“Oh suff’ring Lord! he cried, whose streaming blood
“Was pour’d for man—­Earth drank the sacred flood—­
“Whose mercy in the mortal pang forgave 105
“The murd’rous band, thy love alone could save;
“Forgive—­thy goodness bursts each narrow bound,
“Which feeble thought, and human hope surround;
“Forgive the guilty wretch, whose impious hand
“From thy pure altar flings the flaming brand, 110
“In human blood that hallow’d altar steeps,
“Libation dire! while groaning nature weeps—­
“The limits of thy mercy dares to scan,
“The object of thy love, his victim,—­Man;
“While yet I linger, lo, the suff’rer dies—­ 115
“I see his frame convuls’d—­I hear his sighs—­
“Whoe’er controuls the purpose of my heart
“First in this breast shall plunge his guilty dart:” 
With anxious step he flew, with eager hands
He broke the fetters, burst the cruel bands. 120
As the fall’n angel heard with awful fear
The cherub’s grave rebuke, in grace severe,
And fled, while horror plum’d his impious crest[B],
The form of virtue, as she stood confest;
So fierce Valverda sullen mov’d along, 125
Abash’d, and follow’d by the guilty throng. 
At length the hoary victim, freed from chains,
Las Casas gently leads to safer plains;
Soft Zilia’s yielding soul the joy opprest,
She bath’d with floods of tears her father’s breast. 130
Las Casas now explores a secret cave
Whose shaggy sides the languid billows lave;
“There rest secure, he cried, the Christian God
“Will hover near, will guard the lone abode.” 
Oft to the gloomy cell his steps repair, 135
While night’s chill breezes wave his silver’d hair;
Oft in the tones of love, the words of peace,
He bids the bitter tears of anguish cease;
Bids drooping hope uplift her languid eyes,
And points a dearer bliss beyond the skies. 140
Yet ah, in vain his pious cares would save
The hoary suff’rer from the op’ning grave;
For deep the pangs of torture pierc’d his frame,
And sunk his wasted life’s expiring flame;
To his cold lip Las Casa’s hand he prest, 145
He faintly clasp’d his Zilia to his breast;
Then cried, “the God, whom now my vows adore,
“My heart thro’ life obey’d, unknowing more;
“His mild forgiveness then my soul shall prove,
“His mercy share—­Las Casa’s God, is Love!” 150
He spoke no more—­his Zilia’s frantic moan
Was heard responsive to his dying groan. 
“Victim of impious zeal, Las Casas cries,
“Accept departed shade, a Christian’s sighs;
“And thou, soft mourner, tender, drooping form, 155
“What power shall guard thee from the fearful storm? 
“Weep not for me, she cried, for Zilia’s