Far to the wilds of rich Peru,
Gonzalo came—­of pallid hue,
Strange in these Western lands of night,
Where nought, save woman’s eyes, are bright. 
But these have all that outward beam,
Reflected from their glances’ gleam
Of light and fire, that kindle bliss;
Or sink to gloom in Death’s abyss. 
Gonzalo came, a son of Spain,
That land which gleams beyond the main,
And sent its children to these lands,
To gather gold with reckless hands. 
And, he, Gonzalo, stood a tower,
In sturdy grace, and manly power;
No Indian’s weapon was to him,
More than a sea-reed, slight and slim;
And yet to brown Iola’s eye,
He seemed the lord of lady’s sigh. 
Gonzalo seen, her thought, her dream,
With fancy’s love-fraught visions teem. 
She deemed that orb of glorious fire,
To which her country’s souls aspire,
That crimson god whose glowing face
Illumines all the mortal race: 
She deemed his glory, only, vied
With brave Gonzalo’s matchless pride. 
And down along the green, fresh earth,
Where sin not yet had known its birth;
She knelt, and cast her hands and eyes,
To the bright God of those bright skies;
And worshipped him whose blessed beams,
Had given Gonzalo to her dreams. 
Iola, princess of Peru,
Most fair (though of a dusky hue,)
Like this new, unpolluted clime,
Unknown to hate, unknown to crime,
Where all that dwell know but to love,
(The gentleness which marks the dove.)
And like that rich, unguarded shore,
She knew to be, and seem no more;
And like that land so rich in bloom,
Its branches wrought at noon a gloom;
Her form was bright with beauty’s hues,
Which each propitious year renews;
And, as within its bosom lay,
Treasures which mocked the sun’s bright ray;
In her rich soul shone wealth to shame,
That tropic sun’s meridian flame. 
She stood a lovely being fraught,
With that most dear to human thought,
The power to love, to force the bliss
Of heaven, to such a world as this. 
  Iola, dearest maiden, threw
A wondrous charm o’er all who knew
Her loveliness; her menial train
Adored her even to anxious pain. 
And to her father’s rapturous eyes,
She shone a rainbow—­whose bright dyes
Illumed his aged spirit’s night;
A thing of loveliness and light. 
And in and out the Inca’s hall
She went, returned to his known call. 
She seemed a sunbeam sent from heaven,
To make his troubled spirit even;
For, if his soul, oppressed with grief,
In aught of earthly, sought relief;
Iola’s image quickly seen,
His soul grew peaceful and serene. 
In his tried spirits’ darkest mood,
She was an omen still of good. 
  Such was the maid with hue of night,
But soul and eyes like midday light,
Whose beauty shed a sparkling spell,
O’er Peru’s plain and shadowy dell;—­
Who mid the rugged Andes stood,
The charm of polished womanhood,
And many a stranger wondered where,
She caught that grace and beauty’s air.