bower. 
Fortune, light nymph! still bless the sordid heart,
Still to thy venal slave thy gifts impart;
Bright in his view may all thy meteors shine,
And lost Peruvia open every mine; 80
For him the robe of eastern pomp display,
The gems that ripen in the torrid ray;
Collected may their guilty lustre stream
Full on the eye that courts the partial beam: 
But Love, oh Love! should haply this late hour, 85
One softer mind avow thy genuine power;
Breathe at thy altar nature’s simple strain,
And strew the heart’s pure incense on thy fane;
Give to that bosom scorning fortune’s toys,
Thy sweet enchantments, and thy virtuous joys; 90
Bid pleasure bloom thro’ many a circling year,
Which love shall wing, and constancy endear;
Far from this happy clime avert the woes,
The heart from alienated fondness knows;
And from that agony the spirit save, 95
When unrelenting yawns the op’ning grave;
When death dissolves the ties for ever dear;
When frantic passion pours her parting tear;
With all the cherish’d pains affection feels,
Hangs on the quiv’ring lip, that silence seals; 100
Views fondness struggling in the closing eye,
And marks it mingling in the falt’ring sigh;
As the lov’d form, while folded to her breast,
On earth’s cold bosom seeks more lasting rest! 
Leave her fond soul in hopeless griefs to mourn, 105
Clasp the pale corse, and bathe th’ unconscious urn;—­
Mild, to the wounds that pierce her bleeding heart,
Nature’s expiring pang, and death’s keen dart.

Pure was the lustre of the orient ray,
That joyful wak’d Alzira’s nuptial day:  110
Her auburn hair, spread loosely to the wind,
The virgin train, with rosy chaplets bind;
The scented flowers that form her bridal wreathe,
A deeper hue, a richer fragrance breathe. 
The gentle tribe now sought the hallow’d fane, 115
Where warbling vestals pour’d the choral strain: 
There aged Zorai, his Alzira prest
With love parental, to his anxious breast: 
Priest of the sun, within the sacred shrine
His fervent spirit breath’d the strain divine; 120
With glowing hand, the guiltless off’ring spread,
With pious zeal the pure libation shed;
Nor vain the incense of erroneous praise
When meek devotion’s soul the tribute pays;
On wings of purity behold it rise, 125
While bending mercy wafts it to the skies!

Peruvia! oh delightful land; in vain
The virtues flourish’d on thy beauteous plain;
In vain sweet pleasure there was seen to move,
And wore the smile of peace, the bloom of love; 130
For soon shall burst the unrelenting storm,
Rend her soft robe, and crush her tender form: 
Peruvia! soon the fatal hour shall rise,
The hour despair shall waste in tears and sighs;
Fame shall record the horrors of thy fate, 135
And distant ages weep for ills so great.