Now stern Pizarro seeks the distant plains, Where beauteous Cusco lifts her golden fanes: The meek Peruvians gaz'd in pale dismay, Nor barr'd the dark oppressor's sanguine way: And soon on Cusco, where the dawning light 5 Of glory shone, foretelling day more bright, Where the young arts had shed unfolding flowers, A scene of spreading desolation lowers; While buried deep in everlasting shade, Those lustres sicken, and those blossoms fade. 10 And yet, devoted land, not gold alone, Or wild ambition wak'd thy parting groan; For, lo! a fiercer fiend, with joy elate, Feasts on thy suff'rings, and impels thy fate. Fanatic fury rears her sullen shrine, 15 Where vultures prey, where venom'd adders twine; Her savage arm with purple torrents stains Thy rocking temples, and thy falling fanes; Her blazing torches flash the mounting fire, She grasps the sabre, and she lights the pyre; 20 Her voice is thunder, rending the still air, Her glance the livid light'ning's fatal glare; Her lips unhallow'd breathe their impious strain, And pure religion's sacred voice profane; Whose precepts, pity's mildest deeds approve, 25 Whose law is mercy, and whose soul is love. Fanatic fury wakes the rising storm-- She wears the stern Valverda's hideous form; His bosom never felt another's woes, No shriek of anguish breaks its dark repose. 30 The temple nods--an aged form appears-- He beats his breast--he rends his silver hairs-- Valverda drags him from the blest abode Where his meek spirit humbly sought its God: See, to his aid his child, soft Zilia, springs, 35 And steeps in tears the robe to which she clings, Till bursting from Peruvia's frighted throng, Two warlike youths impetuous rush'd along; One, grasp'd his twanging bow with furious air, While in his troubled eye sat fierce despair. 40 But all in vain his erring weapon flies, Pierc'd by a thousand wounds, on earth he lies. His drooping head the heart-struck Zilia rais'd, And on the youth in speechless anguish gaz'd; While he, who fondly shar'd his danger, flew, 45 And from his breast a reeking sabre drew. "Deep in my faithful bosom let me hide "The fatal steel, that would our souls divide," He quick exclaims--the dying warrior cries, "Ah, yet forbear!--by all the sacred ties, 50 "That bind our hearts, forbear"--In vain he spoke, Friendship with frantic zeal impels the stroke: "Thyself for ever lost, thou hop'st in vain, "The youth replied, my spirit to detain; "From thee, my soul, in childhood's earliest year, 55 "Caught the light pleasure, and the starting tear; "Thy friendship then my young affections blest, "The first pure passion of my infant breast; "That passion, which o'er life delight has shed,