Welcome, thou heaving dark blue Sea! Thy luckless child am I; Thine island-child was nurs’d by thee Beneath the northern sky; II. In that proud land—baptiz’d of old To freedom in thy waves— Confirm’d in glory—steel-ribb’d hold Of men who’ll ne’er be slaves. III. On southern shores I’ve linger’d long, My life is waning fast; And Sorrow, with her forked tongue, Has struck me down at last. IV. I’ll fling me on my mother’s breast, The sweeping dark blue Sea: O bear me to my island-nest, To die among the free! V. Land of the Incas, fare thee well! Thy valé soon is told: I would no longer in thee dwell For Huascar’s chain of gold![67] VI. Thy sceptre erst was sway’d by kings,— They could not hold it firm;— But now thy children crouch to things More worthless than the worm. VII. Away! I will not stop to mourn Thy sorrows or thy shame; Nor tell what anguish I have borne Since to thy shores I came. VIII. Let Indian pipe, so meek and low,[68] Bemoan thine Incas’ fall; And Indian maid, with garb of woe,[69] Her country’s wrongs recall: IX. And, sadder still, the cuculi[70] Complain in ev’ry vale, When ev’ning with her dewy eye Brings round the hour of wail. X. I’ll fling me on my mother’s breast, The sweeping dark blue Sea: O bear me to my island-nest, To die among the free! XI. Like silver bells, yon snowy peaks[71] Are hung upon the clouds! ’Tis sweet to see when morning breaks, And strips them of their shrouds. XII. ’Tis sweet to see ’midst orange rows The spires of Lima wind; But sweeter far than these or those, To leave them all behind! XIII. Then wherefore does my bosom heave? Why starts th’ unbidden tear? Some scenes there are ’tis hard to leave, Some friends my soul holds dear! XIV. Thou good-man’s eyrie, on the rock![72] From thee I’m loth to part! With names belov’d in mem’ry’s book Sure thou recorded art! XV. There, with my friend, full many an hour Of cank’ring care I’d cheat; Or range the ample corridor, The balmy breeze to greet! XVI. Or gaze on Pachacamac’s height,[73] As peal’d the evening gun; And see its mystic form dilate Against the setting sun! XVII. And thou, dear Garden, ’neath thy bowers[74] How swift the moments flew! They pass’d the sweetness of thy flowers, Though steep’d in evening dew! XVIII. Like stars that seek each other’s light,[75] To form, as poets sing, A path for gods, and o’er the night Their mingled radiance fling: XIX.