“And art thou he! the mournful pair exclaim, 255
“How dear to mis’ry’s soul, Las Casas’ name! 
“Spirit benign, who every grief can share,
“Whose pity stoops to make the wretch its care;
“Weep not for us—­in vain thy tear shall flow
“For hopeless anguish, and distracting woe”—­ 260
“They ceas’d; in accents mild, the saint returns,
“Yet let me sooth the pains my bosom mourns: 
“Come, gentle suff’rers, follow to yon fane,
“Where rests Alphonso, with his victor train;
“My voice shall urge his soul to gen’rous deeds, 265
“And bid him hear, when truth, and nature pleads.” 
While in soft tones, Las Casas thus exprest
His pious purpose, o’er Aciloe’s breast
A dawning ray of cheering comfort streams,
But faint the hope that on her spirit beams; 270
Faint, as when ebbing life must soon depart,
The pulse that trembles, while it warms the heart.

Before Alphonso now the lovers stand;
The aged suff’rer join’d the mournful band;
While with the look that guardian seraphs wear, 275
When sent to calm the throbs of mortal care,
The story of their woes Las Casas told,
Then cry’d, “the wretched Zamor here behold—­
“Hop’st thou, fond man, a passion to controul
“Fix’d in the breast, and woven in the soul? 280
“But know, mistaken youth, thy power in vain
“Would bind thy victim in the nuptial chain: 
“That faithful heart will rend the galling tie,
“That heart will break, that tender form will die—­
“Then by each sacred name to nature dear, 285
“By her strong shriek, her agonizing tear;
“By every horror bleeding passion knows,
“By the wild glance that speaks her frantic woes;
“By all the wasting pangs that rend her breast,
“By the deep groan that gives her spirit rest! 290
“Let mercy’s pleading voice thy bosom move,
“And fear to burst the bonds of plighted love”—­
He paus’d—­now Zamor’s moan Alphonso hears,
Now sees the cheek of age bedew’d with tears: 
Palid, and motionless, Aciloe stands, 295
Fix’d was her mournful eye, and clasp’d her hands;
Her heart was chill’d—­her trembling heart, for there
Hope slowly sinks in cold, and dark despair. 
Alphonso’s soul was mov’d—­“No more, he cried,
“My hapless flame shall hearts like yours divide. 300
“Live, tender spirit, soft Aciloe, live,
“And all the wrongs of mad’ning rage forgive. 
“Go from this desolated region far,
“These plains, where av’rice spreads the waste of war;
“Go, where pure pleasures gild the peaceful scene, 305
“Go where mild virtue sheds her ray serene.”