That region proved to them; nor would the soil If the Mocobio or the Abipon drew near.
Unto their unindustrious hands unfold
Harvests, the fruit of peace, and wine and oil,
The treasures that repay contented toil
With health and weal; treasures that with them
bring
No guilt for priest and penance to assoil,
Nor with their venom arm the awaken'd sting Of conscience at that hour when life is vanishing.
But, keen of eye in their pursuit of gain,
The conquerors look'd for lucre in this tree:
An annual harvest there might they attain,
Without the cost of annual industry.
'Twas but to gather in what there grew free,
And share Potosi's wealth. Nor thence alone,
But gold in glad exchange they soon should see
From all that once the Incas called their own,
Or where the Zippa's power or Zaque's laws were
known.
For this, in fact though not in name a slave,
The Indian from his family was torn;
And droves on droves were sent to find a grave
In woods and swamps, by toil severe outworn,
No friend at hand to succor or to mourn,
In death unpitied, as in life unbless'd.
O miserable race, to slavery born!
Yet when we look beyond this world's unrest, More miserable then the oppressors than the oppress'd.
Often had Kings essay'd to check the ill
By edicts not so well enforced as meant;
A present power was wanting to fulfil
Remote authority's sincere intent.
To Avarice, on its present purpose bent,
The voice of distant Justice spake in vain;
False magistrates and priests their influence lent
The accursed thing for lucre to maintain :
O fatal thirst of gold! O foul reproach for Spain !
Bear witness, Chaco, thou, from thy domain
With Spanish blood, as erst with Indian, fed!
And Corrientes, by whose church the slain
Were piled in heaps, till for the gather'd dead
One common grave was dug, one service said!
Thou too, Parana, thy sad witness bear
From shores with many a mournful vestige
spread,
And monumental crosses here and there,
And monumental names that tell where dwellings
Nor would with all their power the Kings of
Austrian or Bourbon, have at last avail'd
This torrent of destruction to restrain,
And save a people every where assail'd
By men before whose face their courage quail'd,
But for the virtuous agency of those
Who with the Cross alone, when arms had fail'd,
Achieved a peaceful triumph o'er the foes,
And gave that weary land the blessings of repose.
For whensoe'er the Spaniards felt or fear'd
An Indian enemy, they call'd for aid
Upon Loyola's sons, now long endear'd
To many a happy tribe, by them convey'd
From the open wilderness or woodland shade,
In towns of happiest polity to dwell.
Freely these faithful ministers essay'd
The arduous enterprise, contented well
If with success they sped, or if as martyrs fell.
And now it chanced some traders, who had fell'd
The trees of precious foliage far and wide
On Empalado's shore, when they beheld
The inviting woodlands on its northern side,
Cross'd thither in their quest, and there espied
Yeruti's footsteps: searching then the shade,
At length a lonely dwelling they descried,
And at the thought of hostile hordes dismay'd,
To the nearest mission sped, and ask'd the Jesuit's
aid.
That was a call which ne'er was made in vain
Upon Loyola's sons. In Paraguay
Much of injustice had they to complain,
Much of neglect; but faithful laborers they
In the Lord's vineyard, there was no delay
When summon'd to his work. A little band
Of converts made them ready for the way;
Their spiritual father took a Cross in hand
To be his staff, and forth they went to search the
land.
He was a man of rarest qualities,
Who to this barbarous region had confined
A spirit with the learned and the wise
Worthy to take its place, and from mankind
Receive their homage, to the immortal mind
Paid in its just inheritance of fame.
But he to humbler thoughts his heart inclined;
From Gratz, amid the Styrian hills, he came,
And Dobrizhofferwas the good man's honor'd name.
It was his evil fortune to behold
The labors of his painful life destroy'd;
Little he deem'd when with his Indian band
He through the wilds set forth upon his way,
A Poet then unborn, and in a land
Which had proscribed his order, should one day
Take up from thence his moralizing lay,
And shape a song that, with no fiction dress'd,
Should to his worth its grateful tribute pay,
And sinking deep in many an English breast,
Foster that faith divine that keeps the heart at rest.
21.
Behold him on his way! the breviary
Which from his girdle hangs, his only shield;
That well-known habit is his panoply,
That Cross, the only weapon he will wield:
By day, he bears it for his staff afield,
By night, it is the pillow of his bed:
No other lodging these wild woods can yield
Than earth's hard lap, and rustling overhead
A canopy of deep and tangled boughs far spread.
Yet may they not without some cautious care
Take up their inn content upon the ground.
First it behoves to clear a circle there,
And trample down the grass and plantage round,
Where many a deadly reptile might be found,
Whom with its bright and comfortable heat
The flame would else allure: such plagues abound
In these thick woods, and therefore must they
beat
[feet.
His flock, which he had brought within the fold, The earth, and trample well the herbs beneath their
Dispersed; the work of ages render'd void,
And all of good that Paraguay enjoy'd
By blind and suicidal Power o'erthrown.
So he the years of his old age employ'd,
A faithful chronicler in handing down
Names which he loved, and things well worthy to
And thus, when exiled from the dear-loved scene,
In proud Vienna he beguiled the pain
And now they heap dry reeds and broken wood:
The spark is struck, the crackling fagots blaze,
And cheer that unaccustom'd solitude.
Soon have they made their frugal meal of maize;
In grateful adoration then they raise
The evening hymn. How solemn in the wild
That sweet accordant strain wherewith they
praise
The Queen of Angels, merciful and mild!
Of sad remembrance; and the Empress Queen, Hail, holiest Mary! Maid, and Mother undefiled.
That great Teresa, she did not disdain
In gracious mood sometimes to entertain
Discourse with him both pleasurable and sage;
And sure a willing ear she well might deign
To one whose tales may equally engage
The wondering mind of youth, the thoughtful
heart of age.
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