But after many a proof of matchless might,
They fell successive in th' unfinish'd fight;
Mangled with wounds, the noble youths resign'd
Their souls, but vengeance was not left behind,
For e'er they fell themselves, their deadly blades
Sent their destroyers to the stygian shades.
But now the dreadful trump of Spain afar
Pour'd on the startled ear the blast of war;
With vizors clos'd, and every lance in rest,
The hardy Spaniards to the combat prest.
In four light squadrons form'd, the gallant van
Spurring in full career, the fight began;
Backward recoil'd the battle of the foe,
And soon barbarian blood was seen to flow.
Lopp'd arms, and mangled limbs, their triumphs told,
And heads and headless trunks at random roll'd:
Nor stood the foe aghast, but soon return'd
In force, and o'er the field the battle burn'd.
Now van to van they meet with mortal blows,
And Death alternate feasts on friends and foes;
Yet each disdains a thought of dastard flight,
And on his single arm relies in fight:
The meadows, late in chearful green array'd,
To the sad eyes a sanguine tint display'd;
Still the dire clang of arms incessant rung,
And Death above his sable ensign hung;
Viewing with horrid glee the shatter'd brain,
Or the warm bowels gushing on the plain;
Or gory head, that, as it roll'd along,
Seem'd with convulsive glare to view the throng,
Rolling in blood its ghastly eyes around,
While the fallen body spurn'd the sanguine ground. The blood-stain'd sabres, glancing to and fro, Gleam'd like red lightning o'er the field below;
And oft as vigour fail'd, by steadfast haste
Inspir'd, they still prolong'd the stern debate.
None shunn'd, nor wish'd to shun his deadly doon,
Nor sought repose but in the yawning tomb;
Even cowards felt their fear to frenzy chang'd,
And only wish'd to die, but die reveng❜d.
But fierce desire of blood, and scorn of pain,
With tenfold rage enflam'd the sons of Spain;
Onward they rush'd, impetuous in their course,
And scarce created might could stand their force.
Slowly the Araucanians first retreat,
But soon in squadrons turn, and trust their feet.
Triumph to Spain," the conquering legions cry; "Triumph to Spain," the neighb'ring vales reply; * But dire mischance, or Fate's resistles sway, Gave a dread sequel to this signal day.
An Indian Chieftain's son, in arms renown'd, To great Valdivia by allegiance bound, For many an instance of paternal care, Follow'd his patron to the field of war; But when he saw his friends resign the field, Commotion strange his looks and words reveal'd; And as they fled, pursu'd by wild alarms, He thus recall'd their broken bands to arms; "O blind to glory, whither would ye run, "Where do you think impending fate to shun? "And is it thus your antient fame expires, "The Sage's honour, and the Patriot's fires ? "Are all your laws and rights for ever lost, "Your father's freedom, and your country's boast? "Once ye were independent, fear'd, and bold, "Now, for degrading bonds your claims are sold.
❤ These two lines are taken partly from Mr. Hayley's trauslation.
"The vigour of your antient stem decays, "Each drooping bough a latent plague betrays; "That, deep within, its vernal sap consumes, "And withering blights invade its tarnish'd blooms. "Do you not see yon squadrons spent with toil;
They scarce can drag their limbs along the soil; "While their tir'd coursers draw their breath in pain, "And bathe with sweat and blood the dusty plain. "O let not yonder sun behold your name "Sunk in the dungeon of eternal shame; "Fly from the yoke that hovers o'er your heads, "Rally, and charge, where lasting glory leads: "Nor thus be seen to shun a feeble foe, "And turn your shoulders to the mortal blow; "Let memory fix this truth in every mind, "That dastard fears the light of reason blind; "Then to the world a legacy bequeath "Of Freedom, purchas'd in the field of Death. "Yet listen to my warning voice! Return, "Nor thus your glorious hopes ignobly spurn. "O turn upon your foes! renew the fight, "Or check, at least, your ignominious flight. "But, if my words are vain, observe my deed, "And learn of me in Freedom's cause to bleed." Exclaiming thus, among the crowd he prest, And aim'd his javelin at Valdivia's breast; Profuse of life, to fire his kindred band By the atchievements of a single hand, Rounding among the levell'd spears he flew, While death around his steely circle drew; As when, in summer's glow, a panting deer Seeks the cool solace of the waters clear, And sports amid the waves in wanton play, So sped the warrior thro' the thick array.
One he o'erturns: another warrior's side
Feels thro' his ribs the deadly weapon gride,
Tho' long and large; then lancing thro' the throng,
He turns and winds at will, or darts along;
Now springing to the blow, a soldier's thigh
He pierc'd, as on his steed he past him by;
The shock, as o'er the field his courser flew,
With headlong fury snapt the beam in two;
In his strong hand remain'd the shatter'd wood,
Fixt in the lawn the pointed truncheon stood.
Flinging the fragments of his spear away,
An huge two-handed mace, with furious sway,
Caught from the field, around the warrior swung,
And fell'd the bravest of the fighting throng.
Before the tempest of his arm afar
At distance due retir'd the baffled war;
But rallying soon the martial tide returns,
And round his dauntless head the battle burns.
No more they pour upon the flying crew,
But 'gainst a single youth the fight renew.
With active bound he shuns the levell'd lance,
Keen falchions round his helm innocuous glance,
Thro' tilting spears, and many a random blow,
He vaults, or springs aloof, or lurks below;
And like a Demon, in the shades of night,
Eludes the touch, tho' visible to sight.
What far-fam'd ages ever yet supplied
A name like his, who left the victor's side,
And with the vanquish'd host, at Honour's call,
Resolv'd to wake their hopes, or share their fall?
What eye had ever seen beneath the sun,
Since he began his daily race to run,
A young barbarian's solitary hand,
Extort a trophy from the victor band?
Tho' Rome, exulting, give the Decian name
With their sad offering to eternal fame;
Tho' Curtius past the gloomy gulf below,
And Mutius' burning hand amaz'd the foe,
Tho' Cocles long maintain'd the bloody post,
And with his single arm repell'd an host,
Tho' in the pass Leonidas was seen
Tinging with Median gore the fatal green,
Since first the world was shook by war's alarms,
His equal ne'er was known in deeds of arms.
Let Furius, with Marcellus, join his claim,
Fulvius and Quintus with the Sergian name,
And noble Sceva with Dentatus vye,
The young barbarian's fame shall mount a loftier sky.
What glory have they won, ye sages tell,
When match'd with his, altho' they fought and fell ?
Did e'er their trumpet wake the deadly fray,
But selfish hope illum'd the doubtful day?
'Twas pride, ambition, thirst of boundless rule,
That led them thro' Bellona's bloody school;
E'en sacred lust of gold has oft inspir'd
Prone souls, by sense of glory never fir'd.
False Honour's claims her duteous slaves incite
To try their valour in the dubious fight:
But when their fortune turns, their hopes decay,
Their idol like a phantom fleets away,
And all at once their energy of mind
Evaporates, nor leaves a wreck behind.
The heady current of a nation's fate
He stemm'd alone, and sav'd a sinking state;
And with bold hand unravell'd all her doom,
To weave the tissue in a nobler loom.
His word the stern behest of Clotho shook,
And fate relented at his steadfast look,
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