170 Speak! whence art thou?
Pale Zarinel, his head Upraising answered, Peace is with the dead! Him dost thou seek who injured thine and thee?
Here--strike the fell assassin--I am he! Die! he exclaimed, and with convulsive start Instant had plunged the dagger in his heart, When the meek father, with his holy book, And placid aspect, met his frenzied look.

180 He trembled--struck his brow--and, turning round, Flung the uplifted dagger to the ground.
Then murmured: Father, Heaven has heard thy prayer-- But oh! the sister of my soul lies there! The Christian's God has triumphed! father, heap Some earth upon her bones, whilst I go weep! Anselmo with calm brow approached the place, And hastened with his staff his faltering pace: Ho! child of guilt and wretchedness, he cried, Speak!--Holy father, the sad youth replied, 190 God bade the seas the accusing victim roll Dead at my feet, to teach my shuddering soul Its guilt: Oh! father, holy father, pray That heaven may take the deep, dire curse away! Oh! yet, Anselmo cried, live and repent, For not in vain was this dread warning sent; The deep reproaches of thy soul I spare, Go! seek Heaven's peace by penitence and prayer.
The youth arose, yet trembling from the shock, And severed from the dead maid's hair a lock; 200 This to his heart with trembling hand he pressed, And dried the salt-sea moisture on his breast.
They laid her limbs within the sea-beat grave, And prayed: Her soul, O blessed Mary, save! [225] The "sea-blossom," Holothuria, known to seamen by the name of "Portuguese man of war," is among the most striking and beautiful objects in the calms of the Southern ocean.
CANTO SEVENTH.
ARGUMENT.
Midnight--Valdivia's tent--Missionary--March to the Valley Arauco--First sight of assembled Indians.
The watchman on the tower his bugle blew, And swelling to the morn the streamers flew; The rampart-guns a dread alarum gave, Smoke rolled, and thunder echoed o'er the wave; When, starting from his couch, Valdivia cried, What tidings?
Of the tribes! a scout replied; Ev'n now, prepared thy bulwarks to assail, Their gathering numbers darken all the vale! Valdivia called to the attendant youth, Philip, he cried, belike thy words have truth; 10 The formidable host, by holy James, Might well appal our priests and city dames! Dost thou not fear?
Nay--dost thou not reply?
Now by the rood, and all the saints on high, I hold it sin that thou shouldst lift thy hand Against thy brothers in thy native land! But, as thou saidst, those mighty enemies Me and my feeble legions would despise.
Yes, by our holy lady, thou shalt ride, Spectator of their prowess, by my side! 20 Come life, come death, our battle shall display Its ensigns to the earliest beam of day! With louder summons ring the rampart-bell, And haste the shriving father from his cell; A soldier's heart rejoices in alarms: And let the trump at midnight sound to arms! And now, obedient to the chief's commands, The gray-haired priest before the soldier stands.
Father, Valdivia cried, fierce are our foes,-- The last event of war GOD only knows;-- 30 Let mass be sung; father, this very night I would attend the high and holy rite.
Yet deem not that I doubt of victory, Or place defeat or death before mine eye; It blenches not! But, whatsoe'er befall, Good father, I would part in peace with all.
So, tell Lautaro--his ingenuous mind Perhaps may grieve, if late I seemed unkind:-- Hear my heart speak, though far from virtue's way Ambition's lure hath led my steps astray, 40 No wanton exercise of barbarous power Harrows my shrinking conscience at this hour.
If hasty passions oft my spirit fire, They flash a moment and the next expire; Lautaro knows it.

There is somewhat more: I would not, here--here, on this distant shore (Should they, the Indian multitudes, prevail, And this good sword and these firm sinews fail) Amid my deadly enemies be found, "Unhouseled, ananealed," upon the ground, 50 A dying man;--thy look, thy reverend age, Might save my poor remains from barb'rous rage; And thou may'st pay the last sad obsequies, O'er the heaped earth where a brave soldier lies:-- So GOD be with thee! By the torches' light, The slow procession moves; the solemn rite Is chanted: through the aisles and arches dim, At intervals, is heard the imploring hymn.[226] Now all is still, that only you might hear-- 60 (The tall and slender tapers burning clear, Whose light Anselmo's palid brow illumes, Now glances on the mailed soldier's plumes) Hear, sounding far, only the iron tread, That echoed through the cloisters of the dead.
Dark clouds are wandering o'er the heaven's wide way; Now from the camp, at times, a horse's neigh Breaks on the ear; and on the rampart height The sentinel proclaims the middle watch of night.
By the dim taper's solitary ray, 70 Tired, in his tent, the sovereign soldier lay.
Meantime, as shadowy dreams arise, he roams 'Mid bright pavilions and imperial domes, Where terraces, and battlements, and towers, Glisten in air o'er rich romantic bowers.
Sudden the visionary pomp is past; The vacant court sounds to the moaning blast; A dismal vault appears, where, with swoll'n eyes, As starting from their orbs, a dead man lies.
It is Almagro's[227] corse!--roll on, ye drums, 80 Lo! where the great, the proud Pizarro comes! Her gold, her richest gems, let Fortune strew Before the mighty conqueror of Peru! Ah, turn, and see a dagger in his hand-- With ghastly look--see the assassin stand! Pizarro falls;[228]--he welters in his gore! Lord of the western world, art thou no more! Valdivia, hark!--it was another groan! Another shadow comes, it is thy own! Ah, bind not thus his arms!--give, give him breath! 90 Wipe from his bleeding brow those damps of death! Valdivia, starting, woke.

He is alone: The taper in his tent yet dimly shone.
Lautaro, haste! he cried; Lautaro, save Thy dying master! Ah! is this the brave, The haughty victor?
Hush, the dream is past! The early trumpets ring the second blast! Arm, arm! Ev'n now, the impatient charger neighs! Again, from tent to tent the trumpet brays! By torch-light, then, Valdivia gave command, 100 Haste, let Del Oro take a chosen band, With watchful caution, on his fleetest steed, A troop observant on the heights to lead.
Now beautiful, beneath the heaven's gray arch, Appeared the main battalion's moving march; The banner of the cross was borne before, And next, with aspect sad, and tresses hoar, The holy man went thoughtfully and pressed A crucifix, in silence, to his breast.
Valdivia, all in burnished steel arrayed, 110 Upon whose crest the morn's effulgence played, Majestic reined his steed, and seemed alone, Worthy the southern world's imperial throne.
His features through the barred casque that glow, His pole-axe pendent from the saddle-bow; His dazzling armour, and the glitter bright Of his drawn sabre, in the orient light, Speak him not, now, for knightly tournament Arrayed, but on emprise of prowess bent, And deeds of deadly strife.

In blooming pride, 120 The attendant youth rode, pensive, by his side.
Their pennoned lances, waving in the wind, Two hundred clanking horsemen tramped behind, In iron harness clad.