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"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 height+
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 pendent 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 in

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 spears,
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-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:-

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.

"As the snows of the mountain are swept by the blast,

The earthquake of death o'er the white men has pass'd;

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

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-
But meekly to the Mighty Spirit pray'd,
That in all lands the sounds of wo might cease,
And brothers of the wide world dwell in peace!"
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, 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-

"Injured maid of Spain!
Me!-me-O, take me to thine arms again!"
She heard his voice,-with rushing thoughts op-
press'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 fled-
O! 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
Here lay my bones, that the same tree may wave
Shall I behold, O Spain! thy distant shore !
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.

To seal his country's freedom with his blood;

"Yet, we condemn not him who bravely stood,

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

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