13.

For, whensoe'er the Spaniards felt or feared
An Indian enemy, they called for aid
Upon Loyola's sons, now long endeared
To many a happy tribe, by them conveyed
From the open wilderness or woodland shade,
In towns of happiest polity to dwell.
Freely these faithful ministers essayed
The arduous enterprise, contented well

If with success they sped, or if as martyrs fell.

14.

And now it chanced some traders, who had felled The trees of precious foliage far and wide On Empalado's shore, when they beheld The inviting woodlands on its northern side, Crossed 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 dismayed, To the nearest mission sped, and asked the Jesuit's

aid.

15.

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 summoned 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.

16.

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 Dobrizhoffer was the good man's honored name.

17.

It was his evil fortune to behold

The labors of his painful life destroyed;

His flock, which he had brought within the fold, Dispersed; the work of ages rendered void; And all of good that Paraguay enjoyed By blind and suicidal Power o'erthrown. So he the years of his old age employed, A faithful chronicler, in handing down Names which he loved, and things well worthy to be known.

18.

And thus, when exiled from the dear-loved scene, In proud Vienna he beguiled the pain

Of sad remembrance; and the Empress Queen, 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.

19.

But of his native speech because well nigh
Disuse in him forgetfulness had wrought,

In Latin he composed his history,

A garrulous, but a lively tale, and fraught
With matter of delight, and food for thought.
And, if he could in Merlin's glass have seen
By whom his tomes to speak our tongue were
taught,

The old man would have felt as pleased, I ween, As when he won the ear of that great Empress

Queen.

20.

Little he deemed 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 dressed,
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.

22.

Yet may they not without some cautious care
Take up their inn content upon the ground.
First it behooves 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

The earth, and trample well the herbs beneath their feet.

23.

And now they heap dry reeds and broken wood:
The spark is struck, the crackling fagots blaze,
And cheer that unaccustomed 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! Hail, holiest Mary! Maid, and Mother undefiled.

24.

Blame as thou mayst the Papist's erring creed,
But not their salutary rite of even!

The prayers that from a pious soul proceed,
Though misdirected, reach the ear of Heaven.
Us, unto whom a purer faith is given,
As our best birthright it behooves to hold

The precious charge; but, oh, beware the leaven Which makes the heart of charity grow cold! We own one Shepherd, we shall be at last one fold.

25.

Think'st thou the little company, who here Pour forth their hymn devout at close of day, Feel it no aid that those who hold them dear, At the same hour the self-same homage pay, Commending them to Heaven when far away; That the sweet bells are heard in solemn chime Through all the happy towns of Paraguay, Where now their brethren in one point of time Join in the general prayer, with sympathy sublime

26.

That to the glorious Mother of their Lord Whole Christendom that hour its homage pays;