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LI.
Her feet upon the crescent Moon were set,'9
And, moving in their order round her head,
The stars compose her sparkling coronet.
There at her breast the Virgin Mother fed
A Babe diviue, who was to judge the dead,
Such power the Spirit gave this awful Child;
Severe he was, and in his anger dread,

Yet always at his Mother's will grew mild,
So well did he obey that Maiden undefiled. 20

LVIT.
Such tales excited in Yeruti's heart
A stirring hope that haply he might meet
Some minister of Icaven; and many a part
Untrod before of that wild wood retreat,
Did he with indefatigable feet
Explore ; yet ever froin the fruitless quest
Return'd al evening to his native seat

By Jaily disappointment undeprest, –
So buoyant was the hope that fill'd his youthful breast.

L'I.

LVUT. Sometimes she had descended from above

At length the hour approach'd that should fulfil To visit lier True votaries, and require

His harmless bicart's desire, when they shall see Such as had served her well. And for her love, Their fellow-kind, and take for good or ill These bearded men, forsaking all delight,

The fearful chance, for such it needs must be, With labour long and dangers infinite,

Of change from that entire simplicity. Across the great blue waters came, and sought

Yet wherefore should the thought of change appal!
The Red-Men here, to win them, if they miglit, Grief it perlaps might bring, and injury,
From bloody ways, rejoiced to profit auglic

Apd death ;- but evil never can befall
Even when with their own lives the benefit was bought. The virtuous, for the Eye of leaven is over all.

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IV.
For gold and silver had the Spaniards sought
Exploring Paraguay with desperate pains,
Their way through forests axe in hand they wrought;
Drench'd from above by unremilling rains
They waded over inundated plains,
Forward by hope of plunder still allured;
So they might one day count their golden gains,

They cared not at what cost of sin procured,
All dangers they defied, all sufferings they endured.

X.
Uncheck'd in Paraguay it ran its course,
Till all the gentler children of the land
Well nigh had been consumed without remorse.
The bolder tribes meantime, whose skilful hand
Had tamed the horse, in many a warlike band
Kept the field well with bow and dreadful spear.
And now the Spaniards dared no more withstand

Their force, but in their towns grew pale with fear
If the Mocobio, or the Abipon drew dear.

V.
Barren alike of glory and of gold
That region proved to them ; nor would the soil
Unto their unindustrious lands unfold
llarvests, the fruit of peace, and winc and oil,
The treasures that repay contenced toil
With health and weal; treasures that with them bring
No guilt for priest and penance lo assoil,

Nor with their venom arm the awaken'd sting
Of conscience at that hour when life is vauishing.

XI.
Bear witness, Chaco, thou, from thy domain
With Spanislı blood, as erst with lodian, fed!
And Corrientes, by whose church the slain
Were piled in heaps, till for the gatherd dead
One common grave was dug, one service said!
Thou too, Parana, thy sad witness bear
From shores willi many a mouroful vestige spread,

And monumental crosses here and there
And monumental names that tell where dwellings were !

VI.

XII. But keen of eye in their pursuit of gaio

Nor would with all their power the Kings of Spain, The conquerors look'd for lucre in this tree:

Austrian or Bourbon, have at last availd An annual harvest there might they attain,

This torrent of destruction to restrain, Without the cost of annual industry.

And save a people every where assail'd 'T was but to gather in what there grew free,

By men before whose face their courage quaild, . And share Potosi's wealth. Nor thence alouc,

But for the virtuous agency of those But gold in glad exchange they soon should see

Who will the Cross alone, when arms had faild, From all that once the Incas called their own,

Achiev'd a peaceful triumph o'er the foes,
Or where the Zippa's power or Zaque's laws were known. And gave that weary land the blessings of repose.

VII.
For this, in fact though not in name a slave,
The Indian from his family was torn;
And droves on droves were sent to find a grave
In woods and swamps, by toil severe outworn,
No friend at hand to succour or to mouro,
In death unpitied, as in life unblest.
O miserable race, to slavery born!

Yet when we look beyond this world's unrest,
More miserable then the oppressors than the opprest.

XUJ.
For whensoe'er the Spaniards felt or fear d
An Indian enemy, they callid for aid
Upon Loyola's sons, now long endeard
To many a happy tribe, by them convey'd
From the open wilderness or woodland shade,
In towns of happiest polity to dwell.
Freely these faithful ministers essay'd

The arduous enterprise, contented well
If with success they sped, or if as martyrs fell.

VIII.
Often had Kings essay'd to check the ill
By edicts not so well enforced as meant;
A present power was wanting to fultil
Remote authority's sincere intent.
To Avarice, on its present purpose bent,
The voice of distant Justice spake in vain;
False magistrates and priests their intluence lent

The accursed thing for lucre to maintain:
O fatal thirst of gold! O foul reproach for Spain !21

XIV.
And now it chanced some traders who had felld
The trees of precious foliage far and wide
On Empalado's shore, when they beheld
The inviting woodlands on its northern side,
Crost thither in their quest, and there espied
Yerutis footsteps : searching then the shade
At length a lonely dwelling they descried,

And at the thought of hostile hordes dismay'd
To the nearest mission sped, and ask'd the Jesuits' aid.

IX.

XV. O foul reproach! but not for Spain alone,

That was a call which peer was made in vain But for all lands that bear the Christian name!

Upon Loyola's sons.

In Paraguay Where'er commercial slavery is known,

Much of injustice had they to complain, O shall not Justice trumpet-tongued proclaim

Much of neglect; but faithful labourers they The foul reproach, the black offence the same? In the Lord's vineyard, there was no delay Hear, guilty France! and thou, O England, hear! When summond to his work. A little band Thou who hast half redeem'd thyself from shame, Of converts made them ready for the way;

When slavery from thy realıns shall disappear, Their spiritual father took a cross in hand Then from this guilt, and not till then, wilt thou be To be his staff, and forth they went to search the land.

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XVI.
He was a man of rarest qualities,
Who to this barbarous region had confined
A spirit with the learned and the wise
Worthy to take its place, and from mankind
Receive their homage, to the immortal mind
Paid in its just inheritance of fame.
But he to humbler thoughts his heart inclined;

From Gratz amid the Syrian lills he came,
And Dobrizhoffer was the good man's honourd name.

XXII.
Yet may they not without some cautious care
Take up their ion content upon the ground.
First it behoves to clear a circle there,
And trample down the grass and plantage round,
Where many a deadly reptile might be found,
Whom with its bright and comfortable heat
The tlame would else allure: such plagues abound

In these thick woods, and therefore must they beat
The earth, and trample well the herbs beneath their feet.

XVII.

XXIII. It was his evil fortune to behold

And now they leap dry reeds and broken wood; The labours of his painful life destroy'd ;

The spark is struck, the crackling faggots blaze, His flock which he had brought within the fold And cheer that unaccustomed solitude. Dispersed ; the work of ages render'd void,

Soon have they made their frugal meal of maize : And all of good that Paraguay enjoy'd

In grateful adoration then they raise By lwind and suicidal power o'erthrown.

The evening hymn. How solemn in the wild So lie the years of liis old age employ'd,

That sweet accordant strain wherewith they praise A faithful chronicler in handing down

The Queen of Angels, merciful and mild:
Names which he loved, and things well worthy to be Hail, holiest Mary! Maid, and Mother undefiled.
known.
XVIII.

XXIV.
And thus when exiled from the dear-loved scene, Blame as thou mayest the Papist's erring creed,
To Proud Vienna he beguiled the pain

But not their salutary rite of even!
Of sad remembrance: and the Empress Queen, The prayers that from a pious soul proceed,
That great Teresa, she did not disdain

Though misdirected, reach the ear of Heaven.
In gracious mood sometimes to entertain

Us into whom a purer faith is given, Discourse with hirn both pleasurable and sage;

As our best birthrighe it beloves to hold And sure a willing ear she well might deign

The precious charge. But, oh, beware the leaven To one whose tales may equally engage

Which makes the beart of charity grow cold ! The wonderiog mind of youth, the thoughtful heart of We own one Shepherd, we shall be at last one fold. age. XIX.

SXV. But of his native speech because well nigh

Thinkest thou the little company who here Disuse in him forgetfulness had wrought,

Pour forth their l:ymn devout at close of day, In Latin le composed his history;

Feel it no aid that those who hold them dear, A garrulous, but a lively tale, and fraught

At the same hour the self-same homage pay, With matter of delight and food for thought.

Commending them to lleaven when far away? And if he could in Merlin's glass have seen

That the sweet bells are heard in solemn chime By whom his comes to speak our tongue were taught, Through all the bappy towns of Paraguay,

The old man would have felt as pleased, I ween, Where now their brethren in one point of time As when he won the ear of that great Empress Qucen.

Join in the general prayer, with sympathy sublime?

XX.
Little he deemnd when with his Indian band
He through the wilds set forth

upon

his

way,
A Poet tben unborn, and in a land
Which had proscribed his order, should one day
Take up from thence his moralizing lay,
And shape a song that, with no licuion drest,
Should to his worth its grateful tribute pay,

And sinking deep in many an English breast,
Foster that faith divine that keeps the heart at rest.

XXVI.
That to the glorious Mother of their Lord
Whole Christendom that hour its homage pays ?
From court and cottage that with one accord
Ascends the universal strain of praise?
Amid the crowded city's resiless ways,
One reverential thought-pervades the throng;
The traveller on his lonely road obeys

The sacred bour, and as he fares along,
In spirit hears and joins his household's even-song.

XXI.
Behold bim ou bis way! the breviary,
Which from his girdle langs, his only shield;
That well-known babit is his papoply,
That cross, the only weapon he will wield:
By day he bears it for bis staff atield,
By night it is the pillar of his bed;
No other lodging these wild woods can yield

Than eartli's hard lap, and rustling overhead
A canopy of deep and tangled boughs far spread.

XXVII.
What if they think that every prayer enroll'd
Shall one day in their good account appear;
That guardian Angels hover round and fold
Their wings in adoration while they hear;
Ministrant Spirits through the ethereal sphere
Waft it with joy, and to the grateful theme
Well pleased, the Mighty Mother bends her ear?

A vain delusion this we rightly deem :
Yet what they feel is not a mere illusive dream.

XXVIII.
That

prayer perform'd, around the fire reclin'd
Bencath the leafy canopy they lay
Their limbs: the Indians soon to sleep resiga'd;
And the good Father with that toilsome day
Fatigued, full fain to sleep, —if sleep be nray,
Whom all tormenting insects there assail;
More to be dreaded these than beasts of prey

Against whom strength may cope, or skill prevail,
But art of man against these enemies must fail.

XXXIV.
Nor is their virtuous hope devoid of fear;
The perils of that enterprise they know;
Some savage borde may have its fastness here,
A race to whom a stranger is a foe;
Who not for friendly words, por proffer'd show
Of gifts, will peace or purley entertain.
If by such bands their blameless blood should flow

To serve the Lamb who for their sins was slain,
Blessed indeed their lot, for so to die is gain!

XXIX.

XXXV.
Patience itself, that should the sovereign cure Them thus pursuing where the track may lead,
For ills that touch ourselves alone, supply,

A human voice arrests upon their way.
Lends little aid to one who must endure

They stop, and thither wlience the sounds proceed,
This plague: the small tormentors fill the sky, All eyes are turned in wonder, -not dismay,
And swarm about their prey; there he must lie For sure such sounds might charm all fear away.
And suffer while the hours of darkness wear; No nightingale whose brooding mate is nigh,
At tiine he utters with a deep drawn sigh

From some sequestered bower at close of day,
Some name adored, in accents of despair

No lark rejoicing in the orient sky Breathed sorrowfully forth, half murmurand half prayer. Ever pour'd forth so wild a strain of melody.

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XXXII.

XXXVIII. For three long summer days on every side

Anon advancing thus the trees between, They search in vain the sylvan solitude.

He saw beside her bower the songstress wild, The fourth a human footstep is espied,

Not distant far, himself the while unseen. And through the mazes of the path less wood

Mooma it was, that happy maiden mild, With hound-like skill and hawk-like eye pursued ; Who in the sunshine, like a careless child For keen upon their pious quest are they,

Of nature, in her joy was caroling. As e'er were hunters on the track of blood.

A heavier heart than his it had beguiled
Where softer ground or trodden herbs betray

So to have heard so fair a creature sing
The slightest mark of man, they there explore the way. The strains which she had learnt from all sweei birds

of spring.
XXXII.

XXXIX. More cautious when more certain of the trace

For these had been her teachers, these alone; In silence they proceed; not like a crew

And she in many an emulous essay, Of jovial hunters, who the joyous chase

At length into a descant of her own With hound and horn in open field pursue,

Had blended all their notes, 22 a wild display Cheering their way with jubilant halloo,

Of sounds in rich irregular array; And hurrying forward to their spoil desired,

And now as blithe as bird in vernal bower, The panting game before them, full in view:

Pour'd in full flow the unexpressive lay,
Humaner thonghts this little band inspired,

Rejoicing in her consciousness of power,
Yet with a hope as high their gentle hearts were fired. But in the inborn sense of harmony yet more.

XL.
Jo joy had she begun the ambitious song,
With rapid interchange of sink and swell;
And sometimes higli the note was raised, and long
Produced, with shake and effort sensible,
As if the voice exulted there to dwell;
But when she could no more that pitch sustain,
So thrillingly attuned the cadence fell,

That with the music of its dying strain
She moved herself to tears of pleasurable pain,

XLVI.
At that unwonted call with quickened pace
The matron hurried thither, half in fear.
How strange to Monpema a stranger's face!
How strange it was a stranger's voice to hear,
How strangely to ber disaccustomed ear
Came even the accents of her palive longue!
But when she saw her countrymen appear,

Tears for that unexperted blessing sprung,
And once again she felt as if her beart were young.

XLI. It may be deemid some dim presage23 possess'd The virgin's soul; that some mysterious sense Of change to come, upon hier mind impressid, Had then callid forth, ere she departed thence, A requiem to their days of innocence. For what thou losest in thy native shade There is one change alone that may compense,

O Mooma, innocent and simple maid, Only one change, and it will not be long delay'd!

XLVII.
Soon was her melancholy story told,
Aud glad consent unto that Father good
Was given, that they 10 join his happy fold
Would leave with him their forest solitude.
Why comes not now Yeruti from the wood ?
Why larrieth he so late this blessed day?
They long to see their joy in l.is renew'd,

And look impatiently toward his way,
And think they hear his step, and chide his long delay.

XLII.
When now the Father issued from the wood
Into that little vlade in open sight,
Like one entranced, beholding lim, she stood;
Yet had she more of wonder than affriglit,
Yet less of wonder than of dread delight,
When thus the actual vision came in view;
For instantly the maiden read ariglit

Wherefore lie came; his carb and beard she knew; All that her mother heard bad then indeed been true.

XLVII.
He comes at length, a happy man, to find
His only dream of hope fulfilld at last,
The sunshine of his all-believing mind
There is no doubt or fear to overcast;
No chilling forethought checks his bliss; the past
Leaves no regret for him, and all to come
Is change and wonder and delight. How fast

Jatha busy fimuey conjured up a sum Of joys unknown, whereof the expectance makes liim dumb!

XLIX.
O bappy day, the Messenger of Heaven
Hath found them in their lonely dwelling-place!
O huppy day, to them it would be given
To share in viat Eternal Mother's grace,
And one day see in heaven hier glorious face
Where Angels round her mercy-throne adore!
Now shall they mingle with the human race,

Sequester'd from their fellow kiod no more;
O joy of joys supreme! O bliss for them in store!

ILUI. Nor was the Father filled with less surprise; He too strange fancies well might entertain, When this so fair a creature met his eyes. He might have thought hier not of mortal strain; Rather, as bards of yore were wont to feign, A nympli divine of Mondai's secret streain; Or haply of Diana's woodland irain:

For in her beauty Mooma such might seem, Being less a child of earth than like a poet's dream.

XLIV. No art of barbarous ornament had scarr'd And staind hier virgin limbs, or 'filed her face; Nor ever yet had evil passion marr'd In her sweet countenance the natural grace Of innocence and youth; por was there trace Of sorrow, or of hardening want and care. Strange was it in this wild and savage place,

Which seem'd to be for beasts a filing lair, Thus to behold a maid so gentle and so fair.

L. Full of such hopes this night they lie them down, But not as they were wont, this night to rest. Their old tranquillity of heart is gone; Tlie peace wherewish till now they have been blest Hath taken its departure. In the breast Fast following thoughts and busy fancies throng; Their sleep itself is feverish, and possest

With dreams that to the wakeful mind belong; To Nooma and the youth then first the night seem'd

long

LI.

XLV. Across her shoulders was a hammock flung,24 By night it was the maiden's bed, by day Her ouly garment. Round her as it bung, In short unequal folds of loose array, The open meslies, when she moves, display Her form. She stood with fix'd aud wondering eyes, And trembling like a leaf upon

the

spray, Even for excess of joy, with eager cries She call'd her mother forth to share that glad surprise.

Day comes, and now a first and last farewell
To that fair bower within their pative wood,
Their quiet nest till now. The bird

may

dwell Henceforth in safety there, and rear her brood, And beasts and reptiles undisturb'd intrude. Reckless of this, the simple tenants go, Emerging from their peaceful solitude,

To mingle with the world, but not to know Its crimes, nor to partake its cares, nor feel its woe.

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