ascend,
Beneath thy crest may proud Iberia bend; 340
While roll'd in dust thy graceful feet beneath,
Fades the dark laurel of her sanguine wreath;
Bend her red trophies, tear her victor plume,
And close insatiate slaughter's yawning tomb.
Again on soft Peruvia's fragrant breast 345
May beauty blossom, and may pleasure rest.
Peru, the muse that vainly mourn'd thy woes,
Whom pity robb'd so long of dear repose;
The muse, whose pensive soul with anguish wrung
Her early lyre for thee has trembling strung; 350
Shed the weak tear, and breath'd the powerless sigh,
Which soon in cold oblivion's shade must die;
Pants with the wish thy deeds may rise to fame,
Bright on some living harp's immortal frame!
While on the string of extasy, it pours 355
Thy future triumphs o'er unnumber'd shores.

[A] The Lama's bend their knees and stoop their body in such a manner as
not to discompose their burden. They move with a slow but firm pace,
in countries that are impracticable to other animals. They are neither
dispirited by fasting nor drudgery, while they have any strength
remaining; but, when they are totally exhausted, or fall under their
burden, it is to no purpose to harrass and beat them: they will
continue striking their heads on the ground, first on one side, then
on the other, till they kill themselves,--_Abbe_ Raynal's _History of
the European Settlements._
[B] See a delightful representation of the incorruptible integrity of
this Spaniard in Robertson's History of America.
[C] "O'er thy creative scene." The Peruvians have solemn days on which
they assume their antient dress. Some among them represent a tragedy,
the subject of which is the death of Atabalipa. The audience, who
begin with shedding tears, are afterwards transported, into a kind of
madness. It seldom happens in these festivals, but that some Spaniard
is slain.--_Abbe_ Raynal's _History_.
[D] "On Chili's plain."--An Indian descended from the Inca's, has lately
obtained several victories over the Spaniards, the gold mines have
been for some time shut up; and there is much reason to hope, that
these injured nations may recover the liberty of which they have
been so cruelly deprived.

SONNET,

To MRS. SIDDONS.

Siddons! the Muse, for many a joy refin'd,
Feelings which ever seem too swiftly fled--