Now the stern partner of Pizarro’s toils,
Almagro, lur’d by hope of golden spoils,
To distant Chili’s ever-verdant meads,
Thro’ paths untrod, a band of warriors leads;
O’er the high Andes’ frozen steeps they go, 5
And wander mid’ eternal hills of snow: 
In vain the vivifying orb of day
Darts on th’ impervious ice his fervent ray;
Cold, keen as chains the oceans of the Pole,
Numbs the shrunk frame, and chills the vig’rous soul—­ 10
At length they reach luxuriant Chili’s plain,
Where ends the dreary bound of winter’s reign;
Where spring sheds odours thro’ th’ unvaried year,
And bathes the flower of summer, with her tear.

When first the brave Chilese, with eager glance, 15
Behold the hostile sons of Spain advance;
Heard the loud thunder of the cannon crash,
And view’d the light’ning of the instant flash,
The threat’ning sabre red with purple streams,
The lance that quiver’d in the solar beams; 20
With pale surprise they saw the lowring storm,
Where hung dark danger, in an unknown form: 
But soon their spirits, stung with gen’rous shame,
Renounce each terror, and for vengeance flame;
Pant high with sacred freedom’s ardent glow, 25
And met intrepid, the superiour foe. 
Long unsubdu’d by stern Almagro’s train,
Their valiant tribes unequal fight maintain;
Long victory hover’d doubtful o’er the field,
And oft she forc’d Iberia’s band to yield; 30
Oft tore from Spain’s proud head her laurel bough,
And bade it blossom on Peruvia’s brow;
When sudden tidings reach’d Almagro’s ear
That shook the warrior’s soul with doubt and fear.

Of murder’d Ataliba’s royal race 35
There yet remain’d a youth of blooming grace,
Who pin’d, the captive of relentless Spain,
And long in Cusco dragg’d her galling chain;
Capac his name, whose soul indignant bears
The rankling fetters, and revenge prepares. 40
But since his daring spirit must forego
The hope to rush upon the tyrant foe,
Led by his parent orb, that gives the day,
And fierce as darts the keen, meridian ray,
He vows to bend unseen his hostile course, 45
Then on the victors rise with latent force,
As sudden from its cloud the brooding storm,
Bursts in the thunder’s voice, the lightning’s form—­
For this, from stern Pizarro he obtains
The boon, enlarg’d, to seek the neighb’ring plains, 50
For one bless’d day, and with his friends unite
To crown with solemn pomp an ancient rite;
Share the dear pleasures of the social hour,
And mid’ their fetters twine one festal flower. 
So spoke the Prince—­far other thoughts possest, 55