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The relicks of the war. A scanty foe, 



Twice seven in number, caus'd our overthrow. 



All cas'd in mail, on fleetest coursers borne. 



Our shafts and pointed spears they held in scorn, 



As like autumnal storms they swept along 



Our scatter'd files, and thinn'd the feeble throng ; 



The boldest of our train in battle fell, 



The rest surviv'd the deadly news to tell." 



The Chief, who knew his anguish well to hide, 



Thus, with a well-dissembled scorn reply'd : 



" And is it thus our foes maintain the war ? 



This sudden onset only marks despair. 



A band so small can never hope retreat, 



Compell'd at every pass their doom to meet." 



Then to his delegate he gave command 



To take the vaward with a chosen band. 



To watch the foe, and recognize their force, 



While with his legions he pursued their course. 



Proud of his charge, the dauntless Indian drew 



A band of heroes from the martial crew ; 



And led them on with speed in quest of fame, 



With new atchievements to adorn his name. 



But the sonorous trump of Mars afar 



Recalls the Muse to other scenes of war ; 



To sing what these advent'rous Knights perform 'd. 



With what impetuous rage the camp they storm'd. 



CANTO IV. 

 OF what high import is the love of right ! 

 By her, what numerous ills are put to flight ! 

 Thro' all the Araucanian vales afar 

 Rebellion had not wav'd the flag of War, 

 Nor Ruin roll'd her sweeping tide along 

 Had castigation check'd the infant wrong. 

 Thus wounds, when left to fester, in the close 

 Bring on a sable train of cureless woes. 

 Mercy is cruelty when ills invade. 

 And timely cure is by neglect delay'd. 

 If the deep gangrene calls the searching steel, 

 The stroke is needful, th.o' the man may fee\ -, 



