“Iola!” said Gonzalo, “far
Where shines yon lovely evening star,
Sings many a gay and loving maid,
Beneath the cooling olive shade. 
Their brows are whiter, too, than thine,
But yet none to me are so divine,
As thine, fair maid of dark Peru,
With heart like its Volcanoes too. 
E’er since I landed on those shores,
Of endless spring, and brightest ores,
I have not thought of ought but thee,
Ne’er can my bosom now be free. 
List! sweet Iola! am I vain? 
I deem thou lovest we well again;
For, when I sought thy downcast eyes,
They met mine with a glad surprise;
And when I spake to thee full low,
Thy voice was like a fountain’s flow,
So softly sweet, so lulling, too,
It bathed my soul in rapture’s dew. 
Iola! sure I love thee well,
And if thou wilt thy father tell,
I deem he will not eye me ill,
Whose love is with his daughter still.” 
  Iola raised her glance to heaven,
Then to Gonzalo, darting, even
Her soul, into his own, and said;
“This soil with blood was never red;
And, sure, my father would not slay,
Those men for whom his child will pray. 
But why thinkest thou of blood? the thought,
With wretched fear is ever fraught. 
Think, think of love, and gentle peace,
Gonzalo! let these bodings cease. 
Think, think of love—­here on my heart,
Repose, and even Death’s stern dart,
By Love conjured, will turn away,
Some unloved thing of earth to slay.” 
“Angel of good!” Gonzalo cried,
“A thousand joys are at thy side,
Thou comest to light my dangerous way,
With calm, and pure, and heavenly ray. 
I feel thou art a spirit sent,
From heaven’s snow-white battlement,
To lead me through these stranger wilds,
With voice and actions like a child’s,
So guiltless in thy love—­so dear,
I bless thy goodness with a tear. 
Oh! like thy climate’s deathless spring,
Succeeding days and years shall bring,
Living affection to my heart,
Till we no more on earth can part.” 
“Then, dear Gonzalo! let us meet,
As oft as evening airs are sweet,
In yonder bower—­my own—­my dove,
And I will be thy gentle love. 
That bower my Inca-father reared,
For good such thing to him appeared,
Where his Iola might be lone,
To dream of fancies all her own. 
Yes! oft as evening shades came down,
On giant Andes’ glittering crown
Of endless snow, that shines afar
Next to the radiant zenith star;
Then throw their dark and sombre lines,
Upon the mountain’s lower pines: 
Come, then, to me, and we will speak,
Sweet thrilling words, and on my cheek,
Thy lip shall feed till we expire,
In glowing love’s consuming fire.” 
“Yes, I will come, maid of Peru! 
Though Fate, yon soaring Andes threw,
Between my wish and thee my love,
That lofty barrier I’d remove;
And press to thee with Condor’s flight,
To thee, to love, to life’s delight.