The Poetical Works of William Lisle Bowles Volume I Part 27

Such is the scene of human life, till want 200 Bids man his strength put forth; then slowly spreads The cultured stream of mild humanity, And gentler virtues, and more n.o.ble aims Employ the active mind, till beauty beams Around, and Nature wears her richest robe, Adorned with lovelier graces. Then the charms Of woman, fairest of the works of Heaven, Whom the cold savage, in his sullen pride, Scorned as unworthy of his equal love, With more attractive influence wins the heart 210 Of her protector. Then the names of sire, Of home, of brother, and of children, grow More sacred, more endearing; whilst the eye, Lifted beyond this earthly scene, beholds A Father who looks down from heaven on all!

O Britain, my loved country! dost thou rise Most high among the nations! Do thy fleets Ride o'er the surge of ocean, that subdued Rolls in long sweep beneath them! Dost thou wear Thy garb of gentler morals gracefully! 220 Is widest science thine, and the fair train Of lovelier arts! While commerce throngs thy ports With her ten thousand streamers, is the tract Of the undeviating ploughshare white That rips the reeking furrow, followed soon By plenty, bidding all the scene rejoice, Even like a cultured garden! Do the streams That steal along thy peaceful vales, reflect Temples, and Attic domes, and village towers!

Is beauty thine, fairest of earthly things, 230 Woman; and doth she gain that liberal love And homage, which the meekness of her voice, The rapture of her smile, commanding most When she seems weakest, must demand from him, Her master; whose stern strength at once submits In manly, but endearing, confidence, Unlike his selfish tyranny who sits The sultan of his harem!

Oh, then, think How great the blessing, and how high thy rank 240 Amid the civilised and social world!

But hast thou no deep failings, that may turn Thy thoughts within thyself! Ask, for the sun That shines in heaven hath seen it, hath thy power Ne'er scattered sorrow over distant lands!

Ask of the East, have never thy proud sails Borne plunder from dismembered provinces, Leaving the groans of miserable men Behind! And free thyself, and lifting high The charter of thy freedom, bought with blood, 250 Hast thou not stood, in patient apathy, A witness of the tortures and the chains That Afric's injured sons have known! Stand up; Yes, thou hast visited the caves, and cheered The gloomy haunts of sorrow; thou hast shed A beam of comfort and of righteousness On isles remote; hast bid the bread-fruit shade Th' Hesperian regions, and has softened much With bland amelioration, and with charms Of social sweetness, the hard lot of man. 260 But weighed in truth's firm balance, ask, if all Be even. Do not crimes of ranker growth Batten amid thy cities, whose loud din, From flashing and contending cars, ascends, Till morn! Enchanting, as if aught so sweet Ne'er faded, do thy daughters wear the weeds Of calm domestic peace and wedded love; Or turn, with beautiful disdain, to dash Gay pleasure's poisoned chalice from their lips Untasted! Hath not sullen atheism, 270 Weaving gay flowers of poesy, so sought To hide the darkness of his withered brow With faded and fantastic gallantry Of roses, thus to win the thoughtless smile Of youthful ignorance! Hast thou with awe Looked up to Him whose power is in the clouds, Who bids the storm rush, and it sweeps to earth The nations that offend, and they are gone, Like Tyre and Babylon! Well weigh thyself: Then shalt thou rise undaunted in the might 280 Of thy Protector, and the gathered hate Of hostile bands shall be but as the sand Blown on the everlasting pyramid.

Hasten, O Love and Charity! your work, Ev'n now whilst it is day; far as the world Extends may your divinest influence Be felt, and more than felt, to teach mankind They all are brothers, and to drown the cries Of superst.i.tion, anarchy, or blood!

Not yet the hour is come: on Ganges' banks 290 Still superst.i.tion hails the flame of death, Behold, gay dressed, as in her bridal tire, The self-devoted beauteous victim slow Ascend the pile where her dead husband lies: She kisses his cold cheeks, inclines her breast On his, and lights herself the fatal pile That shall consume them both!

On Egypt's sh.o.r.e, Where Science rose, now Sloth and Ignorance Sleep like the huge Behemoth in the sun! 300 The turbaned Moor still stains with strangers' blood The inmost sands of Afric. But all these The light shall visit, and that vaster tract From Fuego to the furthest Labrador, Where roam the outcast Esquimaux, shall hear The voice of social fellowship; the chief Whose hatchet flashed amid the forest gloom, Who to his infants bore the bleeding scalp Of his fall'n foe, shall weep unwonted tears!

Come, Faith; come, Hope; come, meek-eyed Charity! 310 Complete the lovely prospect: every land Shall lift up one hosannah; every tongue Proclaim thee FATHER, INFINITE, and WISE, And GOOD. The sh.o.r.es of palmy Senegal (Sad Afric's injured sons no more enslaved) Shall answer HALLELUJAH, for the LORD Of truth and mercy reigns;--reigns KING OF KINGS;-- HOSANNAH--KING OF KINGS--and LORD OF LORDS!

So may His kingdom come, when all the earth, Uniting thus as in one hymn of praise, 320 Shall wait the end of all things. This great globe, His awful plan accomplished, then shall sink In flames, whilst through the clouds, that wrap the place Where it had rolled, and the sun shone, the voice Of the ARCHANGEL, and the TRUMP OF G.o.d, Amid heaven's darkness rolling fast away, Shall sound!

Then shall the sea give up its dead;-- But man's immortal mind, all trials past That shook his feverish frame, amidst the scenes 330 Of peril and distemper, shall ascend Exulting to its destined seat of rest, And "justify His ways" from whom it sprung.

[188] Mete, in the Arabic, according to Bruce, signifies "the place of burial." The entrance of the Red Sea was so called, from the dangers of the navigation. See Bruce.

[189] Alluding to the pathetic poem of the _Shipwreck_, whose author, Falconer, described himself under the name of Arion, and who was afterwards lost in the "Aurora."

[190] "Morai" is a grave.

[191] Botany Bay.

THE MISSIONARY.

Amor patriae ratione potentior omni.

PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION.[192]

It is not necessary to relate the causes which induced me to publish this poem without a name.

The favour with which it has been received may make me less diffident in avowing it; and, as a second edition has been generally called for, I have endeavoured to make it, in every respect, less unworthy of the public eye.

I have availed myself of every sensible objection, the most material of which was the circ.u.mstance, that the Indian maid, described in the first book, had not a part a.s.signed to her of sufficient interest in the subsequent events of the poem, and that the character of the Missionary was not sufficiently professional.

The single circ.u.mstance that a Spanish commander, with his army in South America, was destroyed by the Indians, in consequence of the treachery of his page, who was a native, and that only a priest was saved, is all that has been taken from history. The rest of this poem, the personages, father, daughter, wife, _et cet._ (with the exception of the names of Indian warriors) is imaginary. The time is two months. The first four books include as many days and nights. The rest of the time is occupied by the Spaniards' march, the a.s.sembly of warriors, _et cet._

The place in which the scene is laid, was selected because South America has of late years received additional interest, and because the ground was at once new, poetical, and picturesque.

From old-fashioned feelings, perhaps, I have admitted some aerial agents, or what is called machinery. It is true that the spirits cannot be said to accelerate or r.e.t.a.r.d the events; but surely they may be allowed to show a sympathy with the fate of those, among whom poetical fancy has given them a prescriptive ideal existence. They may be further excused, as relieving the narrative, and adding to the imagery.

The causes which induced me to publish this poem without a name, induced me also to attempt it in a versification to which I have been least accustomed, which, to my ear, is most uncongenial, and which is, in itself, most difficult. I mention this, in order that, if some pa.s.sages should be found less harmonious than they might have been, the candour of the reader may pardon them.

_Scene_--SOUTH AMERICA.

_Characters._--Valdivia, commander of the Spanish armies--Lautaro, his page, a native of Chili--Anselmo, the missionary--Indiana, his adopted daughter, wife of Lautaro--Zarinel, the wandering minstrel.

_Indians._--Attacapac, father of Lautaro--Olola, his daughter, sister of Lautaro--Caupolican, chief of the Indians--Indian warriors.

The chief event of the poem turns upon the conduct of Lautaro; but as the Missionary acts so distinguished a part, and as the whole of the moral depends upon him, it was thought better to retain the t.i.tle which was originally given to the poem.

[192] Dedicated to the Marquis of Lansdowne.

THE MISSIONARY.

INTRODUCTION.

When o'er the Atlantic wild, rocked by the blast, Sad Lusitania's exiled sovereign pa.s.sed, Reft of her pomp, from her paternal throne Cast forth, and wandering to a clime unknown, To seek a refuge on that distant sh.o.r.e, That once her country's legions dyed with gore;-- Sudden, methought, high towering o'er the flood, Hesperian world! thy mighty genius stood; Where spread, from cape to cape, from bay to bay, Serenely blue, the vast Pacific lay; 10 And the huge Cordilleras to the skies With all their burning summits seemed to rise.

Then the stern spirit spoke, and to his voice The waves and woods replied:--Mountains, rejoice!

Thou solitary sea, whose billows sweep The margin of my forests, dark and deep, Rejoice! the hour is come: the mortal blow, That smote the golden shrines of Mexico, In Europe is avenged; and thou, proud Spain, Now hostile hosts insult thy own domain; 20 Now Fate, vindictive, rolls, with refluent flood, Back on thy sh.o.r.es the tide of human blood, Think of my murdered millions! of the cries That once I heard from all my kingdoms rise; Of Famine's feeble plaint, of Slavery's tear;-- Think, too, if Valour, Freedom, Fame, be dear, How my Antarctic sons, undaunted, stood, Exacting groan for groan, and blood for blood; And shouted, (may the sounds be hailed by thee!) Tyrants, the virtuous and the brave are free! 30

CANTO FIRST.

ARGUMENT.

_One Day and Part of Night._

Valley in the Andes--Old Indian warrior--Loss of his son and daughter.

Beneath aerial cliffs, and glittering snows, The rush-roof of an aged warrior rose, Chief of the mountain tribes: high overhead, The Andes, wild and desolate, were spread, Where cold Sierras shot their icy spires, And Chillan[193] trailed its smoke and smouldering fires.

A glen beneath, a lonely spot of rest, Hung, scarce discovered, like an eagle's nest.

Summer was in its prime;--the parrot-flocks Darkened the pa.s.sing sunshine on the rocks; 10 The chrysomel[194] and purple b.u.t.terfly,[195]

Amid the clear blue light, are wandering by; The humming-bird, along the myrtle bowers, With twinkling wing, is spinning o'er the flowers, The woodp.e.c.k.e.r is heard with busy bill, The mock-bird sings--and all beside is still, And look! the cataract that bursts so high, As not to mar the deep tranquillity, The tumult of its dashing fall suspends, And, stealing drop by drop, in mist descends; 20 Through whose illumined spray and sprinkling dews, Shine to the adverse sun the broken rainbow hues.

Chequering, with partial shade, the beams of noon, And arching the gray rock with wild festoon, Here its gay net-work, and fantastic twine, The purple cogul[196] threads from pine to pine, And oft, as the fresh airs of morning breathe, Dips its long tendrils in the stream beneath.

There, through the trunks with moss and lichens white, The sunshine darts its interrupted light, 30 And, 'mid the cedar's darksome boughs, illumes, With instant touch, the Lori's scarlet plumes.

So smiles the scene;--but can its smiles impart Aught to console yon mourning warrior's heart?

He heeds not now, when beautifully bright, The humming-bird is circling in his sight; Nor ev'n, above his head, when air is still, Hears the green woodp.e.c.k.e.r's resounding bill; But gazing on the rocks and mountains wild, Rock after rock, in glittering ma.s.ses piled 40 To the volcano's cone, that shoots so high Gray smoke whose column stains the cloudless sky, He cries, Oh! if thy spirit yet be fled To the pale kingdoms of the shadowy dead,-- In yonder tract of purest light above, Dear long-lost object of a father's love, Dost thou abide; or like a shadow come, Circling the scenes of thy remembered home, And pa.s.sing with the breeze, or, in the beam Of evening, light the desert mountain stream! 50 Or at deep midnight are thine accents heard, In the sad notes of that melodious bird,[197]

Which, as we listen with mysterious dread, Brings tidings from our friends and fathers dead?

Perhaps, beyond those summits, far away, Thine eyes yet view the living light of day; Sad, in the stranger's land, thou may'st sustain A weary life of servitude and pain, With wasted eye gaze on the orient beam, And think of these white rocks and torrent stream, 60 Never to hear the summer cocoa wave, Or weep upon thy father's distant grave.

Ye, who have waked, and listened with a tear, When cries confused, and clangours rolled more near; With murmured prayer, when Mercy stood aghast, As War's black trump pealed its terrific blast, And o'er the withered earth the armed giant pa.s.sed!

Ye, who his track with terror have pursued, When some delightful land, all blood-imbrued, He swept; where silent is the champaign wide, 70 That echoed to the pipe of yester-tide, Save, when far off, the moonlight hills prolong The last deep echoes of his parting gong; Nor aught is seen, in the deserted spot Where trailed the smoke of many a peaceful cot, Save livid corses that unburied lie, And conflagrations, reeking to the sky;-- Come listen, whilst the causes I relate That bowed the warrior to the storms of fate, And left these smiling scenes forlorn and desolate. 80 In other days, when, in his manly pride, Two children for a father's fondness vied,-- Oft they essayed, in mimic strife, to wield His lance, or laughing peeped behind his shield; Oft in the sun, or the magnolia's shade, Lightsome of heart as gay of look they played, Brother and sister. She, along the dew, Blithe as the squirrel of the forest flew; Blue rushes wreathed her head; her dark-brown hair Fell, gently lifted, on her bosom bare; 90 Her necklace shone, of sparkling insects made, That flit, like specks of fire, from sun to shade.

Light was her form; a clasp of silver braced The azure-dyed ich.e.l.la[198] round her waist; Her ancles rung with sh.e.l.ls, as unconfined She danced, and sung wild carols to the wind.

With snow-white teeth, and laughter in her eye, So beautiful in youth she bounded by.

Yet kindness sat upon her aspect bland,-- The tame alpaca[199] stood and licked her hand; 100 She brought him gathered moss, and loved to deck With flowery twine his tall and stately neck, Whilst he with silent grat.i.tude replies, And bends to her caress his large blue eyes.

These children danced together in the shade, Or stretched their hands to see the rainbow fade; Or sat and mocked, with imitative glee, The paroquet, that laughed from tree to tree; Or through the forest's wildest solitude, From glen to glen, the marmozet pursued; 110 And thought the light of parting day too short, That called them, lingering, from their daily sport.

In that fair season of awakening life, When dawning youth and childhood are at strife; When on the verge of thought gay boyhood stands Tiptoe, with glistening eye and outspread hands; With airy look, and form and footsteps light, And glossy locks, and features berry-bright, And eye like the young eaglet's, to the ray Of noon unblenching as he sails away; 120 A brede of sea-sh.e.l.ls on his bosom strung, A small stone-hatchet o'er his shoulder slung, With slender lance, and feathers blue and red, That, like the heron's[200] crest, waved on his head,-- Buoyant with hope, and airiness, and joy, Lautaro was a graceful Indian boy: Taught by his sire, ev'n now he drew the bow, Or tracked the jagguar on the morning snow; Startled the condor, on the craggy height; Then silent sat, and marked its upward flight, 130 Lessening in ether to a speck of white.

But when the impa.s.sioned chieftain spoke of war, Smote his broad breast, or pointed to a scar,-- Spoke of the strangers of the distant main, And the proud banners of insulting Spain,-- Of the barbed horse and iron horseman spoke, And his red G.o.ds, that, wrapped in rolling smoke, Roared from the guns;--the boy, with still-drawn breath, Hung on the wondrous tale, as mute as death; Then raised his animated eyes, and cried, 140 Oh, let me perish by my father's side!

Once, when the moon, o'er Chillan's cloudless height, Poured, far and wide, its softest, mildest light, A predatory band of mailed men Burst on the stillness of the sheltered glen: They shouted, Death! and shook their sabres high, That shone terrific to the moonlight sky; Where'er they rode, the valley and the hill Echoed the shrieks of death, till all again was still.

The warrior, ere he sank in slumber deep, 150 Had kissed his son, soft-breathing in his sleep, Where on a Llama's skin he lay, and said, Placing his hand, with tears, upon his head, Aerial nymphs![201] that in the moonlight stray, O gentle spirits! here awhile delay; Bless, as ye pa.s.s unseen, my sleeping boy, Till blithe he wakes to daylight and to joy.

If the GREAT SPIRIT will, in future days, O'er the fall'n foe his hatchet he shall raise, And, 'mid a grateful nation's high applause, 160 Avenge his violated country's cause!

Now, nearer points of spears, and many a cone Of moving helmets, in the moonlight shone, As, clanking through the pa.s.s, the band of blood Sprang, like hyaenas, from the secret wood.

They rush, they seize their unresisting prey, Ruthless they tear the shrieking boy away; But, not till gashed by many a sabre wound, The father sank, expiring, on the ground.