Storm, thunder, fire against the mountains driven,
Rake deep their sulfur’d sides, disgorging here his heaven.
He spoke; they waited, till the fervid ray
High from the noontide shot the faithless day;
When lo, far gathering under eastern skies,
Solemn and slow, the dark red vapors rise;
Full clouds, convolving on the turbid air,
Move like an ocean to the watery war.
The host, securely raised, no dangers harm,
They sit unclouded and o’erlook the storm;
While far beneath, the sky-borne waters ride,
Veil the dark deep and sheet the mountain’s side;
The lightning’s glancing fires, in fury curl’d
Bend their long forky foldings o’er the world;
Torrents and broken crags and floods of rain
From steep to steep roll down their force amain
In dreadful cataracts; the bolts confound
The tumbling clouds and rock the solid ground.
The blasts unburden’d take their upward course
And o’er the mountain top resume their force.
Swift through the long white ridges from the north,
The rapid whirlwinds lead their terrors forth;
High walks the storm, the circling surges rise
And wild gyrations wheel the hovering skies;
Vast hills of snow, in sweeping columns driven,
Deluge the air and choke the void of heaven;
Floods burst their bounds, the rocks forget their place,
And the firm Andes tremble to their base.
Long gazed the host; when thus the stubborn chief,
With eyes on fire, and fill’d with sullen grief:
Behold thy careless god, secure on high,
Laughs at our woes and peaceful walks the sky,
Drives all his evils on these seats sublime
And wafts his favors to a happier clime;
Sire of the dastard race thy words disclose,
There glads his children, here afflicts his foes.
Hence! speed thy flight! pursue him where he leads,
Lest vengeance seize thee for thy father’s deeds,
Thy immolated limbs assuage the fire
Of those curst powers, who now a gift require.
The youth in haste collects his scanty train
And with the sun flies o’er the western plain;
The fading orb with plaintive voice he plies,
To guide his steps and light him down the skies.
So when the moon and all the host of even
Hang pale and trembling on the verge of heaven,
While storms ascending threat their nightly reign,
They seek their absent sire and sink below the main.
Now to the south he turns; where one vast plain
Calls from a hundred hordes the warrior train;
Of various dress and various form they show’d,
Each wore the ensign of his local god.
From eastern hills a grisly troop descends,
Whose war song wild the shuddering concave rends;
Cloak’d in a tiger’s hide their grim chief towers
And apes the brinded god his tribe adores.
The tusky jaws grin o’er the sachem’s brow,
The bald eyes glare, the paws depend below,
From his bored ears contorted serpents hung,
And drops of gore seem’d rolling on his tongue.
The northern glens pour forth the Vulture-race;
Brown tufts of quills their shaded foreheads grace,
The claws branch wide, the beak expands for blood,
And all the armor imitates the god.
The condor,27 frowning from a southern plain,
Borne on a standard, leads a numerous train:
Clencht in his talons hangs an infant dead,
His long bill pointing where the sachems tread,
His wings though lifeless frighten still the wind,
And his broad tail o’ershades the file behind.
From other plains and other hills afar,
The tribes throng dreadful to the promised war;
Some twine their forelock with a crested snake,
Some wear the emblems of a stream or lake;
All from the power they serve assume their mode
And foam and yell to taste the Incan blood.
The prince incautious with his men drew near,
Known for an Inca by his dress and air,
Till coop’d and caught amid the warrior trains,
They bow in silence to the victor’s chains.
When now the gather’d thousands throng the plain
And echoing skies the rending shouts retain,
Zamor, the chieftain of the tiger-band,
By choice appointed to the first command,
Shrugg’d up his brinded spoils above the rest
And grimly frowning thus the crowd addrest:
Warriors, attend! tomorrow leads abroad
Our sacred vengeance for our brothers’ blood.
On those scorcht plains forever must they lie,
Their bones still naked to the burning sky?
Left in the field for foreign hawks to tear
Nor our own vultures can the banquet share.
But soon, ye mountain gods, yon dreary west
Shall sate your hunger with an ampler feast;
When the proud Sun, that terror of the plain,
Shall grieve in heaven for all his children slain,
As o’er his realm our slaughtering armies roam
And give to your sad powers a happier home.
Meanwhile, ye tribes, these men of solar race,
Food for the flames, your bloody rites shall grace;
Each to a different god his panting breath
Resigns in fire; this night demands their death:
All but the Inca; him reserved in state
These conquering hands ere long shall immolate
To all the powers at once that storm the skies,
A grateful gift, before his mother’s eyes.
The sachem ceased; the chiefs of every race
Lead the bold captives to their destined place;
The sun descends, the parting day expires
And earth and heaven display their sparkling fires.
Soon the raised altars kindle round the gloom
And call the victims to their vengeful doom;
Led to their pyres, in sullen pomp they tread
And sing by turns the triumphs of the dead.
Amid the crowd beside his altar stood
The youth devoted to the tiger-god;
A beauteous form he rose, of noble grace,
The only hope of his illustrious race.
His aged sire for numerous years had shone
The first supporter of the Incan throne;
Wise Capac loved the youth and graced his hand
With a fair virgin from a neighboring band;
And him the legate prince, in equal prime,
Had chose to share his mission round the clime.
He mounts the pyre, the flames approach his breath,
And thus he wakes the dauntless song of death:
Dark vault of heaven, that greet his daily throne,
Where flee the glories of your absent Sun?
Ye starry hosts, who kindle from his eye,
Can you behold him in the western sky?
Or if unseen beneath his watery bed,
The wearied God reclines his radiant head,
When next his morning steps your courts inflame
And seek on earth for young Azonto’s name,
Then point these ashes, mark the smoky pile
And say the hero suffer’d with a smile.
So shall the Power in vengeance view the place,
In crimson clothe28 his terror-beaming face,
Pour swift destruction on these curst abodes,
Whelm the grim tribes and all their savage gods.
But ah, forbear to tell my stooping sire
His darling hopes have
