A smile benignant kindling in his eyes, O happy realm! the glad Columbus cries, Far in the midland, safe from every foe, Thy arts shall flourish as thy virtues grow, To endless years thy rising fame extend, And sires of nations from thy sons descend. May no gold-thirsty race thy temples tread, Insult thy rites, nor heap thy plains with dead; No Bovadilla seize the tempting spoil, No dark Ovando, no religious Boyle, In mimic priesthood grave, or robed in state, Overwhelm thy glories in oblivious fate! Vain are thy hopes, the sainted Power replied, These rich abodes from Spanish hordes to hide, Or teach hard guilt and cruelty to spare The guardless prize of sacrilegious war. Think not the vulture, mid the field of slain, Where base and brave promiscuous strow the plain, Where the young hero in the pride of charms Pours brighter crimson o'er his spotless arms, Will pass the tempting prey, and glut his rage On harder flesh, and carnage black with age; O'er all alike he darts his eager eye, Whets the blunt beak and hovers down the sky, From countless corses picks the dainty food, And screams and fattens in the purest blood. So the vile hosts, that hither trace thy way, On happiest tribes with fiercest fury prey. Thine the dread task, O Cortez, here to show What unknown crimes can heighten human woe, On these fair fields the blood of realms to pour, Tread sceptres down, and print thy steps in gore, With gold and carnage swell thy sateless mind, And live and die the blackest of mankind. He gains the shore. Behold his fortress rise, His fleet high flaming suffocates the skies. The march begins; the nations in affright Quake as he moves, and wage the fruitless fight; Thro the rich provinces he bends his way, Kings in his chain, and kingdoms for his prey; Full on the imperial town infuriate falls, And pours destruction o'er its batter'd walls. In quest of peace great Montezuma stands, A sovereign supplicant with lifted hands, Brings all his treasure, yields the regal sway, Bids vassal millions their new lord obey; And plies the victor with incessant prayer, Thro ravaged realms the harmless race to spare. But treasures, tears and sceptres plead in vain, Nor threats can move him, nor a world restrain; While blind religion's prostituted name And monkish fury guide the sacred flame. O'er crowded fanes their fires unhallow'd bend, Climb the wide roofs, the lofty towers ascend, Pour thro the lowering skies the smoky flood, And stain the fields, and quench the blaze in blood.