Ollanahta, all day by thy war-pole I sat, The scalps that we number'd in triumph were there, What a leap has it given to my heart To see thee suspend it in peace. When the black and blood-banner was spread to the gale, When thrice the deep voice of the war-drum was heard, I remember thy terrible eyes How they flash'd the dark glance of thy joy. I remember the hope that shone over thy cheek Like the ominous gleam of the cloud He went, and ye came not to warn him in dreams, Alas! when thy brethren in conquest return'd; The war-hymn they pour'd, and thy voice was not there! Ollanahta, all day by thy war-pole I sit, - SONG OF THE ARAUCANS DURING A THUNDER STORM. "Respecting storms, the people of Chili are of opinion that the departed souls are returning from their abode beyond the sea to assist their relations and friends. Accordingly, when it thunders over the mountains, they think that the souls of their forefathers are taken in an engagement with those of the Spaniards. The roaring of the winds they take to be the noise of horsemen attacking one another, the howling of the tempest for the beating of drums, and the claps of thunder for the discharge of muskets and cannons. When the wind drives the clouds towards the possessions of the Spaniards, they rejoice that the souls of their forefathers have repulsed those of their enemies, and call out aloud to them to give them no quarter. When the contrary happens, they are troubled and dejected, and encourage the yielding souls to rally their forces, and summon up the last remains of their strength."-Meiner. THE storm cloud grows deeper above, The souls of the strangers are there, In their garments of darkness they ride through the heaven, The cloud that so lurid rolls over the hill, Is red with their weapons of fire. Hark! hark! in the howl of the wind The shout of the battle-the clang of their drums- Behold from the clouds of their power The lightning-the lightning is lanced at our sires, And the thunder that shakes the broad pavement of heaven, And the darkness that shadows the day! Ye souls of our fathers be brave! Ye shrunk not before the invaders on earth, We gaze on your warfare in hope, We send up our shouts to encourage your arms! For the wrongs of your country strike home! Remember the land was your own When the sons of destruction came over the seas, And their children wept over their graves. Till the strangers came into the land It thickens-the tumult of fight, Loud and louder the blast of the battle is heard- Joy! joy! for the strangers recoil- The souls of your wives shall rejoice As they welcome you back to your islands of bliss, And the breeze that refreshes the toil-throbbing brow Waft thither the song of your praise. CHIMALPOCA. A MONODRAMA-FOUNDED ON AN EVENT IN THE MEXICAN HISTORY. Scene, the Temple of Mexitli. SUBJECTS! friends! children! I may call you children For I have ever borne a father's love Towards you; it is thirteen years since first You saw me in the robes of royalty, Since here the multitudes of Mexico Hail'd me their king. I thank you friends that now In equal numbers and with equal love You come to grace my death. For thirteen years Let him come forth, that so no evil tongue The wrath is heavy on me! Heavy! a burthen more than I can bear! Not of the god Unworthy, do I seek his altar thus, Cease your lament! And if your ill-doomed king deserved your love, Say of him to your children, "he was one Diffused, will I o'erspread your summer fields, Spirits of my valiant sires, I come! Mexitli, never at thy shrine Steam'd up its life to thee! priests of the god, LINES WRITTEN IN THE 16TH CENTURY. For aye be hynce ye vayne delyghts Then welcome armes yatte folded lye * The Mexican god of hell. |