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Part seen, part lost : the long illustrious march Dire was the strife, when ardent Teucapel
Circling the swamp, now draws its various arch; | Advancing, in the front of carnage, fell.
And seems, as on it moves, meandering slow, At once, Ongolmo, Elicura, rush'd,
A radiant segment of a living bow.

And swaying their huge clubs together, crush'd
Five days the Spaniards, trooping in array, Horseman and horse; then bathed their hands in
O'er plains, and headlands, held their eastern way. gore,
On the sixth early dawn, with shuddering awe, And limb from limb the panting carcass tore.
And horror, in the last defile they saw,

Caupolican, where the main battle bleeds, Ten pendent heads, from which the gore still run, Hosts, and succeeding hosts, undaunted leads, All gash'd and grim, and blackening in the sun : Till, torn and shatter'd by the ceaseless fire, These were the gallant troop that pass'd before, Thousands with gnashing teeth, and clenched spears, The Indians' vast encampment to explore,

expire. Led by Del Oro, now with many a wound Pierced by a hundred wounds, Ongolmo lies, Pierced, and a headless trunk upon the ground. And grasps his club terrific as he dies. The horses startled, as they tramp'd in blood; With breathless expectation, on the height, The troops a moment half-recoiling stood. Lautaro watch'd the long and dubious fight:

But boots not now to pause, or to retire ; Pale and resign'd the meek man stood, and Valdivia's eye flash'd with indignant fire:

press'd “Onward ! brave comrades, to the pass !” he cried— More close the holy image to his breast. “Onward!" th' impatient cuirassiers replied. Now nearer to the fight Lautaro drew,

And now, up to the hill's ascending crest, When on the ground a warrior met his view, With animated look and beating breast,

Upon whose features memory seem'd tò trace He urged his steed—when, wide beneath his eye, A faint resemblance of his father's face; He saw, in long expanse, Arauco's valley lie. O’er him a horseman, with collected might,

Far as the labouring sight could stretch its glance, Raised his uplifted sword, in act to smite, One undulating mass of club and lance,- When the youth springing on, without a word, One animated surface seem'd to fill

Snatch'd from a soldier's wearied grasp the sword, The many stirring scene, from hill to bill: And smote the horseman through the crest: a yell To the deep mass he pointed with his sword, Of triumph burst, as to the ground he fell. “Banner, advance !" Give out“ Castile !" the word. Lautaro shouted, “On! brave brothers, on!

Instant the files advance-the trumpets bray, Scatter them, like the snow Sthe day is won! And now the host, in terrible array,

Lo, I! Lautaro,-Attacapac's son!” Ranged on the heights that overlook the plain, The Indians turn: again the battle bleedsHas halted:

Cleft are the helms, and crush'd the struggling steeds. But the task were long and vain The bugle sounds, and faint with toil and heat, To say what nations, from the seas that roar Some straggling horsemen to the hills retreat. Round Patagonia's melancholy shore;

“Stand, brave companions !” bold Valdivia cried, From forests, brown with everlasting shades; And shook his sword, in recent carnage died. From rocks of sunshine, white with prone cascades ; “0! droop not—droop not yet-all is not o'erFrom snowy summits where the llama roams, Brave, faithful friends, one glorious sally more Oft bending o'er the cataract as it foams;

Where is Lautaro ? leaps his willing sword From streams, whose bridges* tremble from the Now to avenge his long-indulgent lord ?” steep;

He waited not for answer, but again From lakes, in summer's sweetest light asleep; Spurr'd to the centre of the horrid plain, Indians, of sullen brow and giant limb,

Clubs, arrows, spears, the spot of death enclose, With clubs terrific, and with aspects grim, And fainter now the Spanish shouts arose. Flock'd fearless.

'Mid ghastly heaps of many a bleeding corpse, When they saw the Spanish line Lies the caparison'd and dying horse. Arranged, and front to front, descending shine, While still the rushing multitudes assail, Burst-instant burst, the universal cry

Vain is the fiery tube, the twisted mail! (Ten thousand spears uplifted to the sky) The Spanish horsemen faint: long yells resound “ Tyrants, we come to conquer or to die !" As the dragg'd ensign trails the gory ground. Grim Mariantu led the Indian force

“ Shout, for the chief is seized !"-a thousand A-left; and, rushing to the foremost horse,

cries
Hurld with unerring aim th' involving thong - Burst forth—Valdivia! for the sacrifice !"
Then fearless sprung amidst the mailed throng. And lo, in silent dignity resign'd,
Valdivia saw the horse, entangled, reel,

The meek Anselmo, led in bonds, behind!
And shouting, as he rode, “ Castile ! Castile !"

His hand upon his breast, young Zarinel Led on the charge :-like a descending food, Amidst a group of mangled Indians fell: It swept, till every spur was black with blood.

The spear, that to his heart a passage found, His force a-right, where Elicura led,

Left poor Olola's hair within the wound. A thousand spears went hissing overhead,

Now all is hush'd-save where, at times, alone And feather'd arrows, of each varying hue, Deep midnight listens to a distant moan, In glancing arch, beneath the sunbeams flew.

Save where the condors clamour, overhead,

And strike with sounding beaks the helmets of the * Rude hanging bridges, constructed by the natives.

dead.

13

SONG OF INDIAN MAIDS.

“'Twas eve,

Here, on the scene with recent slaughter red,
CANTO VIII.

To soothe the spirits of the brave who bled,
ARGUMENT.

Raise we, to-day, the war-feast of the dead. Indian festival for victory-Old warrior brought in wounded Bring forth the chief in bonds !—Fathers, to-day,

-Recognises his long-lost son, and dies-Discovery Devote we to our gods the noblest prey.”
Conclusion with the old warrior's funeral, and prophetic

Lautaro turp'd his eyes, and, gazing round, oration by the Missionary.

Beheld Valdivia, and Anselmo, bound !

One stood in arms, as with a stern despair, The morn returns, and reddening seems to shed

His helmet cleft in twain, his temples bare, One ray of glory on the patriot dead!

Where streaks of blood, that dropt upon his mail, Round the dark stone, the victor chiefs behold!

Served but to show his face more deadly pale: Still on their locks the gouts of gore hang cold!

His eyebrows, dark and resolute, he bent, There stands the brave Caupolican, the pride

And stood, composed, to wait the dire event. Of Chili, young Lautaro by his side !

Still on the cross his looks Anselmo cast,
Near the grim circle, pendent from the wood,
Twelve hundred Spanish heads are dropping blood. And in a world of light, without a shade,

As if all thought of this vain world was pass'd, Shrill sound the pipes of death: in festive dance,

E’en now his meek and guileless spirit stray’d. The Indian maids with myrtle boughs advance ;

Where stood the Spanish chief, a muttering sound The tinkling sea-shells on their ankles ring,

Rose, and each club was lifted from the ground; As, hailing thus the victor youth, they sing:

When, starting from his father's corpse, his sword
Waving before his once triumphant lord,
Lautaro cried, “ My breast shall meet the blow:

But save-save him, to whom my life I owe!” 1.

Valdivia mark'd him with unmoved eye, “O, shout for Lautaro, the young and the brave! Then look'd upon his bonds, nor deign'd reply; The arm of whose strength was uplifted to save, When Marinntu,-stealing with slow pace, When the steeds of the strangers came rushing And listing high his iron-jagged mace, amain,

Smote him to earth: a thousand voices rose, And the ghosts of our fathers look'd down on the Mingled with shouts and yells, “So fall our slain !

foes!" 2.

Lautaro gave to tears a moment's space, and the noise of the battle was o'er,

As black in death he mark'd Valdivia's face, Five thousand brave warriors were cold in their Then cried, - Chiefs, friends, and thou, Caupoligore :

can, When in front, young Lautaro invincible stood,

0, spare this innocent and holy man! And the horses and iron men rolld in their blood! He never sail'd rapacious o'er the deep,

The gold of blood-polluted lands to heap. 3.

He never gave the armed hosts his aid“ As the snows of the mountain are swept by the But meekly to the Mighty Spirit pray'd, blast,

That in all lands the sounds of wo might cease, The earthquake of death o'er the white men has And brothers of the wide world dwell in peace !" pass’d;

The victor youth saw generous sympathy Shout, Chili, in triumph! the battle is won, Already steal to every warrior's eye; And we dance round the heads that are black in Then thus again :-“ 0, if this filial tear the sun!”

Bear witness my own father was most dear!

If this uplifted arm, this bleeding steel Lautaro, as if wrapt in thought profound, Speak, for my country what I felt, and feel; Oft turn’d an anxious look inquiring round. If, at this hour, I meet her high applause, “ He is not here !-Say, does my father live?While my heart beats still ardent in her cause;Ere eager voices could an answer give,

Ilear, and forgive these tears that grateful flow, With faltering footsteps and declining head, 0! hear how much to this poor man I owe. And slowly by an aged Indian led,

“I was a child, when to my sire's abode, Wounded and weak the mountain chief appears : In Chillan's vale, the armed horsemen rode : “ Live, live!” Lautaro cried, with bursting tears, Me, whilst my father cold and breathless lay, And fell upon his neck, and kissing press'd, Far off the crested soldiers bore away, With folding arms, his gray hairs to his breast. And for a captive sold. No friend was near, “O, live! I am thy son—thy long-lost child !” To mark a young and orphan stranger's tear: The warrior raised his look, and faintly smiled- This humble man, with kind parental care, “Chili, my country, is avenged !” he cried : Snatch'd me from slavery-saved from dark de. “My son !"—then sunk upon a shield—and died

spair ; Lautaro knelt beside him, as he bow'd,

And as my years increased, protected, fed, And kiss'd his bleeding breast, and wept aloud. And breathed a father's blessings on my head. The sounds of sadness through the circle ran, A Spanish maid was with him: need I speak ? When thus, with lifted axe, Caupolican, Behold, affection's tear still wets my cheek! “ What, for our fathers, brothers, children, slain, Years, as they pass'd, matured in ripening grace Canst thou repay, ruthless, inhuman Spain ?- Her form unfolding, and her beauteous face:

She heard my orphan tale; she loved to hear, Now all th' assembled chiefs, assenting, cried, And sometimes for my fortunes dropp'd a tear. “ Live, live! Lautaro and his beauteous bride !"

« Valdivia saw me, now in blooming age, With eager arms, Lautaro snatch'd his boy, And claim'd me from the father as his page; And kiss'd him in an agony of joy; The chief too cherish'd me-yea, saved my life, Then to Anselmo gave, who strove to speak, When in Peru arose the civil strife.

And felt the tear first burning on his cheek: Yet still remembering her I loved so well, The infant held his neck with strict embrace, Oft I retum'd to the gray father's cell:

And kiss'd his pale emaciated face. His voice instructed me ; recalld my youth

From the dread scene, wet with Valdivia's gore, From rude idolatry to heavenly truth:

His wan and trembling charge Lautaro bore. Of this hereafter. He my darkling mind

There was a bank, where slept the summer light, Clear'd, and from low and sensual thoughts refined. A small stream whispering went in mazes bright, Then first, with feelings new impress’d, I strove And stealing from the sea, the western wind To hide the tear of tenderness and love:

Waved the magnolias on the slope inclined: Amid the fairest maidens of Peru,

The woodpecker, in glittering plumage green, My eyes, my heart, one only object knew: And echoing bill, beneath the boughs was seen; I lived that object's love and faith to share; And, arch'd with gay and pendent flowers above, He saw, and bless'd us with a father's prayer. The floripondio* its rich trellis wove.

“Here, at Valdivia's last and stern command, Lautaro bent with looks of love and joy I came a stranger in my native land!

O’er his yet trembling wife and beauteous boy. Anselmo (so him call-now most in need

“0, by what miracle, beloved ! say, And standing here in bonds, for whom I plead) Hast thou escaped the perils of the way Came, by our chief so summond, and for aid From Lima, where our peaceful dwelling stood, To the Great Spirit of the Christians pray'd: To these terrific shores, this vale of blood ?" Here as a son I loved him, but I left

Waked by his voice, as from the sleep of death, A wife, a child, of my fond cares bereft,

Faint she replied, with slow recovering breath, Never to see again-for death awaits

“Who shall express, when thou, best friend! wert My entrance now in Lima's jealous gates.

gone, “ Caupolican, didst thou thy father love? How sunk my heart deserted and alone Did his last dying look affection move?

· Would I were with thee!' oft I sat and sigh'd Pity this aged man; unbend thy brow :

When the pale moon shonc on the silent tide He was my father-is my father now !”

At length resolved, I sought thee o'er the seas: Consenting mercy marks each warrior's mien. The brave bark cheerly went before the breeze, But who is this ?-what pallid form is seen? That arms and soldiers to Valdivia bore, As crush'd already by the fata) blow,

From Lima bound to Chili's southern shore Bound, and with looks wbite as a wreath of snow,- I seized the fair occasion-ocean smiled, Her hands upon her breast,-scarce drawn her As to the sire I bore his lisping child. breath,

The storm arose: with loud and sudden shock, A Spanish woman knelt, expecting death,

The vessel sunk, disparting on a rock. Whilst, borne by a dark warrior at her side,

Some mariners, amidst the billows wild, An infant shrunk from the red plumes, and cried. Scarce saved, in one small boat, me and my child: Lautaro started

What I have borne, a captive since that day“ Injured maid of Spain !

(Forgive these tears)—I scarce have heart to say! Meme So, take me to thine arms again!" None pitied, save one gentle Indian maidShe heard his voice,-with rushing thoughts op- A wild maid, -of her looks I was afraid ; press'd,

Her long black hair upon her shoulders fell, And one faint sigh, she sunk upon his breast. And in her hand she bore a wreathed shell.” Caupolican, with warm emotion, cried,

Lautaro for a moment turn'd aside, “ Live! live, Lautaro ! and his beauteous bride!

And, “0! my sister !" with faint voice he cried. Live, aged father !”—and forth with commands

“ Already free from sorrow and alarms, A warrior to unbind Anselmo's hands.

I clasp'd in thought a husband in my arms, She raised her head : his eyes first met her view, When a dark warrior, station'd on the height, (As round Lautaro's neck her arms she threw) Who held his solitary watch by night, “Ah, no !” she feebly spoke ; " it is not true S

Before me stood, and listing high his lance It is some form of the distemper'd brain !”

Exclaim'd, “No further, on thy life, advance! Then hid her face upon his breast again.

Faint, wearied, sinking to the earth with dread Dark flashing eyes, terrific, glared around : Back to the dismal cave my steps he led. Here, his brains scatter'd by the deadly wound, Duly at eve, within the craggy cleft, The Spanish chief lay, on the gory ground. Some water, and a cake of maize, were left: With lowering brows, and mace yet dropping The thirteenth sun unseen went down the sky: blood,

When morning came, they brought me forth to dieAnd clotted hair, there Mariantu stood.

But hush'd be every sigh, each boding fear, Anselmo mournful, yet in sorrow mild,

Since all I sought on earth, and all I love, is here !" Stood opposite :-“ A blessing on your child," The woman said, as slow revived her waking sense,

* One of the most beautiful of the beautiful climbing And then, with looks aghast, “O bear us hence !" plants of South America.

Her infant raised his hands, with glistening eye, Beside the grave stood aged Izdabel, To reach a large and radiant butterfly,

And broke the spear, and cried, “ Farewell !-fareThat fiutter'd near his face; with looks of love,

well!" And truth and tenderness, Lautaro strove

Lautaro hid his face, and sigh'd “ Adieu !" To calm her wounded heart; the holy sire, As the stone hatchet in the grave he threw. His eyes faint lighted with a transient fire, The little child, that to its mother clung, Hung o'er them, and to Heaven his prayer addrest, With sidelong looks, that on her garment hung, While, with uplifted hands, he wept and blest. Listen'd, half-shrinking, as with awe profound,

An Indian came, with feathers crown'd, And dropt its flowers, unconscious, on the ground. And knelt before Lautaro on the ground.' The alpaca, now grown old, and almost wild, “ What tidings, Indian ?

Which poor Olola cherish'd, when a child,

Came from the mountains, and with earnest gaze, INDIAN.

Seem'd as remembering those departed days, “When I led thy sire,

When his tall neck he bent, with aspect bland, Whom late thou saw'st upon his shield expire, And lick’d, in silence, the caressing hand ! Son of our ulmen, didst thou mark no trace,

And now Anselmo, his pale brow inclined, In these sad looks, of a remember'd face?

The warrior's relics, dust to dust, consign'd Dost thou remember Izdabel ? Look, here! With Christian rites, and sung, on bending knee, It is thy father's hatchet and his spear.”

“ Eternam pacem dona, Domine.” “ Friend of my infant days, how I rejoice," Then rising up, he closed the holy book; Lautaro cried, “once more to hear that voice! And lifting in the beam his lighted look, Life like a dream, since last we met, has fled- (The cross, with meekness, folded on his breast,) 0! my beloved sister, thou art dead !"

“ Here, too,” he cried," my bones in peace shall

rest! INDIAN.

Few years remain to me, and never more “ I come to guide thee, through untrodden ways, Here lay my bones, that the same tree may wave

Shall I behold, 0 Spain! thy distant shore !
To the lone valley, where thy father's days
Were pass'd; where every cave, and every tree,

O’er the poor Christian's and the Indian's grave. From morn to morn, remember'd him of thee !"

Then may itwhen the sons of future days Lautaro cried, “ Here, faithful Indian, stay ;

Shall hear our tale, and on the hillock gaze,) I have a last sad duty yet to pay,

Then may it teach, that charity should bind,

Where'er they roam, the brothers of mankind ! A little while we part :--Thou here remain :" He spake, and pass'd like lightning o’er the plain. The time shall come, when wildest tribes shall bear

Thy voice, O Christ! and drop the slaughtering “ Ah, cease, Castilian maid ! thy vain alarms ! See where he comes—his father in his arms !"

spear.

“ Yet, we condemn not him who bravely stood, “ Now lead," he cried.-The Indian, sad and still,

To seal his country's freedom with his blood; Paced on from wood to vale, from vale to hill ;

And if, in after-times, a ruthless band Her infant tired, and hush'd a while to rest,

Of fell invaders sweep my native land, Smiled, in a dream, upon its mother's breast;

May she, by Chili's stern example led, The pensive mother gray Anselmo led :

Hurl back his thunder on th' assailant's head; Behind, Lautaro bore his father dead. Beneath the branching palms they slept at night; And learn one virtue from her ancient foe !"

Sustain'd by freedom, strike th’avenging blow, The small birds waked them ere the morning

light. Before their path, in distant view, appear'd

EPILOGUE. The mountain smoke, that its dark column rear'd THESE notes I sung when strove indignant Spain O'er Andes' summits, in the pale blue sky, To rend th' abhorr'd invader's iron chain ! Lifting their icy pinnacles so high.

With beating heart, we listen'd from afar Four days they onward held their eastern way:

To each faint rumour of the various war; On the fifth rising morn before them lay

Now trembled, lest her fainting sons should yield ; Chillan's lone ylen, amid whose windings green

Now follow'd thee to the ensanguined field ; The warrior's loved and last abode was seen. Thee, most heroic Wellington, and cried, No smoke went up,-stillness was all around, When Salamanca's plain in shouts replied, Save where the waters fell with soothing sound,

“ All is not lost! The scatter'd eagles AySave where the thenca sung so loud and clear, All is not lost! England and victory!” And the bright humming-bird was spinning near.

Hark! the noise hurtles in the frozen north! Yet here all human tumults seem'd to cease, France pours again her banner'd legions forth, And sunshine rested on the spot of peace ;

With trump, and plumed borsemen! Whence that The myrtles bloom'd as fragrant and as green As if Lautaro scarce had left the scene,

Lo! ancient Moscow flaming to the sky! And in his ear the falling water's spray

Imperial fugitive! back to the gates Seem'd swelling with the sounds of yesterday. Of Paris ! while despair the tale relates,

“ Where yonder rock the aged cedars shade, Of dire discomfiture, and shame, and flight, There shall my father's bones in peace be laid.” And the dead, bleaching on the snows of night.

Beneath the cedar's shade they dug the ground; Shout! for the heart ennobling transport fills ! The small and sad communion gather'd round. Conquest's red banner floats along the hills

сгу ?

That gird the guilty city! Shout amain,

Mountains of inmost Afric, where no ray For Europe, England,-for deliver'd Spain ! Hath ever pierced, from Beth'lem's star of day, Shout, for a world avenged !

Savages, fierce with clubs, and shaggy hair,

The toil is o'er, Who woods and thickets with the lion share, Enough wide earth hath reek’d with human gore, Hark! the glad echoes of the cliffs repeat, At Waterloo, amidst the countless dead,

“How beauteous, in the desert, are the feet The war-fiend gave his last loud shriek, and fled. Of them, who bear, o'er wastes and trackless sands, Thou stood'st in front, my country! on that day Tidings of mercy to remotest lands !" Of horrors; thou more awful didst display

Patiently plodding, the Moravian mild Thy long-tried valour, when from rank to rank Sees stealing culture creep along the wild, Death hurrying strode, and that vast army shrank And twice ten thousand leagues o'er ocean's roar, Soldiers of England, the dread day is won !

And far from friends whom he may see no more, Soldiers of England, on, brave comrades, on! Constructs the warmer hut, or delves the sod; Pursue them! Yes, ye did pursue, till night Cheerful, as still beneath the eye of God. Hid the foul rout of their disastrous flight.

Where, muttering spoil, or death, the Caffre prowl'd, Halt on this hill-your wasted strength repair, Or moonlight wolves, a gaunt assembly, how'd, And close your labours, to the well known air, No sounds are heard along the champaign wide, Which e'en your children sing, “ O Lord, arise !" But one small chapel bell, at eventide, Peals the long line,“ Scatter his enemies !" Whilst notes unwonted linger in the air, Back to the scenes of home, the evening fire, The songs of Sion, or the voice of prayer! Or May-day sunshine on the village spire,

And thou, the light of God's eternal word, The blissful thought by that loved air is led, Record, and Spirit of the living Lord, Here heard amidst the dying and the dead.* Hid and unknown from half the world, -at length,

'Twas when affliction with cold shadow hung Rise like the sun, and go forth in thy strength! On half the wasted world, these notes I sung. Already towering o'er old Ganges stream, Thus pass'd the storm, and o'er a night of woes The dark pagoda brightens in thy beam : More beautiful the morn of freedom rose.

And the dim eagles, on the topmost height Now with a sigh, I close, alas ! the strain,

Of Jaggernaut, shine as in morning light! And mourn thy fate, abused, insulted Spain ! Beyond the snows of savage Labrador When, for stern Valour, baring his bold breast, The ray pervades pale Greenland's wintry shoreI see wan Bigotry, in monkish vest,t

The demon spell, that bound the slumbering sense, Point, scowling, to the dungeon's gloom, and wave Dissolves before its holy influence, The sword insulting o'er the fallen brave,

As the gray rock of ice, a shapeless heap, (The sword of him who foreign hate withstood, Thaws in the sunshine of the summer deep. Whose point yet drops with the invader's blood,) Proceed, auspicious and eventful day! Then, where yon darkt tribunal shames the day, Banner of Christ, thy ampler folds display! Hurl it with curses and with scorn away!

Let Atlas shout with Andes, and proclaim Turn from the thought: and if one generous heart To earth, and sea, and skies, a Saviour's name, In these fictitious scenes has borne a part,

Till angel voices in the sound shall blend,
For the poor Indian in remotest lands,

And one hosanna from all worlds ascend!
The sable slave, that lifts his bleeding hands,
For wretchedness, and ignorance, and need,
0! let the aged missionary plead!

SONG* OF THE CID.+
The tale is told-a tale of days of yore,
The soldier—the gray father-are no more;

The Cid is sitting, in martial state,
And the brief shades, that pleased a while the eye

Within Valentia's wall; Are faded, like the landscapes of the sky.

And chiefs of high renown attend Yet may the moral still remain impress'd

The knightly festival. To warm the patriot, or the pious breast.

Brave Alvar Fanez, and a troop Where'er aggression marches, may the brave

Of gallant men, were there; Rush unappall'd their father's land to save!

And there came Donna Ximena,
Where sounds of glad salvation are gone out

His wife and daughters fair.
Unto all lands, as with an angel's shout,
May holy zeal its energies employ!

When the foot-page bent on his knee,
Rocks of Saldanna, break forth into joy!

What tidings brought he then? Isles, o'er the waste of desert ocean strown,

“ Morocco's king is on the seas, Rivers, that sweep through shades and sands un

With fifty thousand men.” known,

“Now God be praised !” the Cid he cried,

“Let every hold be stored :

Let fly the holy gonfalon, * Alluding to a most interesting fact in the history of

And give .St. James,' the word.” that eventful struggle, closed by the national air of God save the king.

† Alluding to the unjust treatment of those brave men * Referred to in p. 505. who saved the life and the throne of a bigoled and un. Compare with Southey's admirable translation of the grateful prince.

Cid. * The Inquisition.

Banner consecrated by the pope.

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