, dearest maiden, threw
A wondrous charm o'er all who knew
Her loveliness; her menial train
Adored her even to anxious pain.
And to her father's rapturous eyes,
She shone a rainbow--whose bright dyes
Illumed his aged spirit's night;
A thing of loveliness and light.
And in and out the Inca's hall
She went, returned to his known call.
She seemed a sunbeam sent from heaven,
To make his troubled spirit even;
For, if his soul, oppressed with grief,
In aught of earthly, sought relief;
Iola's image quickly seen,
His soul grew peaceful and serene.
In his tried spirits' darkest mood,
She was an omen still of good.
Such was the maid with hue of night,
But soul and eyes like midday light,
Whose beauty shed a sparkling spell,
O'er Peru's plain and shadowy dell;--
Who mid the rugged Andes stood,
The charm of polished womanhood,
And many a stranger wondered where,
She caught that grace and beauty's air.

"Iola!" said Gonzalo, "far
Where shines yon lovely evening star,
Sings many a gay and loving maid,
Beneath the cooling olive shade.
Their brows are whiter, too, than thine,
But yet none to me are so divine,
As thine, fair maid of dark Peru,
With heart like its Volcanoes too.
E'er since I landed on those shores,
Of endless spring, and brightest ores,
I have not thought of ought but thee,
Ne'er can my bosom now be free.
List! sweet Iola! am I vain?
I deem thou lovest we well again;
For, when I sought thy downcast eyes,
They met mine with a glad surprise;
And when I spake to thee full low,
Thy voice was like a fountain's flow,
So softly sweet, so lulling, too,
It bathed my soul in rapture's dew.
Iola! sure I love thee well,
And if thou wilt thy father tell,
I deem he will not eye me ill,
Whose love is with his daughter still."
Iola raised her glance to heaven,
Then to Gonzalo, darting, even
Her soul, into his own, and said;
"This soil with blood was never red;
And, sure, my father would not slay,
Those men for whom his child will pray.
But why thinkest thou of blood? the thought,
With wretched fear is ever fraught.
Think, think of love, and gentle peace,
Gonzalo! let these bodings cease.
Think, think of love--here on my heart,
Repose, and even Death's stern dart,
By Love conjured, will turn away,
Some unloved thing of earth to slay."
"Angel of good!" Gonzalo cried,
"A thousand joys are at thy side,
Thou comest to light my dangerous way,
With calm, and pure, and heavenly ray.
I feel thou art a spirit s