No friend was near, To mark a young and orphan stranger's tear! This humble man, with kind parental care, Snatched me from slavery--saved from dark despair; And as my years increased, protected, fed, 90 And breathed a father's blessings on my head.
A Spanish maid was with him: need I speak?
Behold, affection's tear still wets my cheek! Years, as they passed, matured in ripening grace Her form unfolding, and her beauteous face: She heard my orphan tale; she loved to hear, And sometimes for my fortunes dropped a tear.
I could have bowed to direst ills resigned, But wept at looks so sweet, at words so kind.
Valdivia saw me, now in blooming age, 100 And claimed me from the father as his page; The chief too cherished me, yea, saved my life, When in Peru arose the civil strife.
Yet still remembering her I loved so well, Oft I returned to the gray father's cell: His voice instructed me; recalled my youth From rude idolatry to heavenly truth: Of this hereafter; he my darkling mind Cleared, and from low and sensual thoughts refined.
Then first, with feelings new impressed, I strove 110 To hide the tear of tenderness and love: Amid the fairest maidens of Peru, My eyes, my heart, one only object knew: I lived that object's love and faith to share; He saw, and blessed us with a father's prayer.
Here, at Valdivia's last and stern command, I came, a stranger in my native land! Anselmo (so him call--now most in need-- And standing here in bonds, for whom I plead) Came, by our chief so summoned, and for aid 120 To the Great Spirit of the Christians prayed: Here as a son I loved him, but I left A wife, a child, of my fond cares bereft, Never to see again; for death awaits My entrance now in Lima's jealous gates.
Caupolican, didst thou thy father love?
Did his last dying look affection move?
Pity this aged man; unbend thy brow: He was my father--is my father, now! Consenting mercy marks each warrior's mien.

130 But who is this, what pallid form is seen, As crushed already by the fatal blow, Bound, and with looks white as a wreath of snow, Her hands upon her breast, scarce drawn her breath, A Spanish woman knelt, expecting death, Whilst, borne by a dark warrior at her side, An infant shrunk from the red plumes, and cried! Lautaro started: Injured maid of Spain! Me!--me! oh, take me to thine arms again! 140 She heard his voice, and, by the scene oppressed, With one faint sigh fell senseless on his breast.
Caupolican, with warm emotion, cried, Live, live! Lautaro and his beauteous bride! Live, aged father!--and forthwith commands A warrior to unbind Anselmo's hands.
She raised her head: his eyes first met her view, As round Lautaro's neck her arms she threw, Ah, no! she feebly spoke; it is not true! It is some form of the distempered brain! 150 Then hid her face upon his breast again.
Dark flashing eyes, terrific, glared around: Here, his brains scattered by the deadly wound, The Spanish chief lay on the gory ground.
With lowering brows, and mace yet drooping blood, And clotted hair, there Mariantu stood.
Anselmo here, sad, yet in sorrow mild, Appeared: she cried, A blessing on your child, And knelt, as slow revived her waking sense, And then, with looks aghast, Oh bear us hence! 160 Now all the assembled chiefs, assenting, cried, Live, live! Lautaro and his beauteous bride! With eager arms Lautaro snatched his boy, And kissed him in an agony of joy; Then to Anselmo gave, who strove to speak, And felt the tear first burning on his cheek: The infant held his neck with strict embrace, And kissed his pale emaciated face.
From the dread scene, wet with Valdivia's gore, His wan and trembling charge Lautaro bore.

170 There was a bank, where slept the summer-light, A small stream whispering went in mazes bright, And stealing from the sea, the western wind Waved the magnolias on the slope inclined: The woodpecker, in glittering plumage green, And echoing bill, beneath the boughs was seen; And, arched with gay and pendent flowers above, The floripondio[230] its rich trellis wove.
Lautaro bent, with looks of love and joy, O'er his yet trembling wife and beauteous boy: 180 Oh, by what miracle, beloved! say, Hast thou escaped the perils of the way From Lima, where our humble dwelling stood, To these tumultuous scenes, this vale of blood?
Roused by his voice, as from the sleep of death, Faint she replied, with slow-recovering breath, Who shall express, when thou, best friend! wert gone, How sunk my heart!--deserted and alone! Would I were with thee! oft I sat and sighed, When the pale moon shone on the silent tide-- 190 At length resolved, I sought thee o'er the seas: The brave bark cheer'ly went before the breeze, That arms and soldiers to Valdivia bore, From Lima bound to Chili's southern shore: I seized the fair occasion--ocean smiled, As to the sire I bore his lisping child.
The storm arose: with loud and sudden shock The vessel sunk, disparting on a rock.
Some mariners, amidst the billows wild, Scarce saved, in one small boat, me and my child.

200 What I have borne, a captive since that day-- Forgive these tears--I scarce have heart to say! None pitied, save one gentle Indian maid-- A wild maid--of her looks I was afraid; Her long black hair upon her shoulders fell, And in her hand she bore a wreathed shell.
Lautaro for a moment turned aside, And, Oh, my sister! with faint voice he cried.
Already free from sorrow and alarms, I clasped in thought a husband in my arms, 210 When a dark warrior, stationed on the height, Who held his solitary watch by night, Before me stood, and lifting high his lance, Exclaimed: No further, on thy life, advance! Faint, wearied, sinking to the earth with dread, Back to the dismal cave my steps he led.
Only at eve, within the craggy cleft, Some water, and a cake of maize, were left.
The thirteenth sun unseen went down the sky; When morning came, they brought me forth to die; But hushed be every sigh, each boding fear, Since all I sought on earth, and all I love, is here! 220 Her infant raised his hands, with glistening eye, To reach a large and radiant butterfly, That fluttered near his face; with looks of love, And truth and tenderness, Lautaro strove To calm her wounded heart; the holy sire, His eyes faint-lighted with a transient fire, Hung o'er them, and to Heaven his prayer addressed, While, with uplifted hands, he wept and blest.

230 An aged Indian came, with feathers crowned, And knelt before Lautaro on the ground.
What tidings, Indian?
INDIAN.
When I led thy sire, Whom late thou saw'st upon his shield expire, Son of our Ulmen, didst thou mark no trace, In these sad looks, of a remembered face?
Dost thou remember Izdabel?
Look here! It is thy father's hatchet and his spear.
Friend of my infant days, how I rejoice, 240 Lautaro cried, once more to hear that voice! Life like a dream, since last we met, has fled-- Oh, my beloved sister, thou art dead! INDIAN.
I come to guide thee through untrodden ways, To the lone valley, where thy father's days Were passed; where every cave and every tree, From morn to morn, reminded him of thee! Lautaro cried: Here, faithful Indian, stay; I have a last sad duty yet to pay.
A little while we part:--thou here remain.