ng o'er the plain.
They reach'd the spot where Cora clasp'd her child, 95
And gaz'd on present death with aspect mild;
They pitying paus'd--she lifts her mournful eye,
And views her lord!--he hears his Cora's sigh--
He meets her look--their melting souls unite,
O'erwhelm'd, and agoniz'd with wild delight-- 100
At length she faintly cried, "we yet must part!
"Short are these rising joys--I feel my heart
"My suff'ring heart is cold, and mists arise
"That shroud thy image from my closing eyes:
"Oh save my child!--our tender infant save, 105
"And shed a tear upon thy Cora's grave"--
The flutt'ring pulse of life now ceas'd to play,
And in his arms a pallid corse she lay:
O'er her dear form he hung in speechless pain,
And still on Cora call'd, but call'd in vain; 110
Scarce could his soul in one short moment bear
The wild extreme of transport, and despair.

Now o'er the west in melting softness streams
A lustre, milder than the morning beams;
A purer dawn dispell'd the fearful night, 115
And nature glow'd in all the blooms of light;
The birds awake the note that hails the day,
And spread their pinions in the purple ray;
A zone of gold the wave's still bosom bound,
And beauty shed a placid smile around. 120
Then, first awaking from his mournful trance,
The wretched Capac cast an eager glance
On his lov'd babe; th' unconscious infant smil'd,
And showers of softer sorrow bath'd his child.
The hollow voice now sounds in fancy's ear, 125
She sees the dying look, the parting tear,
That sought with anxious tenderness to save
That dear memorial from the closing grave:
He clasps the object of his love's last care,
And vows for him the load of life to bear; 130
To rear the blossom of a faded flower,
And bid remembrance sooth each ling'ring hour.
He journey'd o'er a dreary length of way,
To plains where freedom shed her hallow'd ray;
O'er many a pathless wood, and mountain hoar, 135
To that fair clime her lifeless form he bore.
Ye who ne'er suffer'd passions hopeless pain,
Deem not the toil that sooths its anguish vain;
Its fondness to the mould'ring corse extends,
Its faithful tear with the cold ashes blends. 140
Perchance, the conscious spirit of the dead
Numbers the drops affection l