The Poetical Works of William Lisle Bowles Volume I Part 33

CANTO SEVENTH.

ARGUMENT.

Midnight--Valdivia's tent--Missionary--March to the Valley Arauco--First sight of a.s.sembled 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 rolled, and thunder echoed o'er the wave; When, starting from his couch, Valdivia cried, What tidings? Of the tribes! a scout replied; Ev'n now, prepared thy bulwarks to a.s.sail, Their gathering numbers darken all the vale!

Valdivia called to the attendant youth, Philip, he cried, belike thy words have truth; 10 The formidable host, by holy James, Might well appal our priests and city dames!

Dost thou not fear? Nay--dost thou not 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! 20 Come life, come death, our battle shall display Its ensigns to the earliest beam of day!

With louder summons ring the rampart-bell, And haste the shriving father from his cell; A soldier's heart rejoices in alarms: And let the trump at midnight sound to arms!

And now, obedient to the chief's commands, The gray-haired priest before the soldier stands.

Father, Valdivia cried, fierce are our foes,-- The last event of war G.o.d only knows;-- 30 Let ma.s.s 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 seemed unkind:-- Hear my heart speak, though far from virtue's way Ambition's lure hath led my steps astray, 40 No wanton exercise of barbarous power Harrows my shrinking conscience at this hour.

If hasty pa.s.sions 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 sh.o.r.e (Should they, the Indian mult.i.tudes, prevail, And this good sword and these firm sinews fail) Amid my deadly enemies be found, "Unhouseled, ananealed," upon the ground, 50 A dying man;--thy look, thy reverend age, Might save my poor remains from barb'rous rage; And thou may'st pay the last sad obsequies, O'er the heaped earth where a brave soldier lies:-- So G.o.d 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 the imploring hymn.[226]

Now all is still, that only you might hear-- 60 (The tall and slender tapers burning clear, Whose light Anselmo's palid 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, 70 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 swoll'n eyes, As starting from their orbs, a dead man lies.

It is Almagro's[227] corse!--roll on, ye drums, 80 Lo! where the great, the proud Pizarro comes!

Her gold, her richest gems, let Fortune strew Before the mighty conqueror of Peru!

Ah, turn, and see a dagger in his hand-- With ghastly look--see the a.s.sa.s.sin stand!

Pizarro falls;[228]--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! 90 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! Ev'n now, the impatient charger neighs!

Again, from tent to tent the trumpet brays!

By torch-light, then, Valdivia gave command, 100 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, Appeared the main battalion's moving march; The banner of the cross was borne before, And next, with aspect sad, and tresses h.o.a.r, The holy man went thoughtfully and pressed A crucifix, in silence, to his breast.

Valdivia, all in burnished steel arrayed, 110 Upon whose crest the morn's effulgence played, Majestic reined his steed, and seemed 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 dazzling armour, and the glitter bright Of his drawn sabre, in the orient light, Speak him not, now, for knightly tournament Arrayed, but on emprise of prowess bent, And deeds of deadly strife. In blooming pride, 120 The attendant youth rode, pensive, by his side.

Their pennoned lances, waving in the wind, Two hundred clanking hors.e.m.e.n tramped behind, In iron harness clad. The bugles blew, And high in air the sanguine ensigns flew.

The arbalasters{j} next, with cross-bows slung, Marched, whilst the plumed Moors their cymbals swung.

Auxiliar-Indians here, a various train.

With spears and bows, darkened the distant plain; Drums rolled, and fifes re-echoed shrill and clear, 130 At intervals, as near and yet more near, While flags and intermingled halberds shine, The long battalion drew its pa.s.sing line.

Last rolled the heavy guns, a sable tier, By Indians drawn, with matchmen in the rear; And many a straggling mule and sumpter-train Closed the embattled order on the plain, Till nought beneath the azure sky appears But the projecting points of scarce-discovered spears, Slow up the hill, with floating vapours h.o.a.r, 140 Or by the blue lake's long retiring sh.o.r.e, Now seen distinct, through the disparting haze, The glittering file its bannered length displays; Now winding from the woods, again appears The moving line of matchlocks and of spears.

Part seen, part lost; the long ill.u.s.trious 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, 150 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 gashed, and grim, and blackening in the sun.

These were the gallant troop that pa.s.sed 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 tramped in blood; 160 The troops a moment half-recoiling stood.

But boots not now to pause, or to retire; Valdivia's eye flashed with indignant fire: Follow! he cried, brave comrades, to the hill!

And instant shouts the pealing valley fill.

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, 170 One undulating ma.s.s of club and lance, One animated surface seemed to fill The many-stirring scene from hill to hill: To the deep ma.s.s 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 180 To tell what nations, from the seas that roar Round Patagonia's melancholy sh.o.r.e; From forests, brown with everlasting shades; From rocks of sunshine, white with p.r.o.ne cascades; From snowy summits, where the Llama roams, Oft bending o'er the cataract as it foams; From streams whose bridges[229] tremble from the steep; From lakes, in summer's sweetest light asleep; Indians, of sullen brow and giant limb, With clubs terrific, and with aspects grim, 190 Flocked fearless.

When they saw the Spanish line Arrayed, 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, Hurled with unerring aim the involving thong, Then fearless sprang amidst the mailed throng. 200 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 Harratomac led, A thousand spears went hissing overhead, And feathered arrows, of each varying hue, In glancing arch, beneath the sunbeams flew.

Dire was the strife, when ardent Teucapel Advancing in the front of carnage fell. 210 At once, Ongolmo, Elicura, rushed, And swaying their huge clubs together, crushed Horseman and horse; then bathed their hands in gore, And limb from limb the panting carcase tore.

Caupolican, where the main battle bleeds, Hosts and succeeding hosts undaunted leads, Till, torn and shattered 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. 220 With breathless expectation, on the height, Lautaro watched the long and dubious fight: Pale and resigned the meek man stood, and pressed More close the holy image to his breast.

Now nearer to the fight Lautaro drew, When on the ground a warrior met his view, Upon whose features memory seemed 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, 230 When the youth springing on, without a word, s.n.a.t.c.hed from a soldier's wearied grasp his sword, And smote the horseman through the crest: a yell Of triumph burst, as to the ground he fell.

Lautaro{k} shouted, On! brave brothers, on!

Scatter them like the snow!--the day is won!

Lo, I! Lautaro{k},--Attacapac's son!

The Indians turn: again the battle bleeds, Cleft are the helms and crushed the struggling steeds.

The bugle sounds, and faint with toil and heat, 240 Some straggling hors.e.m.e.n to the hills retreat.

Stand, brave companions! bold Valdivia cried, And shook his sword, in recent carnage dyed; Oh! droop not--droop not yet--all is not o'er-- Brave, faithful friends, one glorious sally more.

Where is Lautaro! leaps his willing sword Now to avenge his long-indulgent lord!

He waited not for answer, but again Spurred to the centre of the horrid plain.

Clubs, arrows, spears, the spot of death inclose, 250 And fainter now the Spanish shouts arose.

'Mid ghastly heaps of many a bleeding corse, Lies the caparisoned and dying horse.

While still the rushing mult.i.tudes a.s.sail, Vain is the fiery tube, the twisted mail!

The Spanish hors.e.m.e.n faint; long yells resound, As the dragged 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 resigned, 260 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 pa.s.sage found Left poor Olola's hair within the wound.

Now all is hushed, 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.

[226] It may be necessary here to say, that whenever the Spaniards founded a city, after the immediate walls of defence, their first object was to build a church, and to have, with as much pomp as possible, the ecclesiastical services performed. Hence the cathedrals founded by them in America were of transcendent beauty and magnificence.

[227] Almagro, who first penetrated into Chili, was afterwards strangled.

[228] Pizarro was a.s.sa.s.sinated.

[229] Rude hanging bridges, constructed by the natives.

CANTO EIGHTH.

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!