He seemed the lord of lady's sigh.
Gonzalo seen, her thought, her dream,
With fancy's love-fraught visions teem.
She deemed that orb of glorious fire,
To which her country's souls aspire,
That crimson god whose glowing face
Illumines all the mortal race:
She deemed his glory, only, vied
With brave Gonzalo's matchless pride.
And down along the green, fresh earth,
Where sin not yet had known its birth;
She knelt, and cast her hands and eyes,
To the bright God of those bright skies;
And worshipped him whose blessed beams,
Had given Gonzalo to her dreams.
Iola, princess of Peru,
Most fair (though of a dusky hue,)
Like this new, unpolluted clime,
Unknown to hate, unknown to crime,
Where all that dwell know but to love,
(The gentleness which marks the dove.)
And like that rich, unguarded shore,
She knew to be, and seem no more;
And like that land so rich in bloom,
Its branches wrought at noon a gloom;
Her form was bright with beauty's hues,
Which each propitious year renews;
And, as within its bosom lay,
Treasures which mocked the sun's bright ray;
In her rich soul shone wealth to shame,