It is true that the spirits cannot be said to accelerate or retard the events; but surely they may be allowed to show a sympathy with the fate of those, among whom poetical fancy has given them a prescriptive ideal existence.

They may be further excused, as relieving the narrative, and adding to the imagery.
The causes which induced me to publish this poem without a name, induced me also to attempt it in a versification to which I have been least accustomed, which, to my ear, is most uncongenial, and which is, in itself, most difficult.

I mention this, in order that, if some passages should be found less harmonious than they might have been, the candour of the reader may pardon them.
_Scene_--SOUTH AMERICA.
_Characters._--Valdivia, commander of the Spanish armies--Lautaro, his page, a native of Chili--Anselmo, the missionary--Indiana, his adopted daughter, wife of Lautaro--Zarinel, the wandering minstrel.
_Indians._--Attacapac, father of Lautaro--Olola, his daughter, sister of Lautaro--Caupolican, chief of the Indians--Indian warriors.
The chief event of the poem turns upon the conduct of Lautaro; but as the Missionary acts so distinguished a part, and as the whole of the moral depends upon him, it was thought better to retain the title which was originally given to the poem.
[192] Dedicated to the Marquis of Lansdowne.
THE MISSIONARY.
INTRODUCTION.
When o'er the Atlantic wild, rocked by the blast, Sad Lusitania's exiled sovereign passed, Reft of her pomp, from her paternal throne Cast forth, and wandering to a clime unknown, To seek a refuge on that distant shore, That once her country's legions dyed with gore;-- Sudden, methought, high towering o'er the flood, Hesperian world! thy mighty genius stood; Where spread, from cape to cape, from bay to bay, Serenely blue, the vast Pacific lay; 10 And the huge Cordilleras to the skies With all their burning summits seemed to rise.
Then the stern spirit spoke, and to his voice The waves and woods replied:--Mountains, rejoice! Thou solitary sea, whose billows sweep The margin of my forests, dark and deep, Rejoice! the hour is come: the mortal blow, That smote the golden shrines of Mexico, In Europe is avenged; and thou, proud Spain, Now hostile hosts insult thy own domain; 20 Now Fate, vindictive, rolls, with refluent flood, Back on thy shores the tide of human blood, Think of my murdered millions! of the cries That once I heard from all my kingdoms rise; Of Famine's feeble plaint, of Slavery's tear;-- Think, too, if Valour, Freedom, Fame, be dear, How my Antarctic sons, undaunted, stood, Exacting groan for groan, and blood for blood; And shouted, (may the sounds be hailed by thee!) Tyrants, the virtuous and the brave are free! 30 CANTO FIRST.
ARGUMENT.
_One Day and Part of Night._ Valley in the Andes--Old Indian warrior--Loss of his son and daughter.
Beneath aerial cliffs, and glittering snows, The rush-roof of an aged warrior rose, Chief of the mountain tribes: high overhead, The Andes, wild and desolate, were spread, Where cold Sierras shot their icy spires, And Chillan[193] trailed its smoke and smouldering fires.
A glen beneath, a lonely spot of rest, Hung, scarce discovered, like an eagle's nest.
Summer was in its prime;--the parrot-flocks Darkened the passing sunshine on the rocks; 10 The chrysomel[194] and purple butterfly,[195] Amid the clear blue light, are wandering by; The humming-bird, along the myrtle bowers, With twinkling wing, is spinning o'er the flowers, The woodpecker is heard with busy bill, The mock-bird sings--and all beside is still, And look! the cataract that bursts so high, As not to mar the deep tranquillity, The tumult of its dashing fall suspends, And, stealing drop by drop, in mist descends; 20 Through whose illumined spray and sprinkling dews, Shine to the adverse sun the broken rainbow hues.
Chequering, with partial shade, the beams of noon, And arching the gray rock with wild festoon, Here its gay net-work, and fantastic twine, The purple cogul[196] threads from pine to pine, And oft, as the fresh airs of morning breathe, Dips its long tendrils in the stream beneath.
There, through the trunks with moss and lichens white, The sunshine darts its interrupted light, 30 And, 'mid the cedar's darksome boughs, illumes, With instant touch, the Lori's scarlet plumes.
So smiles the scene;--but can its smiles impart Aught to console yon mourning warrior's heart?
He heeds not now, when beautifully bright, The humming-bird is circling in his sight; Nor ev'n, above his head, when air is still, Hears the green woodpecker's resounding bill; But gazing on the rocks and mountains wild, Rock after rock, in glittering masses piled 40 To the volcano's cone, that shoots so high Gray smoke whose column stains the cloudless sky, He cries, Oh! if thy spirit yet be fled To the pale kingdoms of the shadowy dead,-- In yonder tract of purest light above, Dear long-lost object of a father's love, Dost thou abide; or like a shadow come, Circling the scenes of thy remembered home, And passing with the breeze, or, in the beam Of evening, light the desert mountain stream! 50 Or at deep midnight are thine accents heard, In the sad notes of that melodious bird,[197] Which, as we listen with mysterious dread, Brings tidings from our friends and fathers dead?
Perhaps, beyond those summits, far away, Thine eyes yet view the living light of day; Sad, in the stranger's land, thou may'st sustain A weary life of servitude and pain, With wasted eye gaze on the orient beam, And think of these white rocks and torrent stream, 60 Never to hear the summer cocoa wave, Or weep upon thy father's distant grave.
Ye, who have waked, and listened with a tear, When cries confused, and clangours rolled more near; With murmured prayer, when Mercy stood aghast, As War's black trump pealed its terrific blast, And o'er the withered earth the armed giant passed! Ye, who his track with terror have pursued, When some delightful land, all blood-imbrued, He swept; where silent is the champaign wide, 70 That echoed to the pipe of yester-tide, Save, when far off, the moonlight hills prolong The last deep echoes of his parting gong; Nor aught is seen, in the deserted spot Where trailed the smoke of many a peaceful cot, Save livid corses that unburied lie, And conflagrations, reeking to the sky;-- Come listen, whilst the causes I relate That bowed the warrior to the storms of fate, And left these smiling scenes forlorn and desolate.

80 In other days, when, in his manly pride, Two children for a father's fondness vied,-- Oft they essayed, in mimic strife, to wield His lance, or laughing peeped behind his shield; Oft in the sun, or the magnolia's shade, Lightsome of heart as gay of look they played, Brother and sister.

She, along the dew, Blithe as the squirrel of the forest flew; Blue rushes wreathed her head; her dark-brown hair Fell, gently lifted, on her bosom bare; 90 Her necklace shone, of sparkling insects made, That flit, like specks of fire, from sun to shade.
Light was her form; a clasp of silver braced The azure-dyed ichella[198] round her waist; Her ancles rung with shells, as unconfined She danced, and sung wild carols to the wind.
With snow-white teeth, and laughter in her eye, So beautiful in youth she bounded by.
Yet kindness sat upon her aspect bland,-- The tame alpaca[199] stood and licked her hand; 100 She brought him gathered moss, and loved to deck With flowery twine his tall and stately neck, Whilst he with silent gratitude replies, And bends to her caress his large blue eyes.
These children danced together in the shade, Or stretched their hands to see the rainbow fade; Or sat and mocked, with imitative glee, The paroquet, that laughed from tree to tree; Or through the forest's wildest solitude, From glen to glen, the marmozet pursued; 110 And thought the light of parting day too short, That called them, lingering, from their daily sport.
In that fair season of awakening life, When dawning youth and childhood are at strife; When on the verge of thought gay boyhood stands Tiptoe, with glistening eye and outspread hands; With airy look, and form and footsteps light, And glossy locks, and features berry-bright, And eye like the young eaglet's, to the ray Of noon unblenching as he sails away; 120 A brede of sea-shells on his bosom strung, A small stone-hatchet o'er his shoulder slung, With slender lance, and feathers blue and red, That, like the heron's[200] crest, waved on his head,-- Buoyant with hope, and airiness, and joy, Lautaro was a graceful Indian boy: Taught by his sire, ev'n now he drew the bow, Or tracked the jagguar on the morning snow; Startled the condor, on the craggy height; Then silent sat, and marked its upward flight, 130 Lessening in ether to a speck of white.
But when the impassioned chieftain spoke of war, Smote his broad breast, or pointed to a scar,-- Spoke of the strangers of the distant main, And the proud banners of insulting Spain,-- Of the barbed horse and iron horseman spoke, And his red gods, that, wrapped in rolling smoke, Roared from the guns;--the boy, with still-drawn breath, Hung on the wondrous tale, as mute as death; Then raised his animated eyes, and cried, 140 Oh, let me perish by my father's side! Once, when the moon, o'er Chillan's cloudless height, Poured, far and wide, its softest, mildest light, A predatory band of mailed men Burst on the stillness of the sheltered glen: They shouted, Death! and shook their sabres high, That shone terrific to the moonlight sky; Where'er they rode, the valley and the hill Echoed the shrieks of death, till all again was still.
The warrior, ere he sank in slumber deep, 150 Had kissed his son, soft-breathing in his sleep, Where on a Llama's skin he lay, and said, Placing his hand, with tears, upon his head, Aerial nymphs![201] that in the moonlight stray, O gentle spirits! here awhile delay; Bless, as ye pass unseen, my sleeping boy, Till blithe he wakes to daylight and to joy.
If the GREAT SPIRIT will, in future days, O'er the fall'n foe his hatchet he shall raise, And, 'mid a grateful nation's high applause, 160 Avenge his violated country's cause! Now, nearer points of spears, and many a cone Of moving helmets, in the moonlight shone, As, clanking through the pass, the band of blood Sprang, like hyaenas, from the secret wood.
They rush, they seize their unresisting prey, Ruthless they tear the shrieking boy away; But, not till gashed by many a sabre wound, The father sank, expiring, on the ground.
He waked from the dark trance to life and pain, 170 But never saw his darling child again.
Seven snows had fallen, and seven green summers passed, Since here he heard that son's loved accents last.
Still his beloved daughter soothed his cares, Whilst time began to strew with white his hairs.
Oft as his painted feathers he unbound, Or gazed upon his hatchet on the ground, Musing with deep despair, nor strove to speak, Light she approached, and climbed to reach his cheek, Held with both hands his forehead, then her head 180 Drew smiling back, and kissed the tear he shed.
But late, to grief and hopeless love a prey, She left his side, and wandered far away.
Now in this still and shelter'd glen, that smiled Beneath the crags of precipices wild, Wrapt in a stern yet sorrowful repose, The warrior half forgot his country's woes; Forgot how many, impotent to save, Shed their best blood upon a father's grave; How many, torn from wife and children, pine 190 In the dark caverns of the hopeless mine, Never to see again the blessed morn;-- Slaves in the lovely land where they were born; How many at sad sunset, with a tear, The distant roar of sullen cannons hear, Whilst evening seems, as dies the sound, to throw A deadlier stillness on a nation's woe! So the dark warrior, day succeeding day, Wore in distempered thought the noons away; And still, when weary evening came, he sighed, 200 My son, my son! or, with emotion, cried, When I descend to the cold grave alone, Who shall be there to mourn for me ?--Not one![202] The crimson orb of day now westering flung His beams, and o'er the vast Pacific hung; When from afar a shrilling sound was heard, And, hurrying o'er the dews, a scout appeared.
The watchful warrior knew the piercing tones, The signal-call of war, from human bones,-- What tidings?
with impatient look, he cried.