Pure was the lustre of the orient ray,
That joyful wak'd Alzira's nuptial day: 110
Her auburn hair, spread loosely to the wind,
The virgin train, with rosy chaplets bind;
The scented flowers that form her bridal wreathe,
A deeper hue, a richer fragrance breathe.
The gentle tribe now sought the hallow'd fane, 115
Where warbling vestals pour'd the choral strain:
There aged Zorai, his Alzira prest
With love parental, to his anxious breast:
Priest of the sun, within the sacred shrine
His fervent spirit breath'd the strain divine; 120
With glowing hand, the guiltless off'ring spread,
With pious zeal the pure libation shed;
Nor vain the incense of erroneous praise
When meek devotion's soul the tribute pays;
On wings of purity behold it rise, 125
While bending mercy wafts it to the skies!
Peruvia! oh delightful land; in vain
The virtues flourish'd on thy beauteous plain;
In vain sweet pleasure there was seen to move,
And wore the smile of peace, the bloom of love; 130
For soon shall burst the unrelenting storm,
Rend her soft robe, and crush her tender form:
Peruvia! soon the fatal hour shall rise,
The hour despair shall waste in tears and sighs;
Fame shall record the horrors of thy fate, 135
And distant ages weep for ills so great.
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