Of sounds in rich irregular array;
And now as blithe as bird in vernal bower,
Pour’d in full flow the unexpressive lay,
Rejoicing in her consciousness of power,
But in the inborn sense of harmony yet more.
XL.
In joy had she begun the ambitious song,
With rapid interchange of sink and swell;
And sometimes high the note was raised, and long
Produced, with shake and effort sensible,
As if the voice exulted there to dwell;
But when she could no more that pitch sustain,
So thrillingly attuned the cadence fell,
That with the music of its dying strain
She moved herself to tears of pleasurable pain.
XLI.
It may be deem’d some dim presage possess’d
The virgin’s soul; that some mysterious sense
Of change to come, upon her mind impress’d,
Had then call’d forth, ere she departed thence,
A requiem to their days of innocence.
For what thou losest in thy native shade
There is one change alone that may compense,
O Mooma, innocent and simple maid,
Only one change, and it will not be long delay’d!
XLII.
When now the Father issued from the wood
Into that little glade in open sight,
Like one entranced, beholding him, she stood;
Yet had she more of wonder than affright,
Yet less of wonder than of dread delight,
When thus the actual vision came in view;
For instantly the maiden read aright
Wherefore he came; his garb and beard she knew;
All that her mother heard had then indeed been true.
XLIII.
Nor was the Father filled with less surprize;
He too strange fancies well might entertain,
When this so fair a creature met his eyes.
He might have thought her not of mortal strain;
Rather, as bards of yore were wont to feign,
A nymph divine of Mondai’s secret stream;
Or haply of Diana’s woodland train:
For in her beauty Mooma such might seem,
Being less a child of earth than like a poet’s dream.
XLIV.
No art of barbarous ornament had scarr’d
And stain’d her virgin limbs, or ‘filed her face:
Nor ever yet had evil passion marr’d
In her sweet countenance the natural grace
Of innocence and youth; nor was there trace
Of sorrow, or of hardening want and care.
Strange was it in this wild and savage place,
Which seem’d to be for beasts a fitting lair,
Thus to behold a maid so gentle and so fair.
XLV.
Across her shoulders was a hammock flung,
By night it was the maiden’s bed, by day
Her only garment. Round her as it hung,
In short unequal folds of loose array,
The open meshes, when she moves, display
Her form. She stood with fix’d and wondering eyes,
And trembling like a leaf upon the spray,
Even for excess of joy, with eager cries
She call’d her mother forth to share that glad surprize.
XLVI.
At that unwonted call with quickened pace
The matron hurried thither, half in fear.
How strange to Monnema a stranger’s face!
How strange it was a stranger’s voice to hear,
How strangely to her disaccustomed ear
Came even the accents of her native tongue!
But when she saw her countrymen appear,
Tears for that unexpected blessing sprung,
And once again she felt as if her heart were young.
XLVII.
Soon was her melancholy story told,
And glad consent unto that Father good
Was given, that they to join his happy fold
Would leave with him their forest solitude.
Why comes not now Yeruti from the wood?
Why tarrieth he so late this blessed day?
They long to see their joy in his renew’d,
And look impatiently toward his way,
And think they hear his step, and chide his long delay.
XLVIII.
He comes at length, a happy man, to find
His only dream of hope fulfill’d at last.
The sunshine of his all-believing mind
There is no doubt or fear to overcast;
No chilling forethought checks his bliss; the past
Leaves no regret for him, and all to come
Is change and wonder and delight. How fast
Hath busy fancy conjured up a sum
Of joys unknown, whereof the expectance makes him dumb!
XLIX.
O happy day, the Messenger of Heaven
Hath found them in their lonely dwelling place!
O happy day, to them it would be given
To share in that Eternal Mother’s grace,
And one day see in heaven her glorious face
Where Angels round her mercy-throne adore!
Now shall they mingle with the human race,
Sequester’d from their fellow kind no more;
O joy of joys supreme! O bliss for them in store!
L.
Full of such hopes this night they lie them down,
But not as they were wont, this night to rest.
Their old tranquillity of heart is gone;
The peace wherewith till now they have been blest
Hath taken its departure. In the breast
Fast following thoughts and busy fancies throng;
Their sleep itself is feverish, and possest
With dreams that to the wakeful mind belong;
To Mooma and the youth then first the night seem’d long.
LI.
Day comes, and now a first and last farewell
To that fair bower within their native wood,
Their quiet nest till now. The bird may dwell
Henceforth in safety there, and rear her brood,
And beasts and reptiles undisturb’d intrude.
Reckless of this, the simple tenants go,
Emerging from their peaceful solitude,
To mingle with the world, — but not to know
Its crimes, nor to partake its cares, nor feel its woe.
A TALE OF PARAGUAY. CANTO IV.
I.
The bells rang blithely from St. Mary’s tower
When in St. Joachin’s the news was told
That Dobrizhoffer from his quest that hour
Drew nigh: the glad Guaranies young and old
Throng thro’ the gate, rejoicing to behold
His face again; and all with heartfelt glee
Welcome the Pastor to his peaceful fold,
Where so beloved amid his flock was he
That this return was like a dav of jubilee.
II.
How more than strange, how marvellous a sight
To the new comers was this multitude!
Something like fear was mingled with affright
When they the busy scene of turmoil view’d.
Wonder itself the sense of joy subdued
And with its all-unwonted weight opprest
These children of the quiet solitude;
And now and then a sigh that heaved the breast
Unconsciously bewray’d their feeling of unrest.
III.
Not more prodigious than that little town
Seem’d to these comers, were the pomp and power
To us, of ancient Rome in her renown;
Nor the elder Babylon, or e’er that hour
When her high gardens, and her cloud-capt tower,
And her broad walls before the Persian fell;
Nor those dread fanes on Nile’s forsaken shore
Whose ruins yet their pristine grandeur tell.
Wherein the demon gods themselves might deign to dwell.
IV.
But if, all humble as it was, that scene
Possess’d a poor and uninstructed mind
With awe, the thoughtful spirit, well I ween,
Something to move its wonder there might find,
Something of consolation for its kind,
Some hope and earnest of a happier age,
When vain pursuits no more the heart shall blind,
But Faith the evils of this earth assuage,
And to all souls assure their heavenly heritage.
V.
Yes; for in history’s mournful map, the eye
On Paraguay, as on a sunny spot,
May rest complacent: to humanity,
There, and there only, hath a peaceful lot
Been granted, by Ambition troubled not,
By Avarice undebased, exempt from care,
By perilous passions undisturb’d. And what
If Glory never rear’d her standard there,
Nor with her clarion’s blast awoke the slumbering air?
VI.
Content, and cheerful Piety were found
Within those humble walls. From youth to age
The simple dwellers paced their even round
Of duty, not desiring to engage
Upon the busy world’s contentious stage,
Whose ways they wisely had been trained to dread:
Their inoffensive lives in pupilage
Perpetually, but peacefully they led,
From all temptation saved, and sure of daily bread.
VII.
They on the Jesuit, who was nothing loth,
Reposed alike their conscience and their cares;
And he, with equal faith, the trust of both
Accepted and discharged. The bliss is theirs
Of that entire dependence that prepares
Entire submission, let what may befall:
And his whole careful course of life declares
That for their good he holds them thus in thrall,
Their Father and their Friend, Priest, Ruler, all in all.
VIII.
Food, raiment, shelter, safety, he provides;
No forecast, no anxieties have they;
The Jesuit governs, and instructs and guides;
Their part it is to honour and obey,
Like children under wise parental sway.
All thoughts and wishes are to him confest;
And when at length in life’s last weary day
In sure and certain hope they sink to rest,
By him their eyes are closed, by him their burial blest.
IX.
Deem not their lives of happiness devoid,
Tho’ thus the years their course obscurely fill;
In rural and in household arts employ’d,
And many a pleasing task of pliant skill,
For emulation here unmix’d with ill,
Sufficient scope was given. Each had assign’d
His proper part, which yet left free the will;
So well they knew to mould the ductile mind
By whom the scheme of that wise order was combined.
X.
It was a land of priestcraft, but the priest
Believed himself the fables that he taught:
Corrupt their forms, and yet those forms at least
Preserved a salutary faith that wrought,
Maugre the alloy, the saving end it sought.
Benevolence had gain’d such empire there,
That even superstition had been brought
An aspect of humanity to wear,
And make the weal of man its first and only care.
XI.
Nor lack’d they store of innocent delight,
Music and song and dance and proud array,
Whate’er might win the ear, or charm the sight;
Banners and pageantry in rich display
Brought forth upon some Saint’s high holyday,
The altar drest, the church with garlands hung,
Arches and floral bowers beside the way,
And festal tables spread for old and young,
Gladness in every heart, and mirth on every tongue.
XII.
Thou who despisest so debased a fate,
As in the pride of wisdom thou may’st call
These meek submissive Indians’ low estate,
Look round the world, and see where over all
Injurious passions hold mankind in thrall!
How barbarous Force asserts a ruthless reign,
Or Mammon, o’er his portion of the ball,
Hath learn’d a baser empire to maintain,
Mammon, the god of all who give their rouls to gain.
XIII.
Behold the fraudful arts, the covert strife,
The jarring interests that engross mankind;
The low pursuits, the selfish aims of life;
Studies that weary and contract the mind,
That bring no joy, and leave no peace behind;
And Death approaching to dissolve the spell!
The immortal soul, which hath so long been blind,
Recovers then clear sight, and sees too well
The error of its ways, when irretrievable.
XIV.
Far happier the Guaranies humble race,
With whom in dutiful contentment wise,
The gentle virtues had their dwelling place.
With them the dear domestic charities
Sustain’d no blight from fortune; natural ties
There suffer’d no divorcement, save alone
That which in course of nature might arise;
No artificial wants and ills were known;
But there they dwelt as if the world were all their own.
XV.
Obedience in its laws that takes delight
Was theirs; simplicity that knows no art;
Love, friendship, grateful duty in its height;
Meekness and truth, that keep all strife apart,
And faith and hope which elevate the heart
Upon its heavenly heritage intent.
Poor, erring, self-tormentor that thou art;
O Man! and on thine own undoing bent,
Wherewith canst thou be blest, if not with these content?
XVI.
Mild pupils, in submission’s perfect school,
Two thousand souls were gather’d here, and here
Beneath the Jesuit’s all-embracing rule
They dwelt, obeying him with love sincere,
That never knew distrust, nor felt a fear,
Nor anxious thought, which wears the heart away.
Sacred to them their laws, their Ruler dear;
Humbler or happier none could be than they
Who knew it for their good in all things to obey.
XVII.
The Patron Saint, from whom their town was named,
Was that St. Joachin, who, legends say,
Unto the Saints in Limbo first proclaim’d
The Advent. Being permitted, on the day
That Death enlarged him from this mortal clay,
His daughter’s high election to behold,
Thither his soul, glad herald, wing’d its way,
And to the Prophets and the Patriarchs old
The tidings of great joy and near deliverance told.
XVIII.
There on the altar was his image set,
The lamp before it burning night and day,
And there was incensed, when his votaries met
Before the sacred shrine, their beads to say,
And for his fancied intercession pray,
Devoutly as in faith they bent the knee.
Such ado
ration they were taught to pay.
Good man, how little had he ween’d that he
Should thus obtain a place in Rome’s idolatry!
XIX.
But chiefly there the Mother of our Lord,
His blessed daughter, by the multitude
Was for their special patroness adored.
Amid the square on high her image stood,
Clasping the Babe in her beatitude,
The Babe divine on whom she fix’d her sight;
And in their hearts, albe the work was rude,
It raised the thought of all-commanding might,
Combined with boundless love and mercy infinite.
XX.
To this great family the Jesuit brought
His new-found children now; for young and old
He deem’d alike his children while he wrought
For their salvation, — seeking to unfold
The saving mysteries in the creed enroll’d,
To their slow minds, that could but ill conceive
The import of the mighty truths he told.
But errors they have none to which they cleave,
And whatsoe’er he tells they willingly believe.
XXI.
Safe from that pride of ignorance were they
That with small knowledge thinks itself full wise.
How at believing aught should these delay,
When every where new objects met their eyes
To fill the soul with wonder and surprize?
Not of itself, but by temptation bred,
In man doth impious unbelief arise;
It is our instinct to believe and dread,
God bids us love, and then our faith is perfected.
XXII.
Quick to believe, and slow to comprehend,
Like children, unto all the teacher taught
Submissively an easy ear they lend:
And to the font at once he might have brought
Complete Poetical Works of Robert Southey Page 133