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PERU.
CANTO THE FOURTH.
Now the stern partner of Pizarro's toils,
Almagro, lur'd by hope of golden spoils,
To distant Chili's ever-verdant meads,
Thro' paths untrod, a band of warriors leads;
O'er the high Andes' frozen steeps they go, 5
And wander mid' eternal hills of snow:
In vain the vivifying orb of day
Darts on th' impervious ice his fervent ray;
Cold, keen as chains the oceans of the Pole,
Numbs the shrunk frame, and chills the vig'rous soul-- 10
At length they reach luxuriant _Chili's_ plain,
Where ends the dreary bound of winter's reign;
Where spring sheds odours thro' th' unvaried year,
And bathes the flower of summer, with her tear.
When first the brave _Chilese_, with eager glance, 15
Behold the hostile sons of Spain advance;
Heard the loud thunder of the cannon crash,
And view'd the light'ning of the instant flash,
The threat'ning sabre red with purple streams,
The lance that quiver'd in the solar beams; 20
With pale surprise they saw the lowring storm,
Where hung dark danger, in an unknown form:
But soon their spirits, stung with gen'rous shame,
Renounce each terror, and for vengeance flame;
Pant high with sacred freedom's ardent glow, 25
And met intrepid, the superiour foe.
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