Meantime, the chief replied, thy cares releast, Rest here the night and share our scanty feast; Which, driven in hasty rout, our train supplied, When trembling earth foretold the boiling tide. They fared, they rested; till with lucid horn All-cheering Phosphor led the lively morn; The prince arose, an altar rear'd in haste, And watch'd the splendors of the reddening east. As o'er the mountain flamed the sun's broad eye, He call'd the host, his holy rites to try; Then took the loaves of maize, the bounties brake, Gave to the chief, and bade them all partake; The hallow'd relics on the pile he placed, With tufts of flowers the simple offering graced, Held to the sun the image from his breast, Whose glowing concave all the God exprest; O'er the dried leaves the rays concentred fly, And thus his voice ascends the listening sky: O thou, whose splendors kindle heaven with fire. Great Soul of nature, man's immortal Sire, If e'er my father found thy sovereign grace, Or thy blest will ordain'd the Incan race, Give these lorn tribes to learn thy awful name, Receive this offering, and the pile inflame; So shall thy laws o'er wider bounds be known, And earth's whole race be happy as thy own. Thus pray'd the prince; the focal flames aspire, The mute beholders tremble and retire, Gaze on the miracle, full credence own, And vow obedience to the sacred Sun. The legates now their farther course descried, A young cazique attending as a guide, O'er craggy cliffs pursued their eastern way, Trod loftier champaigns, meeting high the day, Saw timorous tribes, in these sublime abodes, Adore the blasts and turn the storms to gods; While every cloud that thunders thro the skies Claims from their hands a human sacrifice. Awhile the youth, their better faith to gain, Strives with his usual art, but strives in vain; In vain he pleads the mildness of the sun; A gale refutes him ere his speech be done; Continual tempests from their orient blow, And load the mountains with eternal snow. The sun's own beam, the timid clans declare, Drives all their evils on the tortured air; He draws the vapors up their eastern sky, That sail and centre round his dazzling eye; Leads the loud storms along his midday course, And bids the Andes meet their sweeping force; Builds their bleak summits with an icy throne, To shine thro heaven, a semblance of his own; Hence the sharp sleet, these lifted lawns that wait, And all the scourges that attend their state.