Whilst he with silent gratitude replies,
And bends to her caress his large blue eyes.
These children danc'd together in the shade,
Or stretch'd their hands to see the rainbow fade;
THE HOME OF THE OLD INDIAN.
Or sat and mock'd, with imitative glee,
The paroquet, that laugh'd from tree to tree;
Or through the forest's wildest solitude,
From glen to glen the marmozet pursued;
And thought the light of parting day too short,
That call'd them, ling'ring, from their daily sport.
In that fair season of awak'ning life,
When dawning youth and childhood are at strife;
When on the verge of thought gay boyhood stands
Tip-toe, with glist'ning 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;
A brede of sea-shells on his bosom strung,
A small stone hatchet o'er his shoulders slung,
With slender lance, and feathers blue and red,
That like the heron's crest wav'd on his head,—
Buoyant with hope, and airiness, and joy,
LAUTARO was the loveliest Indian boy :
Taught by his sire, ev'n now he drew the bow,
Or track'd the jaguar on the morning snow;
Startled the condor on the craggy height;
Then silent sat, and mark'd its upward flight,
Lessening in ether to a speck of white.
But when th' impassion'd 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 barb'd horse and iron horseman spoke,
And his red gods, that, wrapp'd in rolling smoke,
Roar'd from the guns,-the Boy, with still-drawn breath, Hung on the wondrous tale, as mute as death;
Then rais'd his animated eyes, and cried,
"O! LET ME PERISH BY MY FATHER'S SIDE!"
As slow I climb the cliff's ascending side,
Much musing on the track of terror past,
When o'er the dark wave rode the howling blast
Pleas'd I look back, and view the tranquil tide
That laves the pebbled shore: and now the beam
Of evening smiles on the grey battlement
Of yon forsaken tower that TIME has rent;
The lifted oar far off with transient gleam
Is touch'd, and hush'd is all the billowy deep,
O'er-spent ; oh! when on wakeful Memory's breast Shall stillness steal like this, and kindred rest? Then some sweet harmonies might soothe her sleep, Harmonies, on the wandering minstrel's lyre,
Like airs of parting day, that, as they breathe, expire.
THE Indian, sad and still,
Pac'd on from wood to vale, from vale to hill;
Her infant, tir'd, and hush'd awhile to rest,
Smil'd, in a dream, upon its mother's breast;
The pensive mother grey Anselmo led:
Behind, Lautaro bore his Father dead.
Beneath the branching palms they slept at night;
The small birds wak'd them ere the morning light.
Before their path, in distant view, appear'd
The mountain-smoke, that its dark column rear'd
O'er ANDES' summits, in the pale blue sky,
Lifting their icy pinnacles so high.
Four days they onward led their castern way :
On the fifth rising morn before them lay
CHILLAN's lone glen, amid whose windings green
The Warrior's lov'd and last abode was seen.
No smoke went up,-stillness was all around,
Save where the waters fell with soothing sound,
Save where the Thenca sung so loud and clear,
And the bright humming-bird was spinning near.
Yet here all human tumults seem'd to cease,
And sunshine rested on the spot of peace;
The myrtles bloom'd as fragrant and as green
As if Lautaro scarce had left the scene,-
And in his ear the falling water's spray
Seem'd swelling with the sounds of yesterday.—
"Where yonder rock the aged cedars shade, There shall my father's bones in peace be laid."
Beneath the cedars' shade they dug the ground; The small and sad communion gather'd round. Beside the grave stood aged Izdabel,
And broke the spear, and cried, "Farewell !-farewell!"
Lautaro hid his face, and sigh'd "Adieu!”
As the stone hatchet in the grave he threw.
The little child, that to its mother clung,
With sidelong looks, that on her garment hung,
Listen'd, half-shrinking, as with awe profound,
And dropt its flow'rs, unconscious, on the ground.
The Alpaca, grown old, and almost wild,
Which poor Olola cherish'd, when a child,
Came from the mountains, and, with earnest gaze,
Seem'd as rememb'ring those departed days,
When his tall neck he bent, with aspect bland,
And lick'd, in silence, the caressing hand!
And now Anselmo, his pale brow inclin'd,
The Warrior's relics, dust to dust, consign'd
With Christian rites, and sung, on bending knce,
"ETERNAM PACEM DONA, DOMINE."
Then, rising up, he clos'd the holy book,
And lifting in the beam his lighted look,
(The cross, with meekness, folded on his breast,)"Here, too," he cried, "my bones in peace shall rest!
Few years remain to me, and never more
Shall I behold, O Spain, thy distant shore!
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