That region proved to them; nor would the soil If the Mocobio or the Abipon drew near. Unto their unindustrious hands unfold Harvests, the fruit of peace, and wine and oil, The treasures that repay contented toil With health and weal; treasures that with them bring
No guilt for priest and penance to assoil,
Nor with their venom arm the awaken'd sting Of conscience at that hour when life is vanishing.
But, keen of eye in their pursuit of gain, The conquerors look'd for lucre in this tree: An annual harvest there might they attain, Without the cost of annual industry. 'Twas but to gather in what there grew free, And share Potosi's wealth. Nor thence alone, But gold in glad exchange they soon should see From all that once the Incas called their own, Or where the Zippa's power or Zaque's laws were known.
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 succor or to mourn, In death unpitied, as in life unbless'd. O miserable race, to slavery born!
Yet when we look beyond this world's unrest, More miserable then the oppressors than the oppress'd.
Often had Kings essay'd to check the ill By edicts not so well enforced as meant; A present power was wanting to fulfil 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 influence lent The accursed thing for lucre to maintain : O fatal thirst of gold! O foul reproach for Spain !
Bear witness, Chaco, thou, from thy domain With Spanish blood, as erst with Indian, fed! And Corrientes, by whose church the slain Were piled in heaps, till for the gather'd dead One common grave was dug, one service said! Thou too, Parana, thy sad witness bear
From shores with many a mournful vestige spread,
And monumental crosses here and there, And monumental names that tell where dwellings
Nor would with all their power the Kings of
Austrian or Bourbon, have at last avail'd This torrent of destruction to restrain, And save a people every where assail'd By men before whose face their courage quail'd, But for the virtuous agency of those Who with the Cross alone, when arms had fail'd, Achieved a peaceful triumph o'er the foes, And gave that weary land the blessings of repose.
For whensoe'er the Spaniards felt or fear'd An Indian enemy, they call'd for aid Upon Loyola's sons, now long endear'd 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.
And now it chanced some traders, who had fell'd The trees of precious foliage far and wide On Empalado's shore, when they beheld The inviting woodlands on its northern side, Cross'd thither in their quest, and there espied
Yeruti's 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 Jesuit's aid.
That was a call which ne'er was made in vain Upon Loyola's sons. In Paraguay Much of injustice had they to complain, Much of neglect; but faithful laborers they In the Lord's vineyard, there was no delay When summon'd to his work. A little band Of converts made them ready for the way; Their spiritual father took a Cross in hand To be his staff, and forth they went to search the land.
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 Styrian hills, he came, And Dobrizhofferwas the good man's honor'd name.
It was his evil fortune to behold
The labors of his painful life destroy'd;
Little he deem'd when with his Indian band He through the wilds set forth upon his way, A Poet then 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 fiction dress'd, 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. 21.
Behold him on his way! the breviary Which from his girdle hangs, his only shield; That well-known habit is his panoply, That Cross, the only weapon he will wield: By day, he bears it for his staff afield, By night, it is the pillow of his bed: No other lodging these wild woods can yield Than earth's hard lap, and rustling overhead A canopy of deep and tangled boughs far spread.
Yet may they not without some cautious care Take up their inn 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 flame would else allure: such plagues abound In these thick woods, and therefore must they beat [feet.
His flock, which he had brought within the fold, The earth, and trample well the herbs beneath their
Dispersed; the work of ages render'd void,
And all of good that Paraguay enjoy'd
By blind and suicidal Power o'erthrown.
So he the years of his old age employ'd, A faithful chronicler in handing down Names which he loved, and things well worthy to
And thus, when exiled from the dear-loved scene, In proud Vienna he beguiled the pain
And now they heap dry reeds and broken wood: The spark is struck, the crackling fagots blaze, And cheer that unaccustom'd solitude. Soon have they made their frugal meal of maize; In grateful adoration then they raise The evening hymn. How solemn in the wild That sweet accordant strain wherewith they praise
The Queen of Angels, merciful and mild!
Of sad remembrance; and the Empress Queen, Hail, holiest Mary! Maid, and Mother undefiled.
That great Teresa, she did not disdain In gracious mood sometimes to entertain Discourse with him both pleasurable and sage; And sure a willing ear she well might deign To one whose tales may equally engage The wondering mind of youth, the thoughtful heart of age.
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