated look and beating breast,

He urged his steed—when, wide beneath his eye,
He saw, in long expanse, Arauco's valley lie.
Far as the labouring sight could stretch its glance,
One undulating mass of club and lance,—
One animated surface seem'd to fill
The many stirring scene, from hill to hill:
To the deep mass he pointed with his sword,
"Banner, advance!" Give out" Castile!" the word.
Instant the files advance-the trumpets bray,
And now the host, in terrible array,
Ranged on the heights that overlook the plain,
Has halted:

But the task were long and vain
To say what nations, from the seas that roar
Round Patagonia's melancholy shore;
From forests, brown with everlasting shades;
From rocks of sunshine, white with prone cascades;
From snowy summits where the llama roams,
Oft bending o'er the cataract as it foams;

Now nearer to the fight Lautaro drew,
When on the ground a warrior met his view,
Upon whose features memory seem'd to trace
A faint resemblance of his father's face;
O'er him a horseman, with collected might,
Raised his uplifted sword, in act to smite,
When the youth springing on, without a word,
Snatch'd from a soldier's wearied grasp the sword,
And smote the horseman through the crest: a yell
Of triumph burst, as to the ground he fell.
Lautaro shouted, "On! brave brothers, on!
Scatter them, like the snow!-the day is won!
Lo, I! Lautaro,-Attacapac's son !"

The Indians turn: again the battle bleeds—
Cleft are the helms, and crush'd the struggling steeds.
The bugle sounds, and faint with toil and heat,
Some straggling horsemen to the hills retreat.

Stand, brave companions!" bold Valdivia cried,
And shook his sword, in recent carnage died.
"O! droop not-droop not yet-all is not o'er-
Brave, faithful friends, one glorious sally more!-
Where is Lautaro? leaps his willing sword

From streams, whose bridges tremble from the Now to avenge his long-indulgent lord?"

steep;

From lakes, in summer's sweetest light asleep;
Indians, of sullen brow and giant limb,
With clubs terrific, and with aspects grim,
Flock'd fearless.-

When they saw the Spanish line
Arranged, and front to front, descending shine,
Burst-instant burst, the universal cry-
(Ten thousand spears uplifted to the sky)—
"Tyrants, we come to conquer or to die!"
Grim Mariantu led the Indian force
A-left; and, rushing to the foremost horse,
Hurl'd with unerring aim th' involving thong,-
Then fearless sprung amidst the mailed throng.
Valdivia saw the horse, entangled, reel,
And shouting, as he rode, "Castile! Castile!"
Led on the charge:-like a descending flood,
It swept, till every spur was black with blood.
His force a-right, where Elicura led,
A thousand spears went hissing overhead,
And feather'd arrows, of each varying hue,
In glancing arch, beneath the sunbeams flew.

Rude hanging bridges, constructed by the natives.

He waited not for answer, but again
Spurr'd to the centre of the horrid plain,
Clubs, arrows, spears, the spot of death enclose,
And fainter now the Spanish shouts arose.
'Mid ghastly heaps of many a bleeding corpse,
Lies the caparison'd and dying horse.
While still the rushing multitudes assail,
Vain is the fiery tube, the twisted mail!
The Spanish horsemen faint: long yells resound
As the dragg'd ensign trails the gory ground.
"Shout, for the chief is seized!"-a thousand
cries

Burst forth-" Valdivia! for the sacrifice!"
And lo, in silent dignity resign'd,

The meek Anselmo, led in bonds, behind!
His hand upon his breast, young Zarinel
Amidst a group of mangled Indians fell:
The spear, that to his heart a passage found,
Left poor Olola's hair within the wound.

Now all is hush'd-save where, at times, alone
Deep midnight listens to a distant moan,
Save where the condors clamour, overhead,
And strike with sounding beaks the helmets of the
dead.

CANTO VIII.

ARGUMENT.

Indian festival for victory-Old warrior brought in wounded -Recognises his long-lost son, and dies-DiscoveryConclusion 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 :-

SONG OF INDIAN MAIDS.

1.

'O, shout for Lautaro, the young and the brave! The arm of whose strength was uplifted to save, When the steeds of the strangers came rushing amain,

And the ghosts of our fathers look'd down on the slain !

2.

"'Twas eve, and the noise of the battle was o'er, Five thousand brave warriors were cold in their gore:

When in front, young Lautaro invincible stood, And the horses and iron men roll'd in their blood!

3.

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 hifh 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;

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

The victor youth saw generous sympathy Already steal to every warrior's eye;

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, Caust 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:

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