Classic Poem

Deserted by the partners of his crimes,
The dark adherents of more prosperous times,
Aguirre the blood-stained-stands; — befitting fate!
'Tis just that he should be thus desolate,
Whose only aim, while triumph could be found,
Was to spread desolating death around.
Rapine his end, and massacre his means,
The tyrant-planner of terrific scenes,
Ev'n now, although the arm of power is fled,
And the stern heart hath long lain with the dead,
Ev'n now, as old tradition wildly tells,
Where the form wandered the freed spirit dwells;
Shrieks in the cave, or thunders in the wood,
Or hovers darkly o'er some ancient flood,
Which erst it tinted with the victim's blood.
Girt by strong foes, and left by guilty friends,
Who served him but to forward selfish ends,
Aguirre the murderer stands: — and one alone,
Of all his band — one faithful Maranone —
Shares in the savage terrors of that hour,
When lawless might must crouch to loftier power:
Bold in his crimes, but in his friendship true,
He dares to die with the sole lord he knew,
Too faithful villain! deep immersed in guilt,
Whose hands are purpled with the blood they've spilt,
Led by an instinct I may not controul,
Must I admire thy loftiness of soul —
Must this one virtue make me half forget
Dark deeds New Andalusia curses yet?

" Llamosa, " said the chief, " why art thou here,
" Where there is nought to gain, and all to fear?
" Thy craven comrades crouch them to the king —
" Bend thy proud crest, the deed will triumph bring. "

— — " And leave thee singly to endure the scathe
" Of changeful fortune and thy foemen's wrath!
" No! I was true in life, nor now in death
" Will shrink to yield with thine my latest breath! "
Aguirre feels not, or does not seem to feel
Llamosa's love, and self-devoted zeal,
But slowly from him turns, intent to seek
His daughter.She, with terror, pale, and weak,
Awaits the coming of a phrenzied sire,
Who dooms his child to death — but not in ire.
" Say thy prayers, child, for I must see thee die! "
She hears, but scarcely conscious, murmurs " Why? "
" Because thou may'st not live to be reviled,
" And scorned hereafter, as a traitor 's child. "
Vain was the pleading of her eloquent eye —
Vain her bent knee, and her imploring sigh:
Paternal tenderness was wholly gone —
There stood Aguirre the murderer alone!
The feelings of the father were forgot;
Of pride he thought, and her hereafter lot.
He killed the maiden — looked on her — and rose
To brave the ready weapons of his foes
With breast as willing; never martyr went
With calmer eye, or spirit more unbent,
To meet an undeserved — but glorious punishment!

All hope was gone, and all resistance vain,
Yet did the chieftain's soul its pride maintain:
He would not yield him, save unto the hands
Of one empowered to issue high commands;
And when the conquerors, glorying in their prize,
Exclaimed, " Behold! Aguirre our captive lies! "
His soul spoke through his eye of untamed pride,
While haughtily and briefly he replied —
" Aguirre bows not to slaves so vile as ye,
" Though chance for once gives ye the mastery. "
Then came his death blow! and the felon arm
That rose to work the warrior's latest harm,
A few hours back, and it had wrought his will,
(However stern) with eager strength and skill;
But now it seems to lack the steady power
That nerved it well in many a battle hour,
And the first shot scarce wounds the destined one,
Who calmly mutters — " That was badly done! "
The second fire, more fatal, aimed more true,
Reaches his heart, " but this, " he cries, " will do! "
And sinking on the earth — no more the fear
Of Andalusia — dies the brave Aguirre!