A TALE OF PARAGUAY.

CANTO II.

VOL. VII.

D

A TALE OF PARAGUAY.

CANTO II.

1.

O THOU who listening to the Poet's song Dost yield thy willing spirit to his sway, Look not that I should painfully prolong The sad narration of that fatal day With tragic details: all too true the lay! Nor is my purpose e'er to entertain The heart with useless grief; but as I may, Blend in my calm and meditative strain Consolatory thoughts, the balm for real pain.

2.

O Youth or Maiden, whosoe'er thou art,
Safe in my guidance may thy spirit be;
I wound not wantonly the tender heart:
And if sometimes a tear of sympathy
Should rise, it will from bitterness be free...
Yea, with a healing virtue be endued,

As thou in this true tale shalt hear from me
Of evils overcome, and grief subdued,

And virtues springing up like flowers in solitude.

3.

The unhappy Monnema when thus bereft
Sunk not beneath the desolating blow.

Widow'd she was: but still her child was left;
For him must she sustain the weight of woe,
Which else would in that hour have laid her low.
Nor wish'd she now the work of death complete :
Then only doth the soul of woman know

Its proper strength, when love and duty meet; Invincible the heart wherein they have their seat.

4.

The seamen who upon some coral reef Are cast amid the interminable main, Still cling to life, and hoping for relief Drag on their days of wretchedness and pain. In turtle shells they hoard the scanty rain, And eat its flesh, sun-dried for lack of fire, Till the weak body can no more sustain Its wants, but sinks beneath its sufferings dire; Most miserable man who sees the rest expire!

5.

He lingers there while months and years go by: And holds his hope though months and years have past;

And still at morning round the farthest sky,
And still at eve his eagle glance is cast,

If there he may behold the far-off mast
Arise, for which he hath not ceased to pray.
And if perchance a ship should come at last,
And bear him from that dismal bank away,
He blesses God that he hath lived to see that day.

6.

So strong a hold hath life upon the soul,
Which sees no dawning of eternal light,
But subject to this mortal frame's controul,
Forgetful of its origin and right,

Content in bondage dwells and utter night.
By worthier ties was this poor mother bound
To life; even while her grief was at the height,
Then in maternal love support she found,
And in maternal cares a healing for her wound.

7.

For now her hour is come: a girl is born,
Poor infant, all unconscious of its fate,
How passing strange, how utterly forlorn!
The genial season served to mitigate
In all it might their sorrowful estate,
Supplying to the mother at her door

From neighbouring trees which bent beneath their weight,

A full supply of fruitage now mature,

So in that time of need their sustenance was sure.

8.

Nor then alone, but alway did the Eye

Of Mercy look upon that lonely bower. Days past, and weeks; and months and years went by, And never evil thing the while had power To enter there. The boy in sun and shower Rejoicing in his strength to youthhed grew; And Mooma, that beloved girl, a dower Of gentleness from bounteous nature drew, With all that should the heart of womankind imbue.