Il 



Disguis'd by thee, the pomp of state appears 

 A troubled journey thro' a vale of tears ; 

 Thou bidst the peasant wail his luckless lot. 

 And spurn the blessings of his peaceful cot. 

 Each morning from Potosi*s sunless caves, 

 Five toiling myriads of devoted slaves, 

 Five golden marks for each incessant bore. 

 To proud Valdivia, yet he long'd for more : 

 Tho' wealthy, still in want, by sloth betray 'd, 

 And love of gold, he in his mines delay'd, 

 Till from the potent grasp of mighty Spain, 

 The land wasrescu'd with its num'rous train ; 

 By him in evil hour, these vales were found 

 So long conceal'd within the southern bound ; 

 For him Bellona stretch'd her sway afar, 

 Follow'd by dire Oppression, worse than War j 

 Till rous'd to rage, with unsuppres.sive might, 

 The hardy Araucanians claim'd their right, 

 And all the rigours of unlawful sway, 

 Call'd forth those powers that held her rage at bay. 

 How well in calm prosperity we know 

 Due counsel on the wretched to bestow Î 

 And much the fruitless theory we prize, 

 Tho* for ourselves the practice we despise. 

 How learn'd we seem beneath the tranquil shade, 

 In every chance of warfare's deadly trade I 

 With what keen scorn the favourites of the sky 

 Survey their brethren in adversity ; 

 And as they stumble in the vale of Death, 

 Censure attends them through the slippery path ; 

 Still judging by th' event ; but Heaven alone. 

 By whose just hand the lots of life are thrown. 

 Can tell why some are wreck'd on Fortune's steep, 

 While others sail secure the smiling deep. 



Led on by fates adverse, Valdivia past 

 In long disastrous march the lonely waste. 

 Not with such headlong and ungovern'd speed, 

 As late he us'd his haughty bands to lead, 

 For sad presages of impending doom. 

 O'er his sick fancy hung unusual gloom. 



