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Disdain to act mean falsehood's coward part, And, like a giant of no earthly race,
And let religion dignify thine art.

To his broad shoulders heaved his ponderous mace.
« If, by thy bed, thou seest at midnight stand With listed hatchet, as in act to fell,
Pale conscience, pointing, with terrific hand, Here stood the young and ardent Teucapel.
To deeds of darkness done, whilst, like a corse Like a lone cypress, stately in decay,
To shake thy soul, uprises dire remorse-

When time has worn its summer boughs away, Fly to God's mercy-fly, ere yet too late- And hung its trunk with moss and lichens sere, Perhaps one hour marks thy eternal fate The mountain warrior rested on his spear. Let the warm tear of deep contrition flow, And thus, and at this hour, a hundred chiefs, The heart obdurate melt, like sostening snow, Chosen avengers of their country's griefs ; The last vain follies of thy youth deplore,

Chiefs of the scatter'd tribes who roam the plain Then go—in secret weep-and sin no more!" That sweeps from Andes to the western main,

The stars innumerous in their watches shone- Their country gods around the coiling smoke, Anselmo knelt before the cross alone.

With sacrifice and silent prayers, invoke. Ten thousand glowing orbs their pomp display'd, For all, at first, were silent as the dead; Whilst, looking up, thus silently he pray’d:- The pine was heard to whisper o'er their head, "O! how oppressive to the aching sense,

So stood the stern assembly: but apart, How fearful were this vast magnificence,

Wrapt in the spirit of his fearful art, This prodigality of glory, spread

Alone, to hollow sounds “ of hideous hum," From world to world, above an emmet's head, The wizard-seer struck his prophetic drum. That toil'd his transient hour upon the shore

Silent they stood—and watch'd, with anxious Of mortal life, and then was seen no morem

eyes, If man beheld, on his terrific throne,

What phantom shape might from the ground arise : A dark, cold, distant deity, alone!

No voices came—no spectre form appeard Felt no relating, no endearing tie,

A hollow sound, but not of winds, was heard That hope might upwards raise her glistening eye, Among the leaves, and distant thunder low And think, with deep, unutterable bliss,

Seem'd like the moans of an expiring foe. In yonder radiant realm my kingdom is !

His crimson feathers quivering in the smoke, * More glorious than those orbs that silent roll, Then, with loud voice, first Mariantu spoke :Shines Heaven's redeeming mercy on the soul-- “ Hail we the omen - Spirits of the slain, 0! pure effulgence of unbounded love!

I hear your voices! Mourn, devoted Spain ! In thee I think-I feel—I live-I move

Pale-visaged tyrants ! still, along our coasts, Yet when-0! thou, whose name is Love and Light, Shall we despairing mark your iron hosts? When will thy dayspring on these realms of night Spirits of our brave fathers, curse the race Arise? O! when shall sever'd nations raise Who thus your name, your memory disgrace! One hallelujah of triumphant praise !

No: though yon mountain's everlasting snows “Soon may thy kingdom come, that love, and peace, In vain Almagro's* toilsome march oppose; And charity, may bid earth's chidings cease! Though Atacama's long and wasteful plain Meantime, in life or death, through good or ill, Be heap'd with blackening carcasses in vain ; Thy poor and feeble servant, I fulfil,

Though still fresh hosts those snowy summits scale, As best I may, thy high and holy will,

And scare the llamas with their glittering mail ; Till, weary, on the world my lids I close,

Though sullen castles lour along our shore; And hasten to my long and last repose !"

Though our polluted soil be drench'd with gore ;

Insolent tyrants! We-prepared to die,

Your arms, your horses, and your gods, defy!"

He spoke: the warriors stamp'd upon the ground, ARGUMENT.

And tore the feathers that their foreheads bound. Assembly of Indian warriors-Caupolican, Ongolmo, / " Insolent tyrants !" burst the general cry, Teucapel-Mountain chief_Song of the Indian wizard

“We, met for vengeance! We-prepared to die ! -White woman and child.

Your arms, your horses, and your gods, defy !" Far in the centre of the deepest wood,

Then Teucapel, with warm emotion, cried, Th'assembled fathers of their country stood.

“ This hatchet never yet in blood was dyed!. 'Twas midnight now: the pine-wood fire burnt red, May it be buried deep within my heart, And to the leaves a shadowy glimmer spread: If living from the conflict I depart, The struggling smoke, or flame with fitful glance, Till loud, from shore to shore, is heard one cry, Obscured, or show'd, some dreadful countenance ;

· See! in their gore where the last tyrants lie !!And every warrior, as his club he rear'd,

The mountain warrior. “O, that I could raise With larger shadow, indistinct, appear'd;

The hatchet too, as in my better days,
While more terrific, his wild locks and mien, When victor on Maypocha's banks I stood;
And fierce eye through the quivering smoke was And while th' indignant river rollid in blood,

And our swift arrows hiss'd like rushing rain,
In sea-wolf's skin, bere Mariantu stood; I cleft Almagro’s iron helm in twain !
Goasn'd his white teeth, impatient, and cried,
« Blood !”

The first Spaniard who visited Chili. He entered it

by the dreadful passage of the snows of the Andes; but His lofty brow with crimson feathers bound,

afterwards the passage was attempted through the desert Here, brooding death, the huge Ongolmo frown'd; of Atacama.


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My strength is wellnigh gone! years mark'd with Caupolican uplifts his axe, and cries,

“Gods of our land, be yours this sacrifice ! Have o'er me pass'd, and bow'd my spirit low ! Now, listen, warriors !"--and forthwith commands Alas, I have no son! Beloved boy!

To place the billets in the captive's hands. Thy father's last, best hope !-his pride !-his joy! “Soldier, cast in the lot!" 0, hadst thou lived-sole object of my prayers

With looks aghast,
To guard my waning life, and these gray hairs ! The captive in the trench a billet cast.
How bravely hadst thou now, in manhood's pride, “Soldier, declare who leads the arms of Spain,
Swung th' uplifted war-club on my side :

Where Santiago frowns upon the plain ?"
But the Great Spirit will'd not! Thou art gone ;
And, weary, on this earth I walk alone:
Thankful if I may yield my latest breath,

“ Villagra !" And bless my country, in the pangs of death!”

With words deliberate, and uplifted hand ; Mild to persuade, yet dauntless to command;

“ Earth upon the billet heap; Raising his hatchet high, Caupolican

“So may a tyrant's heart be buried deep!” Survey'd th' assembled chiefs, and thus began :

The dark woods echoed to the long acclaim,

“ Accursed be his nation and his name !" “ Friends, fathers, brothers — dear and sacred names !

WARRIOR. Your stern resolve each ardent look proclaims :

“Captive, declare who leads the Spanish bands, On then to conquest; let one hope inspire ; One spirit animate-one vengeance fire.

Where the proud fortress shades Coquimbo's sands ?" Who doubts the glorious issue ? to our foes A tenfold strength and spirit we oppose.

“Ocampo !"In them no god protects his mortal sons, Or speaks, in thunder, from their roaring guns.

WARRIOR Nor come they children of the radiant sky;

“ Earth upon the billet heap; But, like the wounded snake, to writhe and die. “ So may a tyrant's heart be buried deep!” Then, rush resistless on their prostrate hands ; The dark woods echoed to the long acclaim, Snatch the red lightning from their feeble hands, “ Accursed be his nation and his name !" And swear, to the great spirits, hovering nearWho now this awful in vocation hearThat we will never see our household hearth, “Cast in the lot.” Cill, like the dust, we sweep them from the earth.

Again, with looks aghast, “ But vain our strength, that idly, in the fight, The captive in the trench a billet cast. Tumultuous wastes its ineffectual might,

“Pronounce his name who here pollutes the plain Unless to one the hatchet we confide:

The leader of the mailed hosts of Spain ?”
Let one, our numbers-one, our counsels guide.
And, lo! for all that in this world is dear,

CAPTIVE. i raise this hatchet, raise it high, and swear,

« Valdivia !"Never again to lay it down, till we,

At that name a sudden cry And all who love this injured land, are free.” Burst forth, and every lance was lifted high. At once the loud acclaim tumultuous ran: “Our spears, our life-blood, for Caupolican! With thee, for all that in this world is dear,

“ Valdivia -Earth upon the billet heap; We lift our hatchets, lift them high, and swear, “So may a tyrant's heart be buried deep!” Never again to lay them down, till we,

The dark woods echoed to the long acclaim, And all who love this injured land, are free." « Accursed be his nation and his name !" Then thus the chosen chief: “ Bring forth the

And now loud yells, and whoops of death, ro slave,

sound; And let the death-dance recreate the brave." The shuddering captive ghastly gazed around, Two warriors led a Spanish captive, bound

When the huge war-club smote him to the grouna
With thongs; his eyes were fix'd upon the ground. Again deep stillness hush'd the listening crowd,
Dark cypresses the mournful spot enclose : While the prophetic wizard sung aloud.
High in the midst an ancient mound arose,
Mark'd, on each side, with monumental stones,

And white beneath, with sculls and scatter'd bones. By thy habitation dread,
Four poniards, on the mound, encircling stood,

In the valley of the dead,
With points erect, dark with forgotten blood.

Where no sun, nor day or night, Forthwith, with louder voice, the chief commands, Breaks the red and dusky light; “ Bring forth the lots--unbind the captive's hands; By the grisly troops, that ride, Then north, towards his country, turn his face,

Of slaughter'd Spaniards, at thy side, And dig beneath his feet a narrow space."'*

Slaughter'd by the Indian spear, * The reader is referred to Molina for a particular de

Mighty Epanaum,t hear! scription of the war-sacrifice, which is very striking and poetical.

* Name of the war deity.



“ Hark, the battle - Hark, the din! Then firmly spoke :Now the deeds of death begin!

“White woman, we were free, The Spaniards come, in clouds! above, When first thy brethren of the distant sea I hear their hoarse artillery move!

Came to our shores! White woman, theirs the Spirits of our fathers slain,

guilt! Haste, pursue the dogs of Spain !

| Theirs, is the blood of innocence be spilt!
The noise was in the northern sky!

Yet blood we seek not, though our arms oppose
Haste, pursue ! They fly--they fly! The hate of foreign and remorseless foes:
Now from the cavern's secret cell,

Thou camest here a captive--so abide,
Where the direst phantoms dwell,

Till the Great Spirit shall our cause decide.”
See they rush,* and, riding high,

He spoke : the warriors of the night obey;
Break the moonlight as they fly;

And, ere the earliest streak of dawning day,
And, on the shadow'd plain beneath, They led her from the scene of blood away.
Shoot, unseen, the shafts of death!
O'er the devoted Spanish camp,

Like a vapour, dark and damp,

May they hover, till the plain
Is hid beneath the countless slain;

Ocean cave-Spanish captive-Wild Indian maid-fenius

of Andes, and spirits. And none, but silent women, tread

From corpse to corpse, to seek the dead!” 'Tis dawn :-the distant Andes' rocky spires, The wavering fire flash'd with expiring light, One after one, have caught the orient fires. When shrill and hollow, through the cope of night, Where the dun condor shoots his upward fight, A distant shout was heard ; at intervals

His wings are touch'd with momentary light. Increasing on the listening ear it falls.

Meantime, beneath the mountains' glittering heads, It ceased; when, bursting from the thickest wood, A boundless ocean of gray vapour spreads, With lifted axe, two gloomy warriors stood: That o'er the champaign, stretching far below, Wan in the midst, with dark and streaming hair, Moves on, in cluster'd masses, rising slow, Blown by the winds upon her bosom bare,

Till all the living landscape is display'd A woman, faint from terror's wild alarms,

In various pomp of colour, light, and shade, And folding a white infant in her arms,

Hills, forests, rivers, lakes, and level plain, Appear'd. Each warrior stoop'd his lance to gaze Lessening in sunshine to the southern main. On her pale looks, seen ghastlier through the blaze. The llama's fleece fumes with ascending dew;

“Save!” she exclaim'd with harrow'd aspect wild; The gem-like humming-birds their toils renew; “O, save my innocent-my helpless child !” And see, where yonder stalks, in crimson pride, Then fainting fell, as from death's instant stroke. The tall flamingo, by the river's side, Caupolican, with stern inquiry, spoke

Stalks, in his richest plumage bright array'd, “Whence come, to interrupt our awful rite, With snowy neck superb,* and legs of lengthening At this dread hour, the warriors of the night ?"

shade. “ From ocean.”

Sad maid, for others may the valleys ring, “Who is she who fainting lies, For other ears the birds of morning sing, And now scarce lifts her supplicating eyes ?”

For other eyes the palms in beauty wave, “ The Spanish ship went down: the seamen bore, Dark is thy prison in the ocean cave ! In a small boat, this woman to the shore :

Amid that winding cavern's inmost shade, They fell beneath our hatchets,-and again,

A dripping rill its ceaseless murmur made: We gave them back to the insulted main.t

Masses of dim-discoverd crags aloof, The child and woman-of a race we hate

Hung, threatening, from the vast and vaulted roof; Warriors, 'tis yours, here, to decide their fate." And through a fissure, in its glimmering height,

Vengeance!” aloud, fierce Mariantu cried : Seen like a star, appear'd the distant light; “Vengeance ! let vengeance dire be satisfied ! Beneath the opening, where the sunbeams shine, Let none of hated Spanish blood remain,

Far down, the rock weed hung its slender twine. Woman, or child, to violate our plain !"

Here, pale and bound, the Spanish captive lay, Amid that dark and bloody scene, the child Till morn on morn, in silence, pass'd away; Stretch'd to the mountain chief his hands, and When once, as o'er her sleeping child she hung, smiled.

And sad her evening supplication sung, A starting tear of pity dimm'd the eye

Like a small gem, amidst the gloom of night, of the old warrior, though he knew not why. A glow-worm shot its green and trembling light,“O! think upon your little ones !” he cried,

And, 'mid the moss and craggy fragments, shed * Nor be compassion to the weak denied.”

Faint lustre, o'er her sleeping infant's head; Caupolican then fix'd his aspect mild

And hark! a voice—a woman's voice-its sound On the white woman and her shrieking child, Dies, in faint echoes, ʼmid the vault profound

“ Let us pity the poor white maid !t

She has no mother near! Terrific imaginary beings, called “Man-animals," No friend to dry her tear! that leave their caves by night, and scatter pestilence and death as they fly See Molina,

* The neck of the flamingo is white, and its wings of +"Render them back upon the insulted ocean.'-Cole. rich and beautiful crimson. ridge.

From Mungo Park.

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Upon the cold earth she is laid :

Each eyeball, as in life, was seen to roll,
Let us pity the poor white maid !"

Each lip to move; but not a living soul
It seem'd the burden of a song of wo;

Was there, save bold Ongolmo and the seer. And mark, across the gloom an Indian girl move The warrior half advanced his lifted spear, slow

Then spoke—“ Dread master of the secret lore ! Her nearer look is sorrowful, yet mild

Say, shall the Spaniards welter in their gore ?" Her hanging locks are wreath'd with rock-weed " Let these mute ministers the answer tell," wild

Replied the master of the mighty spell. Gently she spoke, “Sad Christian, dry thy tear- Then every giant shadow, as it stood, Art thou afraid ? all are not cruel here.

Listed on high a skull that dropp'd with blood. 0! still more wretched may my portion be, “ Wizard, to what I ask do thou replyStranger, if I could injure thine and thee !

Say, shall I live, and spurn them as they die?" And, lo! I bring, from banks and thickets wild, 'Twas silence. “ Speak!” he cried-no voice was Wood-strawberries, and honey for thy child."

there Earth moan'd, and hollow thunder shook the air.

'Tis pass'd—the phantom.s, with a shriek, are flown, “Whence? Who art thou, who, in this fearful And the grim warrior stands in the wild wood alone. place,

St. Pedro's church had rung its midnight chimes," Dost comfort speak to one of Spanish race ?

And the gray friars were chanting at their primes,
When winds, as of a rushing hurricane,

Shook the tall windows of the tower'd fane“ It is an Indian maid, who chanced to hear

Sounds, more than earthly, with the storm arose, Thy tale of sorrow as she wander'd near.

And a dire troop are pass'd to Andes' snows, I loved a white man once-but he is flown,

Where mighty spirits in mysterious ring And now I wander heartless and alone.

'Their dread prophetic incantations sing, I traced the dark and winding way beneath ;

Round Chillan's crater smoke, whose lurid light But well I know to lead thee hence were death.

Streams high against the hollow cope of night.
O, say! what fortunes led thee o'er the wave,
On these sad shores to find, perhaps, a grave ?”

Thy genius, Andes, towering o'er the rest,
Rose vast, and thus a spectre shade address'd.

“ Who comes so swift amid the storm? “ Three years have pass'd since a fond husband

Ha! I know thy bloodless form, left

I know thee, angel, who thou art, Me, and this infant, of his love berest;

By the hissing of thy dart ! Him I have follow'd-need I tell thee more,

'Tis Death, the king! the rocks around,

Hark! echo back the fearful soundCast helpless, friendless, hopeless, on this shore ?"

'Tis Death, the king! away, away

The famish'd vulture scents its prey“O! did he love thee then ? let death betide,

Spectre, hence! we cannot die Yes, from this cavern I will be thy guide.

Thy withering weapons we defy; Nay, do not shrink ! from Caracalla's bay,

Dire and potent as thou art !” E'en now, the Spaniards wind their march this Then spoke the phantom of th’ uplifted dart,way.

“ Spirits who in darkness dwell, I heard, at night-fall as I paced the shore,

I heard far off your secret spell! But yesterday, their cannon's distant roar.

Enough, on yonder fata) shore, Wilt thou not follow? He will shield thy child,

My fiends have drank your children's gore; The Christian's God,--through passes dark and wild

Lo! I come, and doom to fate He will direct thy way! Come, follow me;

The murderers, and the foe you hate! 0, yet be loved, be happyand be free!

of all who shook their hostile spears, But I, an outcast on my native plain,

And mark'd their way through blood and tears, The lost Olola ne'er shall smile again!”

(Now sleeping still on yonder plain,) So guiding from the cave, when all was still, But one-one only shall remain, And silent pointing to the farthest hill,

Ere thrice the morn shall shine again.” The Indian led, till, on Itata's side,

Then sung the mighty spirits. “ Thee,” they sing, The Spanish camp and night-fires they descried : “Hail to thee, Death! All hail, to Death the king. Then on the stranger's neck that wild maid fell,

The battle and the noise is o'erAnd said, “ Thy own gods prosper thee - Fare

The penguin flaps her wings in gore. well!"

“ Victor of the southern world, The owl* is hooting overhead-below,

Whose crimson banners were unfurl'd On dusky wing, the vampire-bat sails slow.

O'er the silence of the waves,Ongolmo stood before the cave of night,

O’er a land of bleeding slaves !
Where the great wizard sat:-a lurid light

Stern soldier, where is now thy boast?
Was on his face; twelve giant shadows frown'd, Thy iron steeds, thy mailed hosts ?
His mute and dreadful ministers, around.

Hark! hark! they are his latest cries !

Spirits, hence he dies! he dies !" * The owl is an object of peculiar dread to the Indians of Chili.

* I trust this poetica licentia may be pardoneda



On the sad night of that eventful day

When on the ground my murder'd father lay! ARGUMENT.

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.

Ha! was it not his form-his face--his hair. The second moon had now began to wane,

Hold, soldier! Stern, inhuman soldier, spare ! Since bold Valdivia left the southern plain

Ha! is it not his blood ? 'Avenge,' he cries, Goal of his labours, Penco's port and bay,

Avenge, my son, these wounds! He faints -he

dies. Far gleaming to the summer sunset lay. The way-worn veteran, who had slowly pass'd

Leave me, dread shadow! can I then forget Through trackless woods, or o'er savannahs vast,

My father's look--his voice? he beckons yet! With hope impatient, sees the city spires

Now on that glimmering rock I see him stand: Gild the horizon, like ascending fires.

Avenge! he cries, and waves his dim-seen Now well-known sounds salute him, as more near

hand!" The citadel and battlements appear;

Thus mused the youth, distemper'd and forlorn, Th' approaching trumpets ring, at intervals;

When, hark! the sound as of a distant horn The trumpet answers from the rampart walls,

Swells o'er the surge: he turn'd his look around, Where many a maiden casts an anxious eye,

And still, with many a pause, he heard the sound: Some long-lost object of her love to 'spy,

It came from yonder rocks; and, list! what strain Or watches, as the evening light illumes

Breaks on the silence of the sleeping main ?

“ I heard the song of gladness: The points of lances, or the passing plumes.

It seem'd but yesterday,
The grating drawbridge and the portal arch
Now echo to the long battalion's march;

But it turnd my thoughts to madness,

So soon it died away!
Whilst every eye some friend remember'd greets,
Amid the gazing crowd that throngs the streets.

I sound my sea-shell; but in vain I try
As bending o'er his mule, amid the throng,

To bring back that enchanting harmony!

Hark! heard ye not the surges say, Pensive and pale, Anselmo rode along,

0! wretched maid, what canst thou do? How sacred, ʼmid the noise of arms, appeard His venerable mien and snowy beard.

O'er the moon-gleaming ocean,

I'll wander away, Whilst every heart a silent prayer bestow'd,

And paddle to Spain in my light canoe !" Slow to the convent's massy gate he rode

The youth drew near, by the strange accents led. Around, the brothers, gratulating, stand,

Where in a cave, wild sea-weeds round her head, And ask for tidings of the southern land.

And holding a large sea-conch in her hand, As from the turret tolls the vesper-bell,

He saw, with wildering air, an Indian maiden stand, He seeks, a weary man, his evening cell.

A tatter'd panco* o'er her shoulders hung No sounds of social cheer, no beds of state,

On either side, her long black locks were flung;

And now by the moon's glimmer, he espies
Nor gorgeous canopies his coming wait;
But o'er a little bread, with folded hands,

Her high cheek bones, and bright, but hollow, eyes, Thanking the God that gave, a while he stands ;

Lautaro spoke: “O! say what cruel wrong Then, while all thoughts of earthly sorrow cease,

Weighs on thy heart? maiden, what bodes thy Opon his pallet lays him down in peace. The scene how different, where the castle-hall

She answer'd not, but blew her shell again ;

Then thus renew'd the desultory strain:
Rings to the loud triumphant festival:
A hundred torches blaze, and flame aloof,

“Yes, yes, we must forget! the world is wide; Long quivering shadows streak the vaulted roof,– My music now shall be the dashing tide: Whilst, seen far off, th' illumined windows throw

In the calm of the deep I will frolic and swim

With the breath of the south, o'er the sea-blossom,t A splendour on the shore and seas below.

skim. Amid his captains, in imperial state, Beneath a crimson canopy, elate,

Now listen-If ever you meet with that youth,

0! do not his falsehood reprove, Valdivia sits—while, striking loud the strings, The wandering minstrel of Valentia sings.

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

truth* For Chili conquer'd, fill the bowl again! For Chili conquerd, raise th' heroic strain !"

His poor Olola died for love."

Lautaro stretch'd his hand-she said, “ Adieu !” * Bard,” cried Valdivia,“ sleep is on thy lid! Wake, minstrel !—sing the war-song of the Cid !»* And o'er the glimmering rocks like lightning flew. Lautaro left the hall of jubilee

He follow'd, and still heard at distance swell Unmark'd, and wander'd by the moonlight sea;

The lessening echoes of that mournful shell.

It ceased at once-and now he heard no more He heard far off, in dissonant acclaim,

Than the sea's murmur dying on the shore. The song, the shout, and his loved country's name.

“Olola !--ha! his sister had that name! As swelld at times the trump's insulting sound, He raised his eyes impatient from the ground;

0, horrid fancies ! shake not thus his frame." Then smote his breast indignantly, and cried,

* Indian cloak. « Chili! my country; would that I had died

+ The " sea-blossom," Holothuria, known to seamen by

the name of “Portuguese man of war," is among the most Omilled in the poem, as too much impeding the nar- striking and beautiful objects in the calms of the Southern rative.



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