22 JOHN READE ON LANGUAGE AND CONQUEST. 
rank such as other nations, similarly situated, attained in the old world? It is vain to 
inquire, but that their languages were in some respects adapted to the purposes of a high 
civilization there is some reason to believe, from the fragments of Mexican and Peruvian 
poetry which have been saved from the wreck caused by Spanish superstition and vandal- 
ism. One of the poems that have come down to us might have been written by the sad- 
fated Maximilian, instead of by his predecessor, the Emperor Nazahualcoyotl. My version 
is translated from the French of M. Faucher de St. Maurice’s delightful narrative: “ De 
Quebec à Mexico: ” 
“ Allthings that are last but a little while; 
How short is life! its pride and power how brief! 
To-day we live; to-morrow we are dust. 
This whole vast world is but a sepulchre, 
Where all that moves must soon be hid from view. 
Thither all tend, as rivers, brooks and streams 
Flow to the sea, their universal goal. 
What has been is no more; what is to-day 
To-morrow will be gone. The graves are full 
Of dust that once was quick with life as we. 
Aye, some who gat on thrones or ruled at councils, 
Or were obeyed by armies, and subdued 
Whole provinces, till their towering pride 
Made them seem more than mortal—now, alas ! 
Where are their might, their boundless luxury, 
And those imperial splendours? In the grave.” 
The only other instance of native American poetry that I can afford to give is an ancient 
Peruvian yaravi, or song, which is supposed to be the complaint of a maiden for her lost 
lover, and of which the French version, from which I have translated it, will be found in 
the Compte-Rendus of the Congrés des Americanistes for 1875: 
“When the poor turtle-dove has lost the object of its affections, in its wild grief it 
flutters its wings and flies restlessly to and fro. 
TE 
Everywhere it seeks for the missing one, flying far over the broad fields, and searching 
with the inquiring eye of love, every tree and every plant. 
I. 
But alas ! it has sought in vain, and now, hopeless, with throbbing heart, it weeps 
unceasingly—weeps fountains, rivers, gulfs, oceans of tears. 
IV. 
Such alas! is my case! So have I been in my sorrow ever since that sad day when I 
was so ill-fated as to lose thee, my sweet charmer, my divine enchanter. 
