100 Remembering still affection's fondest hours, I turned my footsteps to the city towers; In pilgrim's dress, I traced the streets unknown: No light in Leonora's lattice shone.
The morning came; the busy tumult swells; Knolling to church, I heard the minster bells; Involuntary to that scene I strayed, Disguised, where first I saw my faithful maid.
I saw her, pallid, at the altar stand, And yield, half-shrinking, her reluctant hand; 110 She turned her head; she saw my hollow eyes, And knew me, wasted, wan, in my disguise; She shrieked, and fell;--breathless, I left the fane In agony--nor saw her form again; And from that day her voice, her look were given, Her name, her memory, to the winds of heaven.
Far off I bent my melancholy way, Heart-sick and faint, and, in this gown of gray, From every human eye my sorrows hid, Unknown, amidst the tumult of Madrid.

120 Grief in my heart, despair upon my look, With no companion save my beads and book, My morsel with Affliction's sons to share, To tend the sick and poor, my only care, Forgotten, thus I lived; till day by day Had worn nigh thirteen years of grief away.
One winter's night, when I had closed my cell, And bid the labours of the day farewell, An aged crone approached, with panting breath, And bade me hasten to the house of death.

130 I came.

With moving lips intent to pray, A dying woman on a pallet lay; Her lifted hands were wasted to the bone, And ghastly on her look the lamp-light shone; Beside the bed a pious daughter stands Silent, and, weeping, kisses her pale hands.
Feebly she spoke, and raised her languid head, Forgive, forgive!--they told me he was dead!-- But in the sunshine of that dreadful day, That gave me to another's arms away, 140 I saw him, like a ghost, with deadly stare; I saw his wasted eye-balls' ghastly glare; I saw his lips (oh, hide them, God of love!) I saw his livid lips, half-muttering, move, To curse the maid--forgetful of her vow:-- Perhaps he lives to curse--to curse me now! He lives to bless! I cried; and, drawing nigh, Held up the crucifix; her heavy eye She raised, and scarce pronounced--Does he yet live?
Can he his lost, his dying child forgive?
150 Will God forgive--the Lord who bled--will He ?-- Ah, no, there is no mercy left for me! Words were but vain, and colours all too faint, That awful moment of despair to paint.
She knew me; her exhausted breath, with pain, Drawing, she pressed my hand, and spoke again: By a false guardian's cruel wiles deceived, The tale of fraudful falsehood I believed, And thought thee dead; he gave the stern command, And bade me take the rich Antonio's hand.

160 I knelt, implored, embraced my guardian's knees; Ruthless inquisitor, he held the keys Of the dark torture-house.[216] Trembling for life, Yes, I became a sad, heart-broken wife! Yet curse me not; of every human care Already my full heart has had its share: Abandoned, left in youth to want and woe, Oh! let these tears, that agonising flow, Witness how deep ev'n now my heart is rent! Yet one is lovely--one is innocent! 170 Protect, protect, (and faint in death she smiled) When I am dead, protect my orphan child! The dreadful prison, that so long detained My wasting life, her dying words explained.
The wretched priest, who wounded me by stealth, Bartered her love, her innocence for wealth! I laid her bones in earth; the chanted hymn Echoed along the hollow cloister dim; I heard, far off, the bell funereal toll, And sorrowing said: Now peace be with her soul! 180 Far o'er the Western Ocean I conveyed, And Indiana called the orphan maid; Beneath my eye she grew, and, day by day, Seemed, grateful, every kindness to repay.
Renouncing Spain, her cruelties and crimes, Amid untutored tribes, in distant climes, 'Twas mine to spread the light of truth, or save From stripes and torture the poor Indian slave.
I saw thee, young and innocent, alone, Cast on the mercies of a race unknown; 190 I saw, in dark adversity's cold hour, Thy virtues blooming, like a winter's flower; From chains and slavery I redeemed thy youth, Poured on thy mental sight the beams of truth; By thy warm heart and mild demeanour won, Called thee my other child--my age's son.
I need not tell the sequel;--not unmoved Poor Indiana heard thy tale, and loved; Some sympathy a kindred fate might claim; Your years, your fortunes, and your friend the same; Both early of a parent's care bereft, 201 Both strangers in a world of sadness left; I marked each slowly-struggling thought; I shed A tear of love paternal on each head; And, while I saw her timid eyes incline, Blessed the affection that had made her thine! Here let the murmurs of despondence cease: There is a God--believe--and part in peace! Rich hues illumed the track of dying day As the great sun sank in the western bay, 210 And only its last light yet lingering shone, Upon the highest palm-tree's feathery cone; When at a distance on the dewy plain, In mingled group appeared an Indian train; Men, women, children, round Anselmo press, Farewell! they cried.