hues contrast the glow
Of the dusk bosoms that beat high below.

III.

But now the dance is o'er--yet stay awhile;
Ah, pause! nor yet put out the social smile.
To-morrow for the Mooa we depart,
But not to-night--to-night is for the heart.
Again bestow the wreaths we gently woo,
Ye young Enchantresses of gay Licoo![376]
How lovely are your forms! how every sense
Bows to your beauties, softened, but intense,[fi] 60
Like to the flowers on Mataloco's steep,
Which fling their fragrance far athwart the deep!--
We too will see Licoo; but--oh! my heart!--
What do I say?--to-morrow we depart!

IV.

Thus rose a song--the harmony of times
Before the winds blew Europe o'er these climes.
True, they had vices--such are Nature's growth--
But only the barbarian's--we have both;
The sordor of civilisation, mixed
With all the savage which Man's fall hath fixed. 70
Who hath not seen Dissimulation's reign,
The prayers of Abel linked to deeds of Cain?
Who such would see may from his lattice view
The Old World more degraded than the New,--
Now _new_ no more, save where Columbia rears
Twin giants, born by Freedom to her spheres,
Where Chimborazo, over air,--earth,--wave,--
Glares with his Titan eye, and sees no slave.[fj][377]

V.

Such was this ditty of Tradition's days,
Which to the dead a lingering fame conveys 80
In song, where Fame as yet hath left no sign
Beyond the sound whose charm is half divine;
Which leaves no record to the sceptic eye,
But yields young History all to Harmony;
A boy Achilles, with the Centaur's lyre
In hand, to teach him to surpass his sire.
For one long-cherished ballad's[378] simple stave,
Rung from the rock, or mingled with the wave,
Or from the bubbling streamlet's grassy side,
Or gathering mountain echoes as they glide, 90
Hath greater power o'er each true heart and ear,
Than all the columns Conquest's minions rear;[fk]
Invites, when Hieroglyphics[379] are a theme
For sages' labours, or the student's dream;
Attracts, when History's volumes are a toil,--
The first, the freshest bud of Feeling's soil.
Such was this rude rhyme--rhyme is of the rude--
But such