80 ~ 
Colonel Hall’s ardent love of liberty, and 
an almost prophetic anticipation of his own 
impending fate, are not inelegantly pour- 
trayed in the following “ Address to Neme- 
sis,” written when, banished by the govern- 
ment of Quito, he sought peace, but 
found it not, in the sequestered valley 
of Tumbez. (See p. 71.) “ Here,” he 
only 
interesting spot in the neighbourhood, col- 
lected specimens of its scanty Flora, and 
wandered over every part of a circle of 
which the village was the centre, and the 
ii about four miles in length, being as 
much as could be conveniently traversed 
on foot in a tropical climate over burning 
pleins, I began to feel as weary as a life 
So stagnant, aimless, and isolated, could 
make one so situated. The news from 
Quito was by no means cheering. The 
army of Bogata had taken possession of 
the disputed frontier, and was stationed at 
not more than seventy miles from Quito. 
It might have been expected the inha- 
bitants would have profitted by the occasion 
to shake off a detested yoke. They did 
nothi Flores and Ovando, after having 
mutually bandied the accusation of the 
murder of Sucre, and a thousand other 
villainies, met, embraced, made presents of 
embroidered coats and swords, and swore 
In short, I grew, in 
s phrase, as ‘melancholy as a 
lugged bear, or an old lion, or a lover's 
lute; and being melancholy, grew poetical, 
as the following lines will witness, which, 
if very bad, will prove that ved B ees 
Castalian in the river of Tumbe 
** O Nemesis, fate, fortune atsoe'e 
We name thy power EEUU erases this ball, 
: Thou hear'st no human sigh, no h 
Yet unto thee, stern 
urance waste its fiery links of pain. 
2. 
Thou hast dealt hardly with me, from thy urn 
I have drank only poison, till the draught 
Has grown familiar, that no more I turn 
My lips to shun thy chalice. I have quaff'd 
NARRATIVE OF A JOURNEY TO PAYTA, ON THE COAST OF PERU. 
The bitterness of life, and if we learn 
ie 
As sleeps in icy rest the ocean of the pole. 
3. 
w have I earned this penance? Have I spilt 
Innocent blood, or banquetted on tears 
Of widows and of orphans? Have I built i 
Pow’r upon human wretchedness and fears ; D 
Or with sein and fraud o'ergilt 
Baseness art and violence of hand ; 
Or eee revengetlly th e dagger’s hilt? à 
That on this burning desert I should stand 
An € of the earth, an exile from the land? 
4. 
The land, for whose sake, country, home, all ties — | 
earer than life to m 
Rolls o'er the wreck, that rotting piecemeal lies ; 
Soon let his wings o'ershade my lonely grave ; 3 
Better in dust to sleep, than live and be a slave. - 
5. 
ic pone art thou the Enthusiast's dream, 
eropa — Politician’s spe 
Tod d with a wordy then 
them deeper into Miren s hell? 
es bok I followed thy phosphoric gleam, 
ame pierce through the ispali s cold 
loom ? 
g 
Too oft Oblivion shrouds their trampled bones, — . 
And Fate pursues them e'en beyond the taib i 
All this I should have known, nor tempted thus. 
my doom 
ts 
Then had I built my nest in the lone vale, 
Of calm Obscurity,—unnoticed there, 
My bark of life had spre 
