Part 27
Far in the centre of the deepest wood, The assembled fathers of their country stood. 'Twas midnight now; the pine-wood fire burned red, And to the leaves a shadowy glimmer spread; The struggling smoke, or flame with fitful glance, Obscured, or showed, some dreadful countenance; And every warrior, as his club he reared, With larger shadow, indistinct, appeared; While more terrific, his wild locks and mien, And fierce eye, through the quivering smoke, was seen. 10 In sea-wolf's skin, here Mariantu stood; Gnashed his white teeth, impatient, and cried, blood! His lofty brow, with crimson feathers bound, Here, brooding death, the huge Ongolmo frowned; And, like a giant of no earthly race, To his broad shoulders heaved his ponderous mace. With lifted hatchet, as in act to fell, Here stood the young and ardent Teucapel. Like a lone cypress, stately in decay, When time has worn its summer boughs away, 20 And hung its trunk with moss and lichens sere, The Mountain-warrior rested on his spear. And thus, and at this hour, a hundred chiefs, Chosen avengers of their country's griefs; Chiefs of the scattered tribes that roam the plain, That sweeps from Andes to the western main, Their country-gods, around the coiling smoke, With sacrifice, and silent prayers, invoke. For all, at first, were silent as the dead; The pine was heard to whisper o'er their head, 30 So stood the stern assembly; but apart, Wrapped in the spirit of his fearful art, Alone, to hollow sounds of hideous hum, The wizard-seer struck his prophetic drum. Silent they stood, and watched with anxious eyes, What phantom-shape might from the ground arise; No voices came, no spectre-form appeared; A hollow sound, but not of winds, was heard Among the leaves, and distant thunder low, Which seemed like moans of an expiring foe. 40 His crimson feathers quivering in the smoke, Then, with loud voice, first Mariantu spoke: Hail we the omen! Spirits of the slain, I hear your voices! Mourn, devoted Spain! Pale-visaged tyrants! still, along our coasts, Shall we despairing mark your iron hosts! Spirits of our brave fathers, curse the race Who thus your name, your memory disgrace! No; though yon mountain's everlasting snows In vain Almagro's[217] toilsome march oppose; 50 Though Atacama's long and wasteful plain Be heaped with blackening carcases in vain; Though still fresh hosts those snowy summits scale, And scare the Llamas with their glittering mail; Though sullen castles lour along our shore; Though our polluted soil be drenched with gore; Insolent tyrants! we, prepared to die, Your arms, your horses, and your gods, defy! He spoke: the warriors stamped upon the ground, And tore the feathers that their foreheads bound. 60 Insolent tyrants! burst the general cry, We, met for vengeance--we, prepared to die, Your arms, your horses, and your gods, defy! Then Teucapel, with warm emotion, cried: This hatchet never yet in blood was dyed; May it be buried deep within my heart, If living from the conflict I depart, Till loud, from shore to shore, is heard one cry, See! in their gore where the last tyrants lie! The Mountain-warrior: Oh, that I could raise 70 The hatchet too, as in my better days, When victor on Maypocha's banks I stood; And while the indignant river rolled in blood, And our swift arrows hissed like rushing rain, I cleft Almagro's iron helm in twain! My strength is well-nigh gone! years marked with woe Have o'er me passed, and bowed my spirit low! Alas, I have no son! Beloved boy, Thy father's last, best hope, his pride, his joy! Oh, hadst thou lived, sole object of my prayers, 80 To guard my waning life, and these gray hairs, How bravely hadst thou now, in manhood's pride, Swung the uplifted war-club by my side! But the Great Spirit willed not! Thou art gone; And, weary, on this earth I walk alone; Thankful if I may yield my latest breath, And bless my country in the pangs of death! With words deliberate, and uplifted hand, Mild to persuade, yet dauntless to command, Raising his hatchet high, Caupolican 90 Surveyed the assembled chiefs, and thus began: Friends, fathers, brothers, dear and sacred names! Your stern resolve each ardent look proclaims; On then to conquest; let one hope inspire, One spirit animate, one vengeance fire! Who doubts the glorious issue! To our foes A tenfold strength and spirit we oppose. In them no god protects his mortal sons, Or speaks, in thunder, from their roaring guns. Nor come they children of the radiant sky; 100 But, like the wounded snake, to writhe and die. Then, rush resistless on their prostrate bands, Snatch the red lightning from their feeble hands, And swear to the great spirits, hovering near, Who now this awful invocation hear, That we shall never see our household hearth, Till, like the dust, we sweep them from the earth. But vain our strength, that idly, in the fight, Tumultuous wastes its ineffectual might, Unless to one the hatchet we confide; 110 Let one our numbers, one our counsels guide. And, lo! for all that in this world is dear, I raise this hatchet, raise it high, and swear, Never again to lay it down, till we, And all who love this injured land, are free! At once the loud acclaim tumultuous ran: Our spears, our life-blood, for Caupolican! With thee, for all that in this world is dear, We lift our hatchets, lift them high, and swear, Never again to lay them down, till we, 120 And all who love this injured land, are free! Then thus the chosen chief: Bring forth the slave, And let the death-dance recreate the brave. Two warriors led a Spanish captive, bound With thongs; his eyes were fixed upon the ground. Dark cypresses the mournful spot inclose: High in the midst an ancient mound arose, Marked on each side with monumental stones, And white beneath with skulls and scattered bones. Four poniards, on the mound, encircling stood, 130 With points erect, dark with forgotten blood. Forthwith, with louder voice, the chief commands: Bring forth the lots, unbind the captive's hands; Then north, towards his country, turn his face, And dig beneath his feet a narrow space.[218] Caupolican uplifts his axe, and cries: Gods, of our land be yours this sacrifice!-- Now, listen, warriors!--and forthwith commands To place the billets in the captive's hands-- Soldier, cast in the lot! 140 With looks aghast, The captive in the trench a billet cast. Soldier, declare, who leads the arms of Spain, Where Santiago frowns upon the plain?
CAPTIVE.
Villagra!
WARRIOR.
Earth upon the billet heap; So may a tyrant's heart be buried deep! The dark woods echoed to the long acclaim, Accursed be his nation and his name! 150
WARRIOR.
Captive, declare who leads the Spanish bands, Where the proud fortress shades Coquimbo's sands.
CAPTIVE.
Ocampo!
WARRIOR.
Earth upon the billet heap; So may a tyrant's heart be buried deep! The dark woods echoed to the long acclaim, Accursed be his nation and his name!
WARRIOR.
Cast in the lot. Again, with looks aghast, The captive in the trench a billet cast. 160 Pronounce his name who here pollutes the plain, The leader of the mailed hosts of Spain!
CAPTIVE.
Valdivia! At that name a sudden cry Burst forth, and every lance was lifted high.
WARRIOR.
Valdivia! Earth upon the billet heap; So may a tyrant's heart be buried deep! The dark woods echoed to the long acclaim, Accursed be his nation and his name! 170
And now loud yells, and whoops of death resound; The shuddering captive ghastly gazed around, When the huge war-club smote him to the ground. Again deep stillness hushed the listening crowd, While the prophetic wizard sang aloud.
SONG TO THE GOD OF WAR.
By thy habitation dread, In the valley of the dead, Where no sun, nor day, nor night, Breaks the red and dusky light; By the grisly troops, that ride, 180 Of slaughtered Spaniards, at thy side,-- Slaughtered by the Indian spear, Mighty Epananum,[219] hear! Hark, the battle! Hark, the din! Now the deeds of Death begin! The Spaniards come, in clouds! above, I hear their hoarse artillery move! Spirits of our fathers slain, Haste, pursue the dogs of Spain! The noise was in the northern sky! 190 Haste, pursue! They fly--they fly! Now from the cavern's secret cell, Where the direst phantoms dwell, See they rush,[220] and, riding high, Break the moonlight as they fly; And, on the shadowed plain beneath, Shoot, unseen, the shafts of Death! O'er the devoted Spanish camp, Like a vapour, dark and damp, May they hover, till the plain 200 Is hid beneath the countless slain; And none but silent women tread From corse to corse, to seek the dead!
The wavering fire flashed with expiring light, When shrill and hollow, through the cope of night, A distant shout was heard; at intervals, Increasing on the listening ear it falls. It ceased; when, bursting from the thickest wood, With lifted axe, two gloomy warriors stood; Wan in the midst, with dark and streaming hair, 210 Blown by the winds upon her bosom bare, A woman, faint from terror's wild alarms, And folding a white infant in her arms, Appeared. Each warrior stooped his lance to gaze On her pale looks, seen ghastlier through the blaze. Save! she exclaimed, with harrowed aspect wild; Oh, save my innocent, my helpless child! Then fainting fell, as from death's instant stroke; Caupolican, with stern inquiry, spoke: Whence come, to interrupt our awful rite, 220 At this dread hour, the warriors of the night? From ocean. Who is she who fainting lies, And now scarce lifts her supplicating eyes? The Spanish ship went down; the seamen bore, In a small boat, this woman to the shore: They fell beneath our hatchets,--and again, We gave them back to the insulted main.[221] The child and woman--of a race we hate-- Warriors, 'tis yours, here to decide their fate. 230 Vengeance! aloud fierce Mariantu cried: Let vengeance on the race be satisfied! Let none of hated Spanish blood remain, Woman or child, to violate our plain! Amid that dark and bloody scene, the child Stretched to the mountain-chief his hands and smiled. A starting tear of pity dimmed the eye Of the old warrior, though he knew not why. Oh, think upon your little ones! he cried, Nor be compassion to the weak denied. 240 Caupolican then fixed his aspect mild On the white woman and her shrinking child, Then firmly spoke:-- White woman, we were free, When first thy brethren of the distant sea Came to our shores! White woman, theirs the guilt! Theirs, if the blood of innocence be spilt! Yet blood we seek not, though our arms oppose The hate of foreign and remorseless foes; Thou camest here a captive, so abide, 250 Till the Great Spirit shall our cause decide. He spoke: the warriors of the night obey; And, ere the earliest streak of dawning day, They lead her from the scene of blood away.
[217] The first Spaniard who visited Chili. He entered it by the dreadful passage of the snows of the Andes; but afterwards the passage was attempted through the desert of Atacama.
[218] The reader is referred to Molina for a particular description of the war sacrifice, which is very striking and poetical.
[219] Name of the War-deity.
[220] Terrific imaginary beings, called "man-animals," that leave their caves by night, and scatter pestilence and death as they fly.--See _Molina._
[221] "Render them back upon the insulted ocean."--_Coleridge._
CANTO FIFTH.
ARGUMENT.
Ocean Cave--Spanish Captive--Wild Indian Maid--Genius of Andes, and Spirits.
'Tis dawn:--the distant Andes' rocky spires, One after one, have caught the orient fires. Where the dun condor shoots his upward flight, His wings are touched with momentary light. Meantime, beneath the mountains' glittering heads, A boundless ocean of gray vapour spreads, That o'er the champaign, stretching far below, Moves now, in clustered masses, rising slow, Till all the living landscape is displayed In various pomp of colour, light, and shade, 10 Hills, forests, rivers, lakes, and level plain, Lessening in sunshine to the southern main. The Llama's fleece fumes with ascending dew; The gem-like humming-birds their toils renew; And there, by the wild river's devious side, The tall flamingo, in its crimson pride, Stalks on, in richest plumage bright arrayed, With snowy neck superb,[222] and legs of lengthening shade. Sad maid, for others may the valleys ring, For other ears the birds of morning sing; 20 For other eyes the palms in beauty wave, Dark is thy prison in the ocean-cave! Amid that winding cavern's inmost shade, A dripping rill its ceaseless murmur made: Masses of dim-discovered crags aloof, Hung, threatening, from the vast and vaulted roof: And through a fissure, in its glimmering height, Seen like a star, appeared the distant light; Beneath the opening, where the sunbeams shine, Far down, the rock-weed hung its slender twine. 30 Here, pale and bound, the Spanish captive lay, Till morn on morn, in silence, passed away; When once, as o'er her sleeping child she hung, And sad her evening supplication sung; Like a small gem, amidst the gloom of night, A glow-worm shot its green and trembling light,-- And, 'mid the moss and craggy fragments, shed Faint lustre o'er her sleeping infant's head; And hark! a voice--a woman's voice, its sound Dies in faint echoes, 'mid the vault profound: 40 Let us pity the poor white maid![223] She has no mother near! No friend to dry her tear! Upon the cold earth she is laid: Let us pity the poor white maid! It seemed the burden of a song of woe; And see, across the gloom an Indian girl move slow! Her nearer look is sorrowful, yet mild, Her hanging locks are wreathed with rock-weed wild; Gently she spoke, Poor Christian, dry thy tear: 50 Art thou afraid? all are not cruel here. Oh! still more wretched may my portion be, Stranger, if I could injure thine and thee! And, lo! I bring, from banks and thickets wild, Wood-strawberries, and honey for thy child. Whence, who art thou, who, in this fearful place, Does comfort speak to one of Spanish race?
INDIAN.
It is an Indian maid, who chanced to hear Thy tale of sorrow, as she wandered near: I loved a white man once; but he is flown, 60 And now I wander heartless and alone. I traced the dark and winding way beneath: But well I know to lead thee hence were death. Oh, say! what fortunes cast thee o'er the wave, On these sad shores perhaps to find a grave?
SPANISH WOMAN.
Three years have passed since a fond husband left Me and this infant, of his love bereft; Him I have followed; need I tell thee more, Cast helpless, friendless, hopeless, on this shore.
INDIAN.
Oh! did he love thee, then? Let death betide, 70 Yes, from this cavern I will be thy guide. Nay, do not shrink! from Caracalla's bay, Ev'n now, the Spaniards wind their march this way. As late in yester eve I paced the shore I heard their signal-guns at distance roar. Wilt thou not follow? He will shield thy child,-- The Christian's God,--through passes dark and wild He will direct thy way! Come, follow me; Oh, yet be loved, be happy, and be free! But I, an outcast on my native plain, 80 The poor Olola ne'er shall smile again! So guiding from the cave, when all was still, And pointing to the furthest glimmering hill, The Indian led, till, on Itata's side, The Spanish camp and night-fires they descried: Then on the stranger's neck that wild maid fell, And said, Thy own gods prosper thee, farewell! The owl[224] is hooting overhead; below, On dusky wing, the vampire-bat sails slow. Ongolmo stood before the cave of night, 90 Where the great wizard sat:--a lurid light Was on his face; twelve giant shadows frowned, His mute and dreadful ministers, around. Each eye-ball, as in life, was seen to roll, Each lip to move; but not a living soul Was there, save bold Ongolmo and the seer. The warrior half advanced his lifted spear, Then spoke: Dread master of the mighty lore! Say, shall the Spaniards welter in their gore? Let these dark ministers the answer tell, 100 Replied the master of the mighty spell. Then every giant-shadow, as it stood, Lifted on high a skull that dropped with blood. Yet more, the impatient warrior cried; yet more! Say, shall I live, and drink the tyrant's gore? 'Twas silence. Speak! he cried: none made reply. At once strange thunder shook the distant sky, And all was o'er; the grisly shapes are flown, And the grim warrior stands in the wild woods alone. St Pedro's church had rung its midnight chimes, 110 And the gray friars were chanting at their primes, When winds, as of a rushing hurricane, Shook the tall windows of the towered fane;-- Sounds more than earthly with the storm arose, And a dire troop are passed to Andes' snows, Where mighty spirits in mysterious ring Their dread prophetic incantations sing, Round Chillan's crater-smoke, whose lurid light Streams high against the hollow cope of night. Thy genius, Andes, towering o'er the rest, 120 Rose vast, and thus a phantom-shape addressed: Who comes so swift amid the storm? Ha! I know thy bloodless form, I know thee, angel, who thou art, By the hissing of thy dart! 'Tis Death, the king! the rocks around, Hark! echo back the fearful sound;-- 'Tis Death, the king! away, away! The famished vulture scents its prey. Spectre, hence! we cannot die-- 130 Thy withering weapons we defy; Dire and potent as thou art! Then spoke the phantom of the uplifted dart: Spirits who in darkness dwell, I heard far off your secret spell! Enough, on yonder fatal shore, My fiends have drank your children's gore; Lo! I come, and doom to fate The murderers, and the foe you hate! Of all who shook their hostile spears, 140 And marked their way through blood and tears, (Now sleeping still on yonder plain) But one--one only shall remain, Ere thrice the morn shall shine again. Then sang the mighty spirits. Thee, they sing, Hail to thee, Death, all hail to Death, the king! The penguin flaps her wings in gore, Devoted Spain, along the shore. Whence that shriek? with ghastly eyes, Thy victor-chief abandoned lies! 150 Victor of the southern world, Whose crimson banners were unfurled O'er the silence of the waves,-- O'er a land of bleeding slaves! Victor, where is now thy boast; Thine iron steeds, thy mailed host? Hark! hark! even now I hear his cries!-- Spirits, hence!--he dies! he dies!
[222] The neck of the flamingo is white, and its wings of rich and beautiful crimson.
[223] From Mungo Park.
[224] The owl is an object of peculiar dread to the Indian of Chili.
CANTO SIXTH.
ARGUMENT.
The City of Conception--The City of Penco--Castle--Lautaro--Wild Indian Maid--Zarinel--Missionary.