At length she trembling cried, “the conflict’s o’er,
“My heart, my breaking heart can bear no more—­
“Yet spare his feeble age—­my vows receive,
“And oh, in mercy, bid my father live!”—­ 150
“Wilt them be mine?” the enamour’d chief replies,
“Yes, cruel! see, he dies, my father dies—­
“Save, save, my father”—­“Dear, angelic maid,
“The charm’d Alphonso cried, be swift obey’d: 
“Unbind his chains—­Ah, calm each anxious Pain, 155
“Aciloe’s voice no more shall plead in vain;
“Plac’d near his child, thy aged sire shall share
“Our joys still cherish’d by thy tender care”—­
“No more (she cried) will fate that bliss allow,
“Before my lips shall breathe the nuptial vow, 160
“Some faithful guide shall lead his aged feet,
“To distant scenes that yield a safe retreat;
“Where some soft heart, some gentle hand, will shed
“The drops of comfort on his hoary head: 
“My Zamor, if thy spirit trembles near, 165
“Forgive!”—­she ceas’d, and pour’d her hopeless tear.

Now night descends, and steeps each weary breast,
Save sad Aciloe’s, in the balm of rest. 
Her aged father’s beauteous dwelling stood
Near the cool shelter of a waving wood:  170
But now the gales that bend its foliage die,
Soft on the silver turf its shadows lie;
While, slowly wand’ring o’er the scene below,
The gazing moon look’d pale as silent woe. 
The sacred shade, amid whose fragrant bowers 175
Zamor oft sooth’d with song the evening hours,
Pour’d to the lunar orb, his magic lay,
More mild, more pensive than her musing ray,
That shade with trembling step, the mourner sought,
And thus she breath’d her tender, plaintive thought. 180
“Ah where, dear object of these piercing pains,
“Where rests thy murder’d form, thy lov’d remains? 
“On what sad spot, my Zamor, flow’d the wound
“That purpled with thy streaming blood the ground? 
“Oh had Aciloe in that hour been nigh, 185
“Had’st thou but fix’d on me thy closing eye;
“Told with faint voice, ’twas death’s worst pang to part,
“And dropp’d thy last, cold tear upon my heart! 
“A pang less bitter then would waste this breast,
“That in the grave alone shall seek its rest. 190
“Soon as some friendly hand, in mercy leads
“My aged father, safe to Chili’s meads;
“Death shall for ever, seal the nuptial tie,
“The heart belov’d by thee is fix’d to die.” 
She ceas’d, when dimly thro’ a flood of tears 195
She sees her Zamor’s form, his voice she hears.—­
“’Tis he, she cried, he moves upon the gale,
“My Zamor’s sigh is deep—­his look is pale—­
“I faint”—­his arms receive her sinking frame,
He calls his love by every tender name,