<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=418510" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Vision of Columbus – Book 3</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Now, twice twelve years, the children of the skies<br>Beheld in peace their growing empire rise;<br>O'er happy realms, display'd their generous care,<br>Diffused their arts and soothd the rage of war;<br>Bade yon tall temple grace the favourite isle.<br>The gardens bloom, the cultured valleys smile,<br>The aspiring hills their spacious mines unfold.<br>Fair structures blaze, and altars burn, in gold,<br>Those broad foundations bend their arches high,<br>And heave imperial Cusco to the sky;<br>From that fair stream that mark'd their northern sway,<br>Where Apurimac leads his lucid way,<br>To yon far glimmering lake, the southern bound,<br>The growing tribes their peaceful dwellings found;<br>While wealth and grandeur bless'd the extended reign,<br>From the bold Andes to the western main.<br>When, fierce from eastern wilds, the savage bands<br>Lead war and slaughter o'er the happy lands;<br>Thro' fertile fields the paths of culture trace,<br>And vow destruction to the Incan race.<br>While various fortune strow'd the embattled plain,<br>And baffled thousands still the strife maintain,<br>The unconquer'd Inca wakes the lingering war,<br>Drives back their host and speeds their flight afar;<br>Till, fired with rage, they range the wonted wood,<br>And feast their souls on future scenes of blood.<br>Where yon blue summits hang their cliffs on high;<br>Frown o'er the plains and lengthen round the sky;<br>Where vales exalted thro' the breaches run;<br>And drink the nearer splendors of the sun,<br>From south to north, the tribes innumerous wind,<br>By hills of ice and mountain streams confined;<br>Rouse neighbouring hosts, and meditate the blow,<br>To blend their force and whelm the world below.<br>Capac, with caution, views the dark design,<br>From countless wilds what hostile myriads join;<br>And greatly strives to bid the discord cease,<br>By profferd compacts of perpetual peace.<br>His eldest hope, young Rocha, at his call,<br>Leaves the deep confines of the temple wall;<br>In whose fair form, in lucid garments drest,<br>Began the sacred function of the priest.<br>In early youth, ere yet the genial sun<br>Had twice six changes o'er his childhood run,<br>The blooming prince, beneath his parents' hand,<br>Learn'd all the laws that sway'd the sacred land;<br>With rites mysterious served the Power divine,<br>Prepared the altar and adorn'd the shrine,<br>Responsive hail'd, with still returning praise,<br>Each circling season that the God displays,<br>Sooth'd with funereal hymns the parting dead,<br>At nuptial feasts the joyful chorus led;<br>While evening incense and the morning song<br>Rose from his hand or trembled on his tongue.<br>Thus, form'd for empire, ere he gain'd the sway;<br>To rule with reverence and with power obey,<br>Reflect the glories of the parent Sun,<br>And shine the Capac of his future throne,<br>Employ'd his ripening years; till now, from far,<br>The distant fields proclaim approaching war;<br>Inspired for active scenes he quits the shrine,<br>To aid the council or in arms to shine.<br>Where the mild monarch courtly throngs enclose,<br>Sublime in modest majesty he rose,<br>With reverence bow'd, conspicuous o'er the rest,<br>Approach'd the throne and thus the sire address'd:<br>Great king of nations, heaven-descended sage,<br>Guard of my youth and glory of my age,<br>These pontiff robes, to my blest brother's hand<br>Glad I resign, and wait thy kind command.<br>Should war invade, permit thy son to wield<br>The shaft of vengeance through the untempted field:<br>Led by thy powerful arm, my soul shall brave<br>The haughtiest foe, or find a glorious grave;<br>While our bold ranks a nobler toil demand,<br>In one dread field o'erwhelm the brutal band,<br>Pour to the mountain gods their wonted food,<br>And shield thy realms from future scenes of blood.<br>Yet oh, may sovereign mercy first ordain<br>Propounded compact to the savage train.<br>Fearless of foes, their own dark wilds I'll trace,<br>To quell the rage and give the terms of peace,<br>Teach the grim race to bow beneath thy sway,<br>And taste the blessings of the Power of day.<br>The sire return'd; My earliest wish you know,<br>To shield from slaughter and preserve the foe,<br>In bands of mutual peace all tribes to bind,<br>And live the friend and guardian of mankind.<br>Should strife begin, thy youthful arm shall share,<br>The toils of glory through the walks of war;<br>But o'er those hideous hills, thro' climes of snow,<br>With reason's voice to lure the savage foe,<br>To 'scape their snares, their jarring souls combine,<br>Claims hardier limbs and riper years than thine.<br>Yet one of heavenly race the task requires,<br>Whose mystic rites controul the ethereal fires;<br>So the sooth'd Godhead proves to faithless eyes,<br>His sway on earth and empire of the skies.<br>Some veteran chief, in those rough labours try'd,<br>Shall aid the toil, and go thy faithful guide;<br>O'er dreary heights thy sinking limbs sustain,<br>Teach the dark wiles of each insidious train,<br>Through all extremes of life thy voice attend,<br>In counsel lead thee or in arms defend.<br>While three firm youths, thy chosen friends, shall go<br>To learn the climes and meditate the foe;<br>That wars of future years their aid may find,<br>To serve the realm and save the savage kind.<br>Rise then, my son, bright partner of my fame,<br>With early toils to build thy sacred name;<br>In high behest, these heavenly tidings bear,<br>To bless mankind and ward the waste of war.<br>To those dark hosts, where shivering mountains run,<br>Proclaim the bounties of our sire the Sun.<br>On these fair plains, beneath his happier skies,<br>Tell how his fruits in boundless plenty rise;<br>How the bright Power, whose all delighting soul<br>Taught round the courts of heaven his stars to roll,<br>To all his earth-born sons hath kindly given<br>His noblest laws the favourite grace of heaven;<br>Bids every tribe the same glad laws attend,<br>His realms to widen and his fanes defend,<br>Confess and emulate his bounteous sway,<br>And give his blessings where he gives the day.<br>Yet, should the gathering legions still prepare<br>The shaft of slaughter for the barbarous war,<br>Tell them we know to tread the crimson plain,<br>And heaven's bright children never yield to man.<br>But oh, my child, with steps of caution go,<br>The ways are hideous and enraged the foe;<br>Blood stains their altars, all their feasts are blood,<br>Death their delight and Darkness reigns their God;<br>Tygers and vultures, storms and earthquakes share<br>Their rites of worship and their spoils of war.<br>Should'st thou, my Rocha, tempt their vengeful ire,<br>Should those dear relics feed a savage fire,<br>Deep sighs would heave thy wretched mother's breast,<br>The pale sun sink in clouds of darkness drest,<br>Thy sire and hapless nations rue the day,<br>That drew thy steps from these sad walls away.<br>Yet go; 'tis virtue calls; and realms unknown,<br>By these long toils, may bless thy future throne;<br>Millions of unborn souls in time may see<br>Their doom reversed, and owe their joys to thee;<br>While savage sires, with murdering hands, no more<br>Dread the grim Gods that claim their children's gore,<br>But, sway'd by happier sceptres, here behold<br>The rites of freedom and the shrines of gold.<br>Be wise, be mindful of thy realm and throne;<br>Heaven speed the labours, and preserve my son.<br>Soon the glad prince, in robes of white array'd,<br>Call'd his attendants, and the sire obey'd.<br>A diamond broad, in burning gold imprest,<br>Fix'd the Sun's image on his royal breast;<br>Fair in his hand appear'd the olive bough,<br>And the white lautu graced his beauteous brow.<br>Swift o'er the hills that lift the walks of day,<br>Thro' parting clouds he took his eastern way;<br>Height over height he gain'd, beyond the bound,<br>Where the wide empire claims its utmost round;<br>To numerous tribes proclaim'd the solar sway,<br>And held, through various toils, his wilder'd way.<br>At length, far distant, thro' the darkening skies,<br>Where hills o'er hills in rude disorder rise,<br>A dreadful groan, beneath the shuddering ground,<br>Rolls down the steeps and shakes the world around.<br>Columns of reddening smoke, above the height,<br>O'ercast the heavens and cloud their wonted light;<br>From tottering tops descend the cliffs of snow,<br>The mountains reel, the valleys rend below,<br>The headlong streams forget their usual round,<br>And shrink and vanish in the gaping ground;<br>The sun descends–Wide flames with livid glare<br>Break the red cloud and purple all the air;<br>Above the gaping top, wild cinders, driven,<br>Stream high and brighten to the midst of heaven;<br>Deep from beneath, full floods of boiling ore<br>Burst the dread mount, and thro' the opening roar;<br>Torrents of molten rocks, on every side,<br>Lead o'er the shelves of ice the fiery tide;<br>Hills slide before them, skies around them burn,<br>Towns sink beneath, and heaving plains o'erturn;<br>O'er distant realms, the flaming deluge, hurl'd,<br>Sweeps trembling nations from the astonish'd world.<br>Meanwhile, at distance, through the livid light,<br>A busy concourse met his wondering sight;<br>The prince drew near; an altar raised he view'd,<br>In form a furnace, fill'd with burning wood;<br>There a fair youth in pangs expiring lay,<br>And the fond father thus was heard to pray.<br>Receive, O dreadful Power, from feeble age,<br>This last pure offering to thy sateless rage,<br>Thrice has thy vengeance, on this hated land,<br>Claim'd a dear infant from my yielding hand;<br>Thrice have those lovely lips the victim press'd,<br>And all the mother torn that tender breast;<br>When the dread duty stifled every sigh,<br>And not a tear escaped her beauteous eye.<br>The fourth, and last now meets the fatal doom,<br>(Groan not, my child, thy God commands thee home)<br>Attend, once more, thou dark, infernal Name,<br>From yon far-streaming pyramid of flame;<br>Snatch, from the heaving flesh, the expiring breath,<br>Sacred to thee and all the Powers of death;<br>Then, in thy hall, with spoils of nations crown'd,<br>Confine thy walks beneath the rending ground;<br>No more on earth the imbowel'd flames to pour,<br>And scourge my people and my race no more.<br>Thus Rocha heard; and, tow'rd th'trembling croud,<br>Turn'd the bright ensign of his beaming God.<br>The afflicted chief, with fear and grief opprest,<br>Beheld the sign and thus the prince address'd.<br>From what far land, O royal stranger, say,<br>Ascend thy wandering steps this nightly way?<br>Com'st thou from plains like ours, with cinders fired?<br>And have thy people in the flames expired?<br>Or hast thou now, to stay the whelming flood,<br>No son to offer to the furious God?<br>From happier lands I came, the prince return'd,<br>Where no red vengeance e'er the concave burn'd;<br>No furious God disturbs the peaceful skies,<br>Nor yield our hands the bloody sacrifice.<br>But life and joy the Power delights to give,<br>And bids his children but rejoice and live.<br>Thou seest o'er heaven the all-delighting Sun.<br>In living radiance, rear his golden throne;<br>O'er plains and valleys shed his genial beams,<br>Call from yon cliffs of ice the winding streams;<br>While fruits and flowers adorn the indulgent field,<br>And seas and lakes their copious treasures yield;<br>He reigns our only God; in him we trace<br>The friend, the father of our happy race.<br>Late the lone tribes, on those delightful shores,<br>With gloomy reverence served imagin'd Powers;<br>Till he, in pity to the roving race,<br>Dispensed their laws, and form'd their minds for peace.<br>My heaven-born parents first the reign began,<br>Sent from his courts to rule the race of man,<br>Unfold his arts, extend his bounteous sway,<br>And give his blessings where he gives the day.<br>The wondering chief reply'd; thy form and dress<br>Proclaim thy lineage of superior race;<br>And our far-distant sires, no less than thine,<br>Sprang from a God, and own a birth divine.<br>From that ethereal mount, the source of flame,<br>In elder times, the great avengers came;<br>Where the dread Power conceals his dark abode,<br>And claims, as now, the tribute of a God.<br>This victim due when willing mortals pay,<br>His terrors lessen and his fires decay;<br>While purer sleet regales the untainted air,<br>And our glad hosts are fired for fiercer war.<br>Yet know, dread chief, the pious youth rejoin'd,<br>One sovereign Power produced all human kind;<br>Some Sire supreme, whose ever-ruling soul<br>Creates, preserves, and regulates the whole.<br>That Sire supreme must lift his radiant eye<br>Round the wide concave of the boundless sky;<br>That heaven's high courts, and all the walks of men<br>May rise unveil'd beneath his careful ken.<br>Could thy dark Power, that holds his drear abode<br>Deep in the bosom of that fiery flood,<br>Yield the glad fruits that distant nations find?<br>Or praise, or punish, or behold mankind?<br>When the blest God, from glooms of changing night<br>Shall gild his chambers with the morning light,<br>By mystic rites he'll vindicate his throne,<br>And own thy servant for his duteous son.<br>Meantime, the chief reply'd, thy cares released,<br>Share the poor relics of our scanty feast;<br>Which, driven in hasty rout our train supply'd,<br>When trembling earth proclaim'd the boiling tide.<br>They fared, they rested; till approaching morn<br>Beheld the day-star o'er the mountain burn;<br>The rising prince an altar rear'd on high.<br>And watch'd the splendors of the orient sky.<br>When o'er the mountain flamed the sun's broad ray,<br>He call'd the host his sacred rites t'essay;<br>Then took the loaves of maize, the bounties brake,<br>Gave to the chief and bade them all partake;<br>The hallowed relics on the pile he placed,<br>With tufts of flowers the simple offering graced,<br>Held to the sun the image from his breast,<br>Whose glowing concave all the God exprest;<br>O'er the dry'd leaves, the trembling lustre flies,<br>And thus his voice ascends the listening skies.<br>O thou, whose splendors kindle heaven with fire,<br>Great soul of nature, and the world's dread sire,<br>If e'er my father found thy sovereign grace,<br>Or thy blest will ordain'd the Incan race,<br>Give these lone tribes to learn thine awful name,<br>Receive this offering and the pile inflame:<br>So shall thy laws o'er these wide bounds be known,<br>And earth's unnumber'd sons be happy as thine own.<br>Thus pray'd the prince, the kindling flames aspire,<br>The tribes surrounding tremble and retire,<br>Gaze on the wonder, full conviction own,<br>And vow obedience to the genial Sun.<br>The Inca now his farther course descry'd,<br>A young cazique attending as a guide,<br>O'er eastern cliffs pursued the wilder'd way,<br>Where loftier champaigns meet the shivering day;<br>Saw timorous tribes in these sublime abodes,<br>Adore the blasts and turn the storms to Gods.<br>Each blackening cloud, that thunders thro' the skies,<br>Claims from their hands a human sacrifice.<br>A while the youth, their better faith to gain,<br>Strives, with his usual art, but strives in vain;<br>In vain he pleads the mildness of the sun,<br>In those cold bounds where chilling whirlwinds run;<br>Where the dark tempests sweep the world below,<br>And load the mountains with eternal snow.<br>The sun's bright beam, the fearful tribes declare,<br>Drives all their evils on the tortured air;<br>He draws the vapors up the eastern sky,<br>That sail and centre tow'rd his dazzling eye;<br>Leads the loud storms along his midday course,<br>And bids the Andes meet their sweeping force;<br>Builds their bleak summits, with an icy throne,<br>To shine through heaven a semblance of his own;<br>Hence the dire chills, the lifted lawns that wait,<br>And all the scourges that attend their state,<br>Seven toilsome days, the virtuous legate strove,<br>To social joys their savage minds to move;<br>Then, while the morning glow'd serenely bright,<br>He led their footsteps to an eastern height;<br>The world unbounded, stretch'd beneath them, lay,<br>And not a cloud obscured the rising day.<br>Broad Amazonia, with her star-like streams,<br>In azure drest, a heaven inverted seems:<br>Dim Paraguay extends the aching sight;<br>Xaraya glimmers, like the moon of night:<br>The earth and skies, in blending borders, stray,<br>And smile and brighten to the lamp of day.<br>When thus the prince; What majesty divine!<br>What robes of gold! what flames around him shine!<br>There walks the God! his starry sons on high<br>Draw their dim veil, and shrink behind the sky;<br>Earth with surrounding nature's born anew,<br>And tribes and empires greet the gladdening view<br>Who can behold his all-delighting soul<br>Give life and joy; and heaven and earth controul?<br>Bid death and darkness from his presence move–<br>Who can behold, and not adore and love?<br>Those plains, immensely circling feel his beams,<br>He greens the groves, he silvers o'er the streams,<br>Swells the wild fruitage, gives the beast his food,<br>And mute creation hails the genial God.<br>But nobler joys his righteous laws impart,<br>To aid the life and mould the social heart,<br>His peaceful arts o'er happy realms to spread,<br>And altars grace with pure celestial bread;<br>Such our distinguish'd lot, who own his sway,<br>Mild as his morning stars, and liberal as the day.<br>His unknown laws, the mountain chief reply'd,<br>In your far world, your boasted race may guide;<br>And yon low plains, that drink his genial ray,<br>At his glad shrine their just devotions pay,<br>But we, nor fear his frown, nor trust his smile;<br>He blasts our forests and o'erturns our toil;<br>Our bowers are bury'd in his whirls of snow,<br>Or swept and driven to shade his tribes below.<br>Even now his mounting steps thy hopes beguile;<br>He lures thy raptures with a morning smile<br>But soon (for so those saffron robes proclaim)<br>Black storms shall sail beneath his leading flame,<br>Thunders and blasts, against the mountain driven,<br>Shall shake the tottering tops and rend the vault of heaven.<br>He spoke; they waited, till the ascending ray,<br>High from the noon-tide, shot the faithless day;<br>When, lo! far-gathering, round the eastern skies<br>Solemn, and low, the dark-red vapors rise;<br>Full clouds convolving on the turbid air,<br>Move, like an ocean to the watery war.<br>The host, securely raised, no dangers harm,<br>They sit unclouded, and over-look the storm;<br>While, far beneath, the sky-borne waters ride,<br>O'er the dark deep and up the mountain's side;<br>The lightning's glancing wings, in fury curl'd,<br>Bend their long forky terrors o'er the world;<br>Torrents and broken craggs, and floods of rain,<br>From steep to steep, roll down their force amain,<br>In dreadful cataracts: the crashing sound<br>Fills the wide heavens and rocks the smouldering ground.<br>The blasts, unburden'd, take their upward course.<br>And, o'er the mountain-top, resume their force:<br>Swift, thro' the long, white ridges, from the north.<br>The rapid whirlwinds lead their terrors forth;<br>High rolls the storm, the circling surges rise,<br>And wild gyrations wheel the hovering skies;<br>Vast hills of snow, in sweeping columns driven,<br>Deluge the air and cloud the face of heaven;<br>Floods burst their chains, the rocks forget their place,<br>And the firm mountain trembles to its base.<br>Long gazed the host; when thus the stubborn chief,<br>With eyes on fire, and fill'd with sullen grief,<br>Behold thy careless God, securely high,<br>Laughs at our woes, and sails the heavens in joy;<br>Drives all his evils on these seats sublime,<br>And wafts his favours to a happier clime:<br>Sire of that peaceful race, thy words disclose,<br>There glads his children, here afflicts his foes.<br>Hence! speed thy course! pursue him where he leads;<br>Lest vengeance seize thee for thy father's deeds,<br>Thy immolated limbs asswage the fire<br>Of those curst Powers, which now a gift require.<br>The youth, in haste, collects his scanty train,<br>And, with the sun, flies o'er the western plain,<br>The fading orb with plaintive voice he plies,<br>To guide his steps and light him down the skies.<br>So, when the moon and all the host of even,<br>Hang, pale and trembling, on the verge of heaven,<br>While storms, ascending, threat their nightly reign,<br>They seek their absent sire, and settle down the main.<br>Now, to the south, he turns his tedious way,<br>Where tribes unnumber'd on the mountains stray;<br>And finds, collecting, in a central plain,<br>From all the hills, a wide-extended train.<br>Of various dress and various form they show'd;<br>Each wore the ensign of his local God.<br>From eastern steeps, a grisly host descends,<br>O'er whose grim chief a tyger's hide depends:<br>The tusky jaws grin o'er his shaggy brow,<br>The eye-balls glare, the paws depend below;<br>From his bored ears contorted serpents hung,<br>And drops of gore seem'd rolling on his tongue.<br>From northern wilds, dark move the vulture-race;<br>Black tufts of quills their shaded foreheads grace;<br>The claws extend, the beak is oped for blood,<br>And all the armour imitates the God.<br>The condor, frowning, from a southern plain,<br>Borne on a standard, leads a numerous train:<br>Clench'd in his talons, hangs a warrior dead,<br>His long beak pointing where the squadrons tread;<br>His wings, far-stretching, cleave the whistling wind.<br>And his broad tail o'ershades the host behind.<br>From other plains, and other hills, afar,<br>The assembling tribes throng dreadful to the war;<br>Some wear the crested furies of the snake,<br>Some show the emblems of a stream or lake;<br>All, from the Power they serve, assume their mode,<br>And foam and yell to taste the Incan blood.<br>The prince, incautious, with his train drew near,<br>Known for an Inca by his dress and air.<br>Sudden the savage bands to vengeance move,<br>Demand their arms and chace them round the grove;<br>His scattering host in vain the combat tries,<br>While circling thousands from their ambush rise;<br>Nor power to strive, nor hope of flight remains,<br>They bow in silence to the victor's chains.<br>When, now the gathering squadrons throng the plain,<br>And echoing skies the rending shouts retain;<br>Zamor, the leader of the tyger-band,<br>By choice appointed to the first command,<br>Shrugg'd up his spotted spoils above the rest,<br>And, grimly frowning, thus the croud address'd:<br>Warriors, attend; tomorrow leads abroad<br>Our sacred vengeance for our brothers' blood.<br>On those scorch'd plains forever must they lie,<br>Their bones still naked to the burning sky?<br>Left in the field for foreign hawks to tear,<br>Nor our own vultures can the banquet share.<br>But soon, ye mountain Gods, yon dreary west<br>Shall sate your vengeance with a nobler feast;<br>When the proud Sun, that terror of the plain,<br>Shall grieve in heaven for all his children slain;<br>O'er boundless fields our slaughtering myriads roam,<br>And your dark Powers command a happier home.<br>Mean while, ye tribes, these men of solar race,<br>Food for the flames, your bloody rites shall grace:<br>Each to a different God, his panting breath<br>Resigns in fire; this night demands their death:<br>All but the Inca; him, reserved in state,<br>These conquering hands ere long shall immolate,<br>To that dread Power that thunders in the skies,<br>A grateful gift, before his mother's eyes,<br>The savage ceased; the chiefs of every race<br>Lead the bold captives to their destined place;<br>The sun descends, the parting day expires,<br>And earth and heaven display their sparkling fires.<br>Soon the raised altars kindle round the gloom,<br>And call the victims to the vengeful doom;<br>Led to the scene, in sovereign pomp they tread,<br>And sing, by turns, the triumphs of the dead.<br>Amid the croud, beside his altar, stood<br>The youth devoted to the tyger-God.<br>A beauteous form he rose, of princely grace,<br>The only hope of his illustrious race;<br>His aged sire, through numerous years, had shone,<br>The first supporter of the Incan throne;<br>Wise Capac loved the youth, and graced his hand<br>With a fair virgin, from a neighbouring band;<br>And him the joyous prince, in equal prime;<br>Had chose t'attend him round the savage clime.<br>He mounts the pyre; the flames approach his breath,<br>And thus he wakes the canticle of death.<br>O thou dark vault of heaven! his daily throne.<br>Where flee the absent glories of the Sun?<br>Ye starry hosts, that kindle from his eye,<br>Can you behold him in the western sky?<br>Or if, unseen, he rests his radiant head,<br>Beneath the confines of his watery bed;<br>When next his morning steps your courts inflame,<br>And seek on earth for young Azonto's name,<br>Then point these ashes, mark the smoky pile,<br>And say the hero suffer'd with a smile.<br>So shall the avenging Power, in fury drest,<br>Bind the red circler o'er his changing vest,<br>Bid dire destruction, on these dark abodes,<br>Whelm the grim tribes and all their savage Gods.<br>But oh! forbear to tell my stooping sire,<br>His darling hopes have fed a coward fire;<br>Why should he know the tortures of the brave?<br>Or fruitless sorrows bend him to the grave?<br>And may'st thou ne'er be told, my anxious fair,<br>What rending pangs these panting vitals tear;<br>But, blooming still, the impatient wish employ<br>On the blind hope of future scenes of joy.<br>Now haste, ye strides of death, the Power of day,<br>In absent slumbers, gives your vengeance way;<br>While fainter light these livid flames supply,<br>And short-lived thousands learn of me to die.<br>He ceased not speaking; when the yell of was<br>Drowns all their death-songs in a hideous jar;<br>Round the far echoing hills the yellings pour,<br>And wolves and tygers catch the distant roar.<br>Now more concordant all their voices join,<br>And round the plain they form the lengthening line;<br>When, to the music of the dismal din,<br>Indignant Zamor bids the dance begin.<br>Dim, thro' the shadowy fires, each changing form<br>Moves like a cloud before an evening storm;<br>When, o'er the moon's pale face and starry plain,<br>The shades of heaven lead on their broken train;<br>The mingling tribes their mazy circles tread,<br>Till the last groan proclaims the victims dead;<br>Then part the smoky flesh, enjoy the seast,<br>And lose their labours in oblivious rest.<br>Now, when the western hills proclaim'd the morn,<br>And falling fires were scarcely seen to burn,<br>Grimm'd by the horrors of the dreadful night,<br>The hosts woke fiercer for the distant fight;<br>And, dark and silent, like a shadowy grove,<br>The different tribes beneath their standards move.<br>But round the blissful city of the sun,<br>Since the young prince his foreign toils begun,<br>The prudent king collected, from afar,<br>His numerous hosts to meet the expected war.<br>The various tribes, in one extended train,<br>Move to the confines of an eastern plain;<br>Where, from the exalted kingdom's utmost end,<br>Sublimer hills and savage walks ascend.<br>High in the front, imperial Capac strode,<br>In fair effulgence like the beaming God;<br>A golden girdle bound his snowy vest,<br>A mimic Sun hung trembling on his breast,<br>The lautu's circling band his temples twined,<br>The bow, the quiver shade his waist behind;<br>Raised high in air, his golden sceptre burn'd,<br>And hosts surrounding trembled as he turn'd.<br>O'er eastern hills he cast his kindling eye,<br>Where opening breaches lengthen down the sky;<br>In whose blue clefts, wide, sloping alleys bend,<br>Where annual floods from melting snows descend;<br>Now, dry and deep, far up the dreary height,<br>Show the dark squadrons moving into sight;<br>They throng and thicken on the smoky air,<br>And every breach pours down the dusky war.<br>So when an hundred streams explore their way,<br>Down the same slopes, convolving to the sea;<br>They boil, they bend, they urge their force amain,<br>Swell o'er th'obstructing craggs and sweep the distant plain.<br>Capac beholds, and waits the coming shock,<br>Unmoved, and gleaming like an icy rock;<br>And while for fight the arming hosts prepare,<br>Thus thro' the files he breathes the soul of war.<br>Ye hosts, of every tribe and every plain,<br>That live and flourish in my father's reign,<br>Long have your flocks and ripening harvests shown<br>The genial smiles of his indulgent throne;<br>As o'er surrounding realms his blessings flow'd,<br>And conquer'd all without the stain of blood.<br>But now, behold yon wide-collecting band,<br>With threatening war, demands the happy land:<br>Beneath the dark, immeasurable host,<br>Descending, swarming, how the craggs are lost!<br>Already now, their ravening eyes behold<br>Your star-bright temples and your gates of gold;<br>And to their Gods in fancied goblets pour,<br>The warm libation of your children's gore.<br>Move then to vengeance, meet the whelming flood,<br>Led by this arm and lighted by that God;<br>The strife is fierce, your fanes and fields the prize,<br>The warrior conquers or the infant dies.<br>Fill'd with his fire, the hosts, in squared array,<br>Eye the dark legions and demand the affray;<br>Their pointed arrows, rising on the bow,<br>Look up the sky and chide the lagging foe.<br>Fierce Zamor, frowning, leads the grisly train,<br>Moves from the clefts, and stretches o'er the plain;<br>He gives the shriek; the deep convulsing sound<br>The hosts re-echo; and the hills around<br>Retain the rending tumult; all the air<br>Clangs in the conflict of the clashing war.<br>But firm, undaunted, as a shelvy strand,<br>That meets the billowy surge, the squadrons stand;<br>Bend the broad bow, in lengthier circuit spread,<br>And showers of arrows thicken heaven with shade.<br>When each grim host, in closer conflict join'd,<br>Clench the dire ax, and cast the bow behind;<br>Thro' broken ranks sweep wide the rapid course,<br>Now struggle back, now sidelong sway the force;<br>Here, from grim chiefs is lopp'd the grisly head;<br>All gride the dying, all deface the dead;<br>There, scattering o'er the field, in thin array,<br>Man strives with man, and stones with axes play;<br>With broken shafts they follow and they fly,<br>And yells and groans and shouts invade the sky;<br>Round all the plains and groves, the ground is strow'd<br>With sever'd limbs and corses bathed in blood.<br>Long raged the strife; and where, on either side,<br>A friend, a father or a brother died,<br>No trace remain'd of what he show'd before.<br>Mangled with horrid wounds and smear'd with gore.<br>Now the Peruvians, in collected might,<br>With one wide sweep had wing'd the savage flight;<br>But heaven's bright Splendor in his midday race,<br>With glooms unusual, veil'd his radiant face.<br>By slow degrees a solemn twilight moves,<br>Browns the dim heavens and shades the conscious groves.<br>The observing Inca views, with wild surprise,<br>Deep glooms on earth, no cloud around the skies;<br>His host o'ershaded in the field of blood,<br>Gored by his foes, deserted by his God.<br>All mute with wonder, cease the strife to wage,<br>Gaze at each-other, and forget their rage;<br>When pious Capac, to the listening croud,<br>Raised high his wand and pour'd his voice aloud:<br>Ye chiefs and warriors of Peruvian race,<br>Some dire offence obscures my father's face;<br>What moves the Godhead to desert the plain,<br>Nor save his children, nor behold them slain?<br>Fly! speed your course, and seek the distant town,<br>Ere darkness shroud you in a deeper frown;<br>The lengthening walls your squadrons shall defend,<br>While my sad steps the sacred dome ascend;<br>There learn the cause, and ward the woes we fear–<br>Haste, haste, my sons, I guard the flying rear.<br>The hero spoke; the trembling tribes obey,<br>While deeper glooms obscure the source of day.<br>Sudden, the savage bands collect amain,<br>Hang on the rear and sweep them o'er the plain;<br>Their shouts, redoubling o'er the flying war,<br>Drown the loud groans and torture all the air;<br>The hawks of heaven, that o'er the field had stood<br>Scared by the tumult from the scent of blood,<br>Cleave the far gloom; the beasts forget their prey,<br>And scour the waste, and give the war its way.<br>Zamor, elate with horrid joy, beheld<br>The Sun depart, his children fly the field,<br>And raised his rending voice; Thou darkening sky,<br>Deepen thy glooms, the Power of death is nigh;<br>Behold him rising from his nightly throne,<br>To veil the heavens and drive the conquer'd Sun!<br>The glaring Godhead yields to sacred Night;<br>And all his armies imitate his flight.<br>O dark, infernal Power, confirm thy reign;<br>Give deadlier shades and heap the piles of slain:<br>Soon, the young captive prince shall roll in fire,<br>And all his race accumulate the pyre.<br>Ye mountain vultures, here your vengeance pour,<br>Tygers and condors, all ye Gods of gore,<br>In these dread fields, beneath your frowning sky,<br>A plenteous feast shall every God supply.<br>Rush forward, warriors, hide the plains with dead;<br>'Twas here our friends, in former combat, bled;<br>Strow'd thro' the waste, their bloody bones demand<br>This sweeping vengeance from our conquering hand.<br>He said; and, high before the tyger-train,<br>With longer strides, hangs forward o'er the slain,<br>Bends, like a falling tree, to reach the foe,<br>And o'er tall Capac aims a deadly blow.<br>The king beheld the ax, and with his wand,<br>Struck the raised weapon from his grasping hand<br>Then clench'd the falling helve, and whirling round,<br>Fell'd furious hosts of heroes to the ground:<br>Nor stay'd, but follow'd, where the squadrons run,<br>Fearing to fight, forsaken by the Sun:<br>Till Cusco's walls salute their longing sight,<br>And the wide gates receive their rapid flight.<br>The folds are barr'd, the foes, in shade conceal'd,<br>Like howling wolves, rave round the affrighted field.<br>The monarch now ascends the sacred dome,<br>Where the Sun's image wore a faded gloom.<br>Thro' all the courts a solemn shade prevail'd,<br>And dismal groans his listening ear assail'd;<br>Deep from an inner shrine, the stifled sighs<br>Breathe forth awhile, and these sad accents rise.<br>Was it for this, my son to distant lands<br>Must trace the wilds, amid those savage bands?<br>And does the God obscure his golden throne,<br>In mournful silence for my slaughter'd son?<br>Oh, had his beam, ere that disastrous day,<br>That snatch'd the youth from these fond arms away,<br>Received my mounting spirit to the sky,<br>That sad Oella might have seen him die.<br>Where slept thy shaft of vengeance, O my God,<br>When those fell tygers drank his sacred blood?<br>Did not the pious prince, with rites divine;<br>Feed the pure flame, within thy hallow'd shrine?<br>And early learn, beneath his father's hand,<br>To shed thy blessings round the favour'd land?<br>Form'd by thy laws the royal seat to grace,<br>Son of thy son, and glory of his race.<br>Where, dearest Rocha, rests thy beauteous head?<br>Where the rent robes thy hapless mother made?<br>I see thee, mid those hideous hills of snow,<br>Pursued and slaughter'd by the savage foe;<br>Or, doom'd a feast for some infernal God,<br>Whose horrid shrine demands thy harmless blood.<br>Snatch me, O Sun, to happier worlds of light–<br>No shroud me, shroud me, with thyself in night–<br>Thou hear'st me not; thou dread, departed Power,<br>Thy face is dark, and Rocha is no more.<br>Thus heard the silent king; his heaving heart<br>Caught all her grief, and bore a father's part.<br>The cause, suggested by her tender moan,<br>That veil'd the midday splendors of the sun,<br>And shouts insulting of the raging foe,<br>Fix'd him suspense, in all the strength of woe<br>A doubtful moment held his changing choice;<br>Now would he sooth her; half assumes his voice;<br>But greater cares the rising wish controul,<br>And call forth all his dignity of soul.<br>Why should he cease to ward the coming fate?<br>Or she be told the foes besiege the gate?<br>He turn'd in haste; and now the image-God,<br>High in the front, with kindling lustre glow'd:<br>Swift thro' the portal, flew the hero's eye,<br>And hail'd the growing Splendor in the sky.<br>The thronging host, now brightening at the sight,<br>Pour round the dome, impatient for the fight;<br>The chief, descending, in the portal stood,<br>And thus address'd the all-delighting God.<br>O sovereign Soul of heaven; thy changing face<br>Makes or destroys the glory of thy race.<br>If, from the bounds of earth, my son be fled,<br>First of thy line that ever graced the dead;<br>If thy bright Godhead ceased in heaven to burn,<br>For that loved youth, who never must return;<br>Forgive thine armies; when, in fields of blood,<br>They lose their strength, and fear the frowning God,<br>As now thy glory, with superior day,<br>Glows thro' the field and leads the warrior's way,<br>May our delighted souls, to vengeance driven,<br>Burn with new brightness in the cause of heaven;<br>For thy slain son see larger squadrons bleed,<br>We mourn the hero, but avenge the deed.<br>He said; and, from the battlements on high,<br>A watchful warrior raised an eager cry;<br>An Inca white on yonder altar tied–<br>Tis Rocha's self–the flame ascends his side.<br>In sweeping haste the bursting gates unbar,<br>And flood the champaign with a tide of war;<br>A cloud of arrows leads the rapid train,<br>They shout, they swarm, they hide the moving plain;<br>The bows and quivers strow the field behind,<br>And the raised axes cleave the parting wind;<br>The prince, confest to every warrior's sight,<br>Inspires each soul and centres all the fight;<br>Each hopes to snatch him from the kindling pyre,<br>Each fears his breath already flits in fire:<br>While Zamor spread his thronging squadrons wide,<br>Wedged like a wall–and thus the king defied:<br>Haste! son of Light, pour fast the winged war,<br>The prince, the dying prince demands your care:<br>Hear how his death-song chides your dull delay,<br>Lift larger strides, bend forward to the affray;<br>Ere folding flames prevent his stifled groan,<br>Child of your beaming God, a victim to our own.<br>He said; and raised his shaggy form on high,<br>And bade the shafts glide thicker thro' the sky.<br>Like the black billows of the lifted main,<br>Rolls into sight the long Peruvian train;<br>A white sail, bounding, on the billows tost,<br>Is Capac, striding o'er the furious host.<br>Now meet the dreadful chiefs, with eyes on fire;<br>Beneath their blows the parting ranks retire:<br>In whirlwind-sweep, their meeting axes bound,<br>Wheel, crash in air, and plough the trembling ground;<br>Their sinewy limbs, in fierce contortions, bend,<br>And mutual strokes, with equal force, descend;<br>The king sways backward from the struggling foe,<br>Collects new strength, and with a circling blow<br>Rush'd furious on; his flinty edge, on high,<br>Met Zamor's helve, and glancing, cleft his thigh,<br>The savage fell; when, thro' the tyger-train,<br>The driving Inca swept a widening lane;<br>Whole ranks fall staggering, where he lifts his arm,<br>Or roll before him, like a billowy storm;<br>Behind his steps collecting legions close,<br>While, centred in a circling ridge of foes,<br>He drives his furious way; the prince unties,<br>And thus his voice–Dread Sovereign of the skies,<br>Accept my living son, again bestow'd,<br>To grace with rites the temple of his God.<br>Move, warriors, move, complete the work begun,<br>Crush the grim race, avenge the injured Sun.<br>The savage host, that view'd the daring deed,<br>And saw deep squadrons with their leader bleed,<br>Raised high the shriek of horror; all the plain<br>Is trod with flight and cover'd with the slain.<br>The bold Peruvians circle round the field,<br>Confine their flight and bid the relics yield:<br>While Capac raised his placid voice again–<br>Ye conquering hosts, collect the scatter'd train;<br>The Sun commands to stay the rage of war,<br>He knows to conquer, but he loves to spare.<br>He ceased; and, where the savage leader lay<br>Weltering in gore, directs his eager way;<br>Unwraps the tyger's hide, and strives in vain<br>To close the wound, and mitigate the pain;<br>And, while soft pity moved his manly breast,<br>Raised the huge head and thus the chief addrest.<br>Too long, dread prince, thy raging arms withstood<br>The hosts of heaven, and braved the avenging God;<br>His sovereign will commands all strife to cease,<br>His realm is concord, and his pleasure, peace;<br>This copious carnage, spreading all the plain,<br>Insults his bounties, but confirms his reign.<br>Enough, 'tis past–thy parting breath demands<br>The last, sad office from my yielding hands.<br>To share thy pains, and feel thy hopeless woe,<br>Are rites ungrateful to a falling foe;<br>Yet rest in peace; and know, a chief so brave,<br>When life departs, shall find an honour'd grave;<br>These hands, in mournful pomp, thy tomb shall rear,<br>And tribes unborn thy hapless fate declare.<br>Insult me not with tombs, the savage cried,<br>Let closing clods thy coward carcase hide;<br>But these brave bones, unbury'd on the plain,<br>Touch not with dust, nor dare with rites profane;<br>Let no curst earth conceal this gorey head,<br>Nor songs proclaim the dreadful Zamor dead.<br>Me, whom the hungry Gods, from plain to plain,<br>Have follow'd, feasting on thy slaughter'd train,<br>Me wouldst thou cover? no! from yonder sky,<br>The wide-beak'd hawk, that now beholds me die,<br>Soon, with his cowering train, my flesh shall tear,<br>And wolves and tygers vindicate their share.<br>Receive, dread Powers, (since I can slay no more)<br>My last glad victim, this devoted gore.<br>Thus pour'd the vengeful chief his fainting breath,<br>And lost his utterance in the gasp of death.<br>The sad remaining tribes confess the Power,<br>That sheds his bounties round the favourite shore;<br>All bow obedient to the Incan throne,<br>And blest Oella hails her living son.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Joel+Barlow">Joel Barlow</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=418510" data-title="Vision of Columbus – Book 3 de Joel Barlow" data-description="Now, twice twelve years, the children of the skies Beheld in peace their growing empire rise; O'er happy realms, display'd their generous care, Diffused their arts and soothd the rage of war; Bade yon tall temple grace the favourite isle. The gard..."></div> </div> </div>

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