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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=538650" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Missionary - Canto First</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Beneath aerial cliffs, and glittering snows,<br>The rush-roof of an aged warrior rose,<br>Chief of the mountain tribes: high overhead,<br>The Andes, wild and desolate, were spread,<br>Where cold Sierras shot their icy spires,<br>And Chillan trailed its smoke and smouldering fires.<br>A glen beneath, a lonely spot of rest,<br>Hung, scarce discovered, like an eagle's nest.<br>Summer was in its prime;--the parrot-flocks<br>Darkened the passing sunshine on the rocks; <br>The chrysomel and purple butterfly,<br>Amid the clear blue light, are wandering by;<br>The humming-bird, along the myrtle bowers,<br>With twinkling wing, is spinning o'er the flowers,<br>The woodpecker is heard with busy bill,<br>The mock-bird sings--and all beside is still,<br>And look! the cataract that bursts so high,<br>As not to mar the deep tranquillity,<br>The tumult of its dashing fall suspends,<br>And, stealing drop by drop, in mist descends; <br>Through whose illumined spray and sprinkling dews,<br>Shine to the adverse sun the broken rainbow hues.<br>Chequering, with partial shade, the beams of noon,<br>And arching the gray rock with wild festoon,<br>Here its gay net-work, and fantastic twine,<br>The purple cogul threads from pine to pine,<br>And oft, as the fresh airs of morning breathe,<br>Dips its long tendrils in the stream beneath.<br>There, through the trunks with moss and lichens white,<br>The sunshine darts its interrupted light, <br>And, 'mid the cedar's darksome boughs, illumes,<br>With instant touch, the Lori's scarlet plumes.<br>So smiles the scene;--but can its smiles impart<br>Aught to console yon mourning warrior's heart?<br>He heeds not now, when beautifully bright,<br>The humming-bird is circling in his sight;<br>Nor ev'n, above his head, when air is still,<br>Hears the green woodpecker's resounding bill;<br>But gazing on the rocks and mountains wild,<br>Rock after rock, in glittering masses piled <br>To the volcano's cone, that shoots so high<br>Gray smoke whose column stains the cloudless sky,<br>He cries, Oh! if thy spirit yet be fled<br>To the pale kingdoms of the shadowy dead,--<br>In yonder tract of purest light above,<br>Dear long-lost object of a father's love,<br>Dost thou abide; or like a shadow come,<br>Circling the scenes of thy remembered home,<br>And passing with the breeze, or, in the beam<br>Of evening, light the desert mountain stream! <br>Or at deep midnight are thine accents heard,<br>In the sad notes of that melodious bird,<br>Which, as we listen with mysterious dread,<br>Brings tidings from our friends and fathers dead?<br>Perhaps, beyond those summits, far away,<br>Thine eyes yet view the living light of day;<br>Sad, in the stranger's land, thou may'st sustain<br>A weary life of servitude and pain,<br>With wasted eye gaze on the orient beam,<br>And think of these white rocks and torrent stream, <br>Never to hear the summer cocoa wave,<br>Or weep upon thy father's distant grave.<br>Ye, who have waked, and listened with a tear,<br>When cries confused, and clangours rolled more near;<br>With murmured prayer, when Mercy stood aghast,<br>As War's black trump pealed its terrific blast,<br>And o'er the withered earth the armed giant passed!<br>Ye, who his track with terror have pursued,<br>When some delightful land, all blood-imbrued,<br>He swept; where silent is the champaign wide, <br>That echoed to the pipe of yester-tide,<br>Save, when far off, the moonlight hills prolong<br>The last deep echoes of his parting gong;<br>Nor aught is seen, in the deserted spot<br>Where trailed the smoke of many a peaceful cot,<br>Save livid corses that unburied lie,<br>And conflagrations, reeking to the sky;--<br>Come listen, whilst the causes I relate<br>That bowed the warrior to the storms of fate,<br>And left these smiling scenes forlorn and desolate. <br>In other days, when, in his manly pride,<br>Two children for a father's fondness vied,--<br>Oft they essayed, in mimic strife, to wield<br>His lance, or laughing peeped behind his shield;<br>Oft in the sun, or the magnolia's shade,<br>Lightsome of heart as gay of look they played,<br>Brother and sister. She, along the dew,<br>Blithe as the squirrel of the forest flew;<br>Blue rushes wreathed her head; her dark-brown hair<br>Fell, gently lifted, on her bosom bare; <br>Her necklace shone, of sparkling insects made,<br>That flit, like specks of fire, from sun to shade.<br>Light was her form; a clasp of silver braced<br>The azure-dyed ichella round her waist;<br>Her ancles rung with shells, as unconfined<br>She danced, and sung wild carols to the wind.<br>With snow-white teeth, and laughter in her eye,<br>So beautiful in youth she bounded by.<br>Yet kindness sat upon her aspect bland,--<br>The tame alpaca stood and licked her hand; <br>She brought him gathered moss, and loved to deck<br>With flowery twine his tall and stately neck,<br>Whilst he with silent gratitude replies,<br>And bends to her caress his large blue eyes.<br>These children danced together in the shade,<br>Or stretched their hands to see the rainbow fade;<br>Or sat and mocked, with imitative glee,<br>The paroquet, that laughed from tree to tree;<br>Or through the forest's wildest solitude,<br>From glen to glen, the marmozet pursued; <br>And thought the light of parting day too short,<br>That called them, lingering, from their daily sport.<br>In that fair season of awakening life,<br>When dawning youth and childhood are at strife;<br>When on the verge of thought gay boyhood stands<br>Tiptoe, with glistening eye and outspread hands;<br>With airy look, and form and footsteps light,<br>And glossy locks, and features berry-bright,<br>And eye like the young eaglet's, to the ray<br>Of noon unblenching as he sails away; <br>A brede of sea-shells on his bosom strung,<br>A small stone-hatchet o'er his shoulder slung,<br>With slender lance, and feathers blue and red,<br>That, like the heron's crest, waved on his head,--<br>Buoyant with hope, and airiness, and joy,<br>Lautaro was a graceful Indian boy:<br>Taught by his sire, ev'n now he drew the bow,<br>Or tracked the jagguar on the morning snow;<br>Startled the condor, on the craggy height;<br>Then silent sat, and marked its upward flight, <br>Lessening in ether to a speck of white.<br>But when the impassioned chieftain spoke of war,<br>Smote his broad breast, or pointed to a scar,--<br>Spoke of the strangers of the distant main,<br>And the proud banners of insulting Spain,--<br>Of the barbed horse and iron horseman spoke,<br>And his red gods, that, wrapped in rolling smoke,<br>Roared from the guns;--the boy, with still-drawn breath,<br>Hung on the wondrous tale, as mute as death;<br>Then raised his animated eyes, and cried, <br>Oh, let me perish by my father's side!<br>Once, when the moon, o'er Chillan's cloudless height,<br>Poured, far and wide, its softest, mildest light,<br>A predatory band of mailed men<br>Burst on the stillness of the sheltered glen:<br>They shouted, Death! and shook their sabres high,<br>That shone terrific to the moonlight sky;<br>Where'er they rode, the valley and the hill<br>Echoed the shrieks of death, till all again was still.<br>The warrior, ere he sank in slumber deep, <br>Had kissed his son, soft-breathing in his sleep,<br>Where on a Llama's skin he lay, and said,<br>Placing his hand, with tears, upon his head,<br>Aerial nymphs! that in the moonlight stray,<br>O gentle spirits! here awhile delay;<br>Bless, as ye pass unseen, my sleeping boy,<br>Till blithe he wakes to daylight and to joy.<br>If the GREAT SPIRIT will, in future days,<br>O'er the fall'n foe his hatchet he shall raise,<br>And, 'mid a grateful nation's high applause, <br>Avenge his violated country's cause!<br>Now, nearer points of spears, and many a cone<br>Of moving helmets, in the moonlight shone,<br>As, clanking through the pass, the band of blood<br>Sprang, like hyaenas, from the secret wood.<br>They rush, they seize their unresisting prey,<br>Ruthless they tear the shrieking boy away;<br>But, not till gashed by many a sabre wound,<br>The father sank, expiring, on the ground.<br>He waked from the dark trance to life and pain, <br>But never saw his darling child again.<br>Seven snows had fallen, and seven green summers passed,<br>Since here he heard that son's loved accents last.<br>Still his beloved daughter soothed his cares,<br>Whilst time began to strew with white his hairs.<br>Oft as his painted feathers he unbound,<br>Or gazed upon his hatchet on the ground,<br>Musing with deep despair, nor strove to speak,<br>Light she approached, and climbed to reach his cheek,<br>Held with both hands his forehead, then her head <br>Drew smiling back, and kissed the tear he shed.<br>But late, to grief and hopeless love a prey,<br>She left his side, and wandered far away.<br>Now in this still and shelter'd glen, that smiled<br>Beneath the crags of precipices wild,<br>Wrapt in a stern yet sorrowful repose,<br>The warrior half forgot his country's woes;<br>Forgot how many, impotent to save,<br>Shed their best blood upon a father's grave;<br>How many, torn from wife and children, pine <br>In the dark caverns of the hopeless mine,<br>Never to see again the blessed morn;--<br>Slaves in the lovely land where they were born;<br>How many at sad sunset, with a tear,<br>The distant roar of sullen cannons hear,<br>Whilst evening seems, as dies the sound, to throw<br>A deadlier stillness on a nation's woe!<br>So the dark warrior, day succeeding day,<br>Wore in distempered thought the noons away;<br>And still, when weary evening came, he sighed, <br>My son, my son! or, with emotion, cried,<br>When I descend to the cold grave alone,<br>Who shall be there to mourn for me?--Not one!<br>The crimson orb of day now westering flung<br>His beams, and o'er the vast Pacific hung;<br>When from afar a shrilling sound was heard,<br>And, hurrying o'er the dews, a scout appeared.<br>The watchful warrior knew the piercing tones,<br>The signal-call of war, from human bones,--<br>What tidings? with impatient look, he cried. <br>Tidings of war, the hurrying scout replied;<br>Then the sharp pipe with shriller summons blew,<br>And held the blood-red arrow high in view.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">CHIEF.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Where speed the foes?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">INDIAN.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Along the southern main,<br>Have passed the vultures of accursed Spain.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">CHIEF.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ruin pursue them on the distant flood,<br>And be their deadly portion--blood for blood!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">INDIAN.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">When, round and red, the moon shall next arise,<br>The chiefs attend the midnight sacrifice <br>In Encol's wood, where the great wizard dwells,<br>Who wakes the dead man by his thrilling spells;<br>Thee, Ulmen of the Mountains, they command<br>To lift the hatchet for thy native land;<br>Whilst in dread circle, round the sere-wood smoke,<br>The mighty gods of vengeance they invoke;<br>And call the spirits of their fathers slain,<br>To nerve their lifted arm, and curse devoted Spain.<br>So spoke the scout of war;--and o'er the dew,<br>Onward along the craggy valley, flew. <br>Then the stern warrior sang his song of death--<br>And blew his conch, that all the glens beneath<br>Echoed, and rushing from the hollow wood,<br>Soon at his side three hundred warriors stood.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">WARRIOR.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Children, who for his country dares to die?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Three hundred brandished spears shone to the sky:<br>We perish, or we leave our country free;<br>Father, our blood for Chili and for thee!<br>The mountain-chief essayed his club to wield,<br>And shook the dust indignant from the shield. <br>Then spoke:--</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O Thou! that with thy lingering light<br>Dost warm the world, till all is hushed in night;<br>I look upon thy parting beams, O sun!<br>And say, ev'n thus my course is almost run.<br>When thou dost hide thy head, as in the grave,<br>And sink to glorious rest beneath the wave,<br>Dost thou, majestic in repose, retire,<br>Below the deep, to unknown worlds of fire!<br>Yet though thou sinkest, awful, in the main, <br>The shadowy moon comes forth, and all the train<br>Of stars, that shine with soft and silent light,<br>Making so beautiful the brow of night.<br>Thus, when I sleep within the narrow bed,<br>The light of after-fame around shall spread;<br>The sons of distant Ocean, when they see<br>The grass-green heap beneath the mountain tree,<br>And hear the leafy boughs at evening wave,<br>Shall pause and say, There sleep in dust the brave!<br>All earthly hopes my lonely heart have fled! <br>Stern Guecubu, angel of the dead,<br>Who laughest when the brave in pangs expire;<br>Whose dwelling is beneath the central fire<br>Of yonder burning mountain; who hast passed<br>O'er my poor dwelling, and with one fell blast<br>Scattered my summer-leaves that clustered round,<br>And swept my fairest blossoms to the ground;<br>Angel of dire despair, oh! come not nigh,<br>Nor wave thy red wings o'er me where I lie;<br>But thou, O mild and gentle spirit! stand, <br>Angel of hope and peace, at my right hand,<br>(When blood-drops stagnate on my brow) and guide<br>My pathless voyage o'er the unknown tide,<br>To scenes of endless joy, to that fair isle,<br>Where bowers of bliss, and soft savannahs smile:<br>Where my forefathers oft the fight renew,<br>And Spain's black visionary steeds pursue;<br>Where, ceased the struggles of all human pain,<br>I may behold thee--thee, my son, again!<br>He spoke, and whilst at evening's glimmering close <br>The distant mist, like the gray ocean, rose,<br>With patriot sorrows swelling at his breast,<br>He sank upon a jagguar's hide to rest.<br>'Twas night: remote on Caracalla's bay,<br>Valdivia's army, hushed in slumber, lay.<br>Around the limits of the silent camp,<br>Alone was heard the steed's patroling tramp<br>From line to line, whilst the fixed sentinel<br>Proclaimed the watch of midnight--All is well!<br>Valdivia dreamed of millions yet untold, <br>Villrica's gems, and El Dorado's gold!<br>What different feelings, by the scene impressed,<br>Rose in sad tumult o'er Lautaro's breast!<br>On the broad ocean, where the moonlight slept,<br>Thoughtful he turned his waking eyes, and wept,<br>And whilst the thronging forms of memory start,<br>Thus holds communion with his lonely heart:<br>Land of my fathers, still I tread your shore,<br>And mourn the shade of hours that are no more;<br>Whilst night-airs, like remembered voices, sweep, <br>And murmur from the undulating deep.<br>Was it thy voice, my father! Thou art dead,<br>The green rush waves on thy forsaken bed.<br>Was it thy voice, my sister! Gentle maid,<br>Thou too, perhaps, in the dark cave art laid;<br>Perhaps, even now, thy spirit sees me stand<br>A homeless stranger in my native land;<br>Perhaps, even now, along the moonlight sea,<br>It bends from the blue cloud, remembering me!<br>Land of my fathers! yet, oh yet forgive, <br>That with thy deadly enemies I live:<br>The tenderest ties (it boots not to relate)<br>Have bound me to their service, and their fate;<br>Yet, whether on Peru's war-wasted plain,<br>Or visiting these sacred shores again,<br>Whate'er the struggles of this heart may be,<br>Land of my fathers, it shall beat for thee!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=William+Lisle+Bowles">William Lisle Bowles</a><div class=q>
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<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=538650" data-title="The Missionary - Canto First de William Lisle Bowles" data-description="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 trailed its smoke and..."></div>
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