rich Peru,
Thy silence strange, thy aspect new?
What envious power has bound thy voice,
Which erst could bid my soul rejoice.
Oh! surely some malignant sprite
From realms of most infernal night,
Has taken thy angel voice away;--
But speak, Iola, speak, I pray!
Her tears gushed forth like tropic rain,
That widely floods the blooming plain;
And thus began, "Gonzalo! thou
Deceived'st me--but I know thee now.
Ask me not how I know it sooth;
Enough, I know the bitter truth.
I felt forebodings of this hour;
It did my happiest thoughts o'er power,
With a dark weight; but then I thought,
'Twas by my foolish fancy wrought.
'Twas like the omen which precedes
The earthquake when the summer reeds
Are strangely still, until the shock
The central earth shall wildly rock.
Thou dost not love me, child of Spain!
Thy heart can love no thing but gain;
The paltry dust I tread above,
To thee, is more than woman's love.
My love is vain, and life is less
Since lost my hope of happiness
Look from this garden;--far below
Yon Andes' sides with verdure glow,
But far on high, the icy chill
Of winter glitters, glitters still:
I am that lonely verdure--thou
That mountain's cold, unchanging brow.
I'll ne'er upbraid thee--no--oh no!
For love is kind, in deepest woe,
I love thee still, and will till Death,
Shall win my love with living breath.
This even, farewell--yes, yes, adieu!
No years our meeting can renew.
Would that when round these royal bowers,
I played in childhood's happy hours,
The Condor bird had borne me high,
On his huge pinions through the sky,
Upon yon mountain's snowy crest,
To hush his high and hungry nest.
Farewell, Gonzalo! fly with speed,
Leave shade and silence to my need."

* * * * *

There was a cry of terror in the hall
Of Peru's monarch, and a startling call;
But no reply--Iola sure was gone;
Yet none knew why or whither she had flown.
Her Inca-father put his crown aside,
And filled the temple with loud prayer--a tide
Of lamentation rolled along the fair
And blooming realm; heaven wore a dim despair.
She ne'er was found; but how or when she died
None knew; by her own hand; or if she cried,
Vainly, in wild beasts' clutch;--but ne'er before
Din wail so wild resound along the shore
Of fair Peru; her father lived not long,
After this chord was snapped in his life's song.

THE HOLY LADY.

Oh, Heaven hath given to earth some souls,
Of rarest loveliness,
Whose being's constant curr