Complete Poetical Works of Robert Southey

by Robert Southey

  Into all noxious forms abhorr’d were sent,

  Of beasts and reptiles; so retaining still

  Their old propensities, on evil bent.

  They work’d where’er they might their wicked will,

  The natural foes of men, whom we pursue and kill.

  XXX.

  Of better spirits, some there were who said

  That in the grave they had their place of rest.

  Lightly they laid the earth upon the dead,

  Lest in its narrow tenement the guest

  Should suffer underneath such load opprest.

  But that death surely set the spirit free,

  Sad proof to them poor Monnema addrest,

  Drawn from their father’s fate; no grave had he

  Wherein his soul might dwell. This therefore could not be.

  XXXI.

  Likelier they taught who said that to the Land

  Of Souls the happy spirit took its flight,

  A region underneath the sole command

  Of the Good Power; by him for the upright

  Appointed and replenish’d with delight;

  A land where nothing evil ever came,

  Sorrow, nor pain, nor peril, nor affright,

  Nor change, nor death; but there the human frame,

  Untouch’d by age or ill, continued still the same.

  XXXII.

  Winds would not pierce it there, nor heat nor cold

  Grieve, nor thirst parch and hunger pine; but there

  The sun by day its even influence hold

  With genial warmth, and thro’ the unclouded air

  The moon upon her nightly journey fare:

  The lakes and fish-full streams are never dry;

  Trees ever green perpetual fruitage bear;

  And, wheresoe’er the hunter turns his eye,

  Water and earth and heaven to him their stores supply.

  XXXIII.

  And once there was a way to that good land,

  For in mid-earth a wondrous Tree there grew,

  By which the adventurer might with foot and hand

  From branch to branch his upward course pursue;

  An easy path, if what were said be true,

  Albeit the ascent was long: and when the height

  Was gain’d, that blissful region was in view,

  Wherein the traveller safely might alight,

  And roam abroad at will, and take his free delight.

  XXXIV.

  O happy time, when ingress thus was given

  To the upper world, and at their pleasure they

  Whose hearts were strong might pass from earth to heaven

  By their own act and choice! In evil day

  Mishap had fatally cut off that way,

  And none may now the Land of Spirits gain,

  Till from its dear-loved tenement of clay,

  Violence or age, infirmity and pain

  Divorce the soul which there full gladly would remain.

  XXXV.

  Such grievous loss had by their own misdeed

  Upon the unworthy race of men been brought.

  An aged woman there who could not speed

  In fishing, earnestly one day besought

  Her countrymen, that they of what they caught

  A portion would upon her wants bestow.

  They set her hunger and her age at nought,

  And still to her entreaties answered no,

  And mock’d her, till they made her heart with rage o’erflow.

  XXXVI.

  But that old woman by such wanton wrong

  Inflamed, went hurrying down; and in the pride

  Of magic power wherein the crone was strong,

  Her human form infirm she laid aside.

  Better the Capiguara’s limbs supplied

  A strength accordant to her fierce intent:

  These she assumed, and, burrowing deep and wide

  Beneath the Tree, with vicious will, she went,

  To inflict upon mankind a lasting punishment.

  XXXVII.

  Downward she wrought her way, and all around

  Labouring, the solid earth she undermined

  And loosen’d all the roots; then from the ground

  Emerging, in her hatred of her kind,

  Resumed her proper form, and breathed a wind

  Which gather’d like a tempest round its head:

  Eftsoon the lofty Tree its top inclined

  Uptorn with horrible convulsion dread,

  And over half the world its mighty wreck lay spread.

  XXXVIII.

  But never scion sprouted from that Tree,

  Nor seed sprang up; and thus the easy way,

  Which had till then for young and old been free,

  Was closed upon the sons of men for aye.

  The mighty ruin moulder’d where it lay

  Till not a trace was left; and now in sooth

  Almost had all remembrance past away.

  This from the elders she had heard in youth;

  Some said it was a tale, and some a very truth.

  XXXIX.

  Nathless departed spirits at their will

  Could from the land of souls pass to and fro;

  They come to us in sleep when all is still,

  Sometimes to warn against the impending blow,

  Alas! more oft to visit us in woe:

  Tho’ in their presence there was poor relief!

  And this had sad experience made her know,

  For when Quiara came, his stay was brief,

  And waking then, she felt a freshen’d sense of grief.

  XL.

  Yet to behold his face again, and hear

  His voice, tho’ painful was a deep delight:

  It was a joy to think that he was near,

  To see him in the visions of the night, —

  To know that the departed still requite

  The love which to their memory still will cling:

  And tho’ he might not bless her waking sight

  With his dear presence, ’twas a blessed thing

  That sleep would thus sometimes his actual image bring.

  XLI.

  Why comes he not to me? Yeruti cries:

  And Mooma echoing with a sigh the thought,

  Ask’d why it was that to her longing eyes

  No dream the image of her father brought?

  Nor Monnema to solve that question sought

  In vain, content in ignorance to dwell;

  Perhaps it was because they knew him not;

  Perhaps — but sooth she could not answer well;

  What the departed did, themselves alone could tell.

  XLII.

  What one tribe held another disbelieved,

  For all concerning this was dark, she said;

  Uncertain all, and hard to be received.

  The dreadful race, from whom their fathers fled,

  Boasted that even the Country of the Dead

  Was theirs, and where their Spirits chose to go,

  The ghosts of other men retired in dread

  Before the face of that victorious foe;

  No better, then, the world above, than this below!

  XLIII.

  What then, alas! if this were true, was death?

  Only a mournful change from ill to ill!

  And some there were who said the living breath

  Would ne’er be taken from us by the will

  Of the Good Father, but continue still

  To feed with life the mortal frame he gave,

  Did not mischance or wicked witchcraft kill; —

  Evils from which no care avail’d to save,

  And whereby all were sent to fill the greedy grave.

  XLIV.

  In vain to counterwork the baleful charm

  By spells of rival witchcraft was it sought,

  Less potent was that art to help than harm.

  No means of safety old experience brought:

&nbs
p; Nor better fortune did they find who thought

  From Death, as from some living foe, to fly:

  For speed or subterfuge avail’d them nought,

  But wheresoe’er they fled they found him nigh:

  None ever could elude that unseen enemy.

  XLV.

  Bootless the boast, and vain the proud intent

  Of those who hoped, with arrogant display

  Of arms and force, to scare him from their tent,

  As if their threatful shouts and fierce array

  Of war could drive the Invisible away!

  Sometimes regardless of the sufferer’s groan,

  They dragg’d the dying out and as a prey

  Exposed him, that content with him alone

  Death might depart, and thus his fate avert their own.

  XLVI.

  Depart he might, — but only to return

  In quest of other victims, soon or late;

  When they who held this fond belief, would learn,

  Each by his own inevitable fate,

  That in the course of man’s uncertain state

  Death is the one and only certain thing.

  Oh folly then to fly or deprecate

  That which at last Time, ever on the wing,

  Certain as day and night, to weary age must bring!

  XLVII.

  While thus the Matron spake, the youthful twain

  Listen’d in deep attention, wistfully;

  Whether with more of wonder or of pain

  Uneath it were to tell. With steady eye

  Intent they heard; and when she paused, a sigh

  Their sorrowful foreboding seem’d to speak:

  Questions to which she could not give reply

  Yeruti ask’d; and for that Maiden meek, —

  Involuntary tears ran down her quiet cheek.

  XLVIII.

  A different sentiment within them stirr’d,

  When Monnema recall’d to mind one day,

  Imperfectly, what she had sometimes heard

  In childhood, long ago, the Elders say:

  Almost from memory had it past away, —

  How there appear’d amid the woodlands men

  Whom the Great Spirit sent there to convey

  His gracious will; but little heed she then

  Had given, and like a dream it now recurr’d again.

  XLIX.

  But these young questioners from time to time

  Call’d up the long-forgotten theme anew.

  Strange men they were, from some remotest clime

  She said, of different speech, uncouth to view,

  Having hair upon their face, and white in hue:

  Across the world of waters wide they came

  Devotedly the Father’s work to do,

  And seek the Red Men out, and in his name

  His merciful laws, and love, and promises proclaim.

  L.

  They served a Maid more beautiful than tongue

  Could tell, or heart conceive. Of human race,

  All heavenly as that Virgin was, she sprung;

  But for her beauty and celestial grace,

  Being one in whose pure elements no trace

  Had e’er inhered of sin or mortal stain,

  The highest Heaven was now her dwelling place;

  There as a Queen divine she held her reign,

  And there in endless joy for ever would remain.

  LI.

  Her feet upon the crescent Moon were set,

  And, moving in their order round her head,

  The stars compose her sparkling coronet.

  There at her breast the Virgin Mother fed

  A Babe divine, who was to judge the dead,

  Such power the Spirit gave this awful Child;

  Severe he was, and in his anger dread,

  Yet always at his Mother’s will grew mild,

  So well did he obey that Maiden undefiled.

  LII.

  Sometimes she had descended from above

  To visit her true votaries, and requite

  Such as had served her well. And for her love,

  These bearded men, forsaking all delight,

  With labour long and dangers infinite,

  Across the great blue waters came, and sought

  The Red Men here, to win them, if they might,

  From bloody ways, rejoiced to profit aught

  Even when with their own lives the benefit was bought.

  LIII.

  For trusting in this heavenly Maiden’s grace,

  It was for them a joyful thing to die,

  As men who went to have their happy place

  With her, and with that Holy Child, on high,

  In fields of bliss above the starry sky,

  In glory, at the Virgin Mother’s feet:

  And all who kept their lessons faithfully

  An everlasting guerdon there would meet,

  When Death had led their souls to that celestial seat.

  LIV.

  On earth they offered, too, an easy life

  To those who their mild lessons would obey,

  Exempt from want, from danger, and from strife;

  And from the forest leading them away,

  They placed them underneath this Virgin’s sway,

  A numerous fellowship, in peace to dwell;

  Their high and happy office there to pay

  Devotions due, which she requited well,

  Their heavenly Guardian she in whatsoe’er befell.

  LV.

  Thus, Monnema remember’d, it was told

  By one who in his hot and headstrong youth

  Had left her happy service; but when old

  Lamented oft with unavailing ruth,

  And thoughts which sharper than a serpent’s tooth

  Pierced him, that he had changed that peaceful place

  For the fierce freedom and the ways uncouth

  Of their wild life, and lost that Lady’s grace,

  Wherefore he had no hope to see in Heaven her face.

  LVI.

  And she remember’d too when first they fled

  For safety to the farthest solitude

  Before their cruel foes, and lived in dread

  That thither too their steps might be pursued

  By those old enemies athirst for blood;

  How some among them hoped to see the day

  When these beloved messengers of good

  To that lone hiding place might find the way,

  And them to their abode of blessedness convey.

  LVII.

  Such tales excited in Yeruti’s heart

  A stirring hope that haply he might meet

  Some minister of Heaven; and many a part

  Untrod before of that wild wood retreat,

  Did he with indefatigable feet

  Explore; yet ever from the fruitless quest

  Return’d at evening to his native seat

  By daily disappointment undeprest, —

  So buoyant was the hope that fill’d his youthful breast.

  LVIII.

  At length the hour approach’d that should fulfil

  His harmless heart’s desire, when they shall see

  Their fellow kind, and take for good or ill

  The fearful chance, for such it needs must be,

  Of change from that entire simplicity.

  Yet wherefore should the thought of change appal?

  Grief it perhaps might bring, and injury,

  And death; — but evil never can befall

  The virtuous, for the Eye of Heaven is over all.

  A TALE OF PARAGUAY. CANTO III.

  I.

  Amid those marshy woodlands far and wide

  Which spread beyond the soaring vulture’s eye,

  There grew on Empalado’s southern side

  Groves of that tree whose leaves adust supply

  The Spaniards with their daily luxury;

  A beverage whose sal
ubrious use obtains

  Thro’ many a land of mines and slavery,

  Even over all La Plata’s sea-like plains,

  And Chili’s mountain realm, and proud Peru’s domains.

  II.

  But better for the injured Indian race

  Had woods of machineel the land o’erspread:

  Yea in that tree so blest by Nature’s grace

  A direr curse had they inherited,

  Than if the Upas there had rear’d its head

  And sent its baleful scyons all around,

  Blasting where’er its effluent force was shed,

  In air and water, and the infected ground,

  All things wherein the breath or sap of life is found.

  III.

  The poor Guaranies dreamt of no such ill,

  When for themselves in miserable hour,

  The virtues of that leaf, with pure good will

  They taught their unsuspected visitor,

  New in the land as yet. They learnt his power

  Too soon, which law nor conscience could restrain,

  A fearless but inhuman conqueror,

  Heart-hardened by the accursed lust of gain.

  O fatal thirst of gold! O foul reproach for Spain!

  IV.

  For gold and silver had the Spaniards sought

  Exploring Paraguay with desperate pains,

  Their way thro’ forests axe in hand they wrought;

  Drench’d from above by unremitting rains

  They waded over inundated plains,

  Forward by hope of plunder still allured;

  So they might one day count their golden gains,

  They cared not at what cost of sin procured,

  All dangers they defied, all sufferings they endured.

  V.

  Barren alike of glory and of gold

  That region proved to them; nor would the soil

  Unto their unindustrious hands unfold

  Harvests, the fruit of peace, — and wine and oil,