dear, do you expec' to be there soon ?"
"Where?" said the Captain.
“Oh, you know yourself," said
Barny.

"It's well for me I do," said the Captain.

Thrue for you indeed, your honor," said Barny,in his most insinuating tone. but whin will you be at the ind o' your voyage, Captain jewel ?"

"I dare say in about three months," said the Captain.

"Oh, Holy Mother!" ejaculated Barny, "three months-arrah it's jokin' you are Captain dear, and only want to freken me."

"How should I frighten you?" asked the Captain,

The Indians report that the Inca Viracocha was the author of the prophecy which foretold the invasion of the Spaniards, and was preserved among the archives of the Kings of Peru. In effect it would appear to have been accomplished, at the close of the reign of one of his descendants, supposed to have obtained illegal possession of the throne, in the conquest of the Peruvian empire, the destruction of its idolatry, and finally, its total subversion by the Spanish army under Piçarro.

"Why amid scenes where desolation reigns,
Has thus my fancy chosen to abide?
Oh! not that brighter visions it disdains,
At whose departure it so oft has sigh'd ;
Nor yet that in the stores of memory

It cannot find some dear remember'd joys,
Whose sweetness, transient howsoe'er it be,
Leaves a faint trace oblivion ne'er destroys.
I fear me that the shade which sorrow flings
Around each thought and feeling of my breast,
And the disquietude of heart that springs

From losing all with which its hopes were blest;
'Tis this which colours with such sombre guise,
As clouds the spirit in its night of care,

The images that to my fancy rise,

And tints my strain with the sad hues they wear.

How beautiful the mild and pearly light

That robes at moon-rise the autumnal sky,

Softer than summer's noon, yet scarce less bright,
And fraught with sweet, tho' pensive reverie.

E

Morning is grand, when the unclouded sun
Spans the great arch of Heav'n with golden ray,
But night is lovely, when her lamp has won
The wide dominions of declining day.

For then, beneath the star-enamell'd sphere,
There reigns around a stillness of repose
That calms the troubled soul, and checks the tear,
When with the tide of grief the heart o'erflows.

And o'er the hills and valley of Yukay,*
Moonlight is spreading now a silvery veil,
While the sweet warble of her roundelay
Betrays the wooing of the nightingale.

The gentle airs, how balmily they breathe,
Rifling their odours from the fragrant flowers,
Whose opening buds their mingled incense wreathe
Around the loveliest of Indian bowers.

The marble grot, the ever-verdant grove,
The winding river, and the sparkling rill-
What fair domains for the abode of love,
Ev'n in their ruin how enchanting still.

Yet some there are o'er whom such spells
Can exercise no influence;

Those in whose inmost soul there dwells
Some latent anguish, so intense,
That beauties of the earth and air,
However rich the dyes they wear,
Are either pass'd unheeded by,
Or if regarded, with a sigh,
Waking the chords of memory,
To breathe in mournful unison,
With strains of joy for ever gone.
Ev'n thus was all the magic thrown
Around this fair romantic spot,
Lost upon one-and such alone

Had seen its charms, and felt them not.

But lightly as we prize the gold,

From whence unseen the jewel fell,

And sadly rather we behold

What minds us of our loss too well;
So from the valley of Yukay

When once its 'pride' was borne away,
Lightly reck'd Aza then, if all

Its moonlit groves, and rill and river,
Were shrouded in the gloomy pall
That hides his heart from hope for ever.
'Twas here, amid its blooming bowers,
That Aza first his Zilia met;

Oh! far beyond all after hours,
And one we cannot e'er forget,

"The valley of Yukay is the most delightful spot in all Peru; having for that reason been chosen by all the kings from the time of Manco Capac, (the first Inca,) as their place of recreation, to which they retired often to divert themselves, by a temporary relief, from the toils and fatigues of government."-Rycaut.

When first young Beauty's artless tone Falters responsive to our own; When in the eyes we read confess'd The tender tumult of the breast, When by the oft-repeated sigh, The words that in the effort die, Affection's voice too weak appears

To check each wild emotion's rush,
And feeling speaks by symbol-tears,
And its mute oracle, a blush.
They met could Aza's glances fail
To pierce the texture of her veil,
That scarce conceal'd, so finely wove,
Her mild blue eyes that beam'd with love.
Fair Zilia, well thy witching form
The bosom's fondest hopes could warm ;
For never had thy Deity

A lovelier worshipper than thee,
The soul of grace and symmetry.
Nor ever yet more faultless gem

Were gather'd from its native mine,
To deck an Inca's diadem,

Than Zilia was each thought of thine.
Alas! that fate should seldom bless
Those hearts that cannot love the less,
Tho' doom'd to be divided here,
And wander thro' life's wilderness
Perchance for many a weary year;
Consign'd to that sad solitude

Which the despairing ever feel,
Whose grief is every hour renew'd,
Beyond the flight of time to heal,
Who oft upon his rapid wings
The balm of consolation brings,
In sooth it is a deadly blow,

And mourn'd with many a shade of woe,
When first the young and ardent breast
With one dear object is impress'd,
And when its cherish'd hopes are wreck'd
By cold unkindness and neglect;

But deeper and more deadly far,
Comes destiny's rude shock to sever
Two love-link'd spirits, and to mar
Their peace and happiness for ever.
Thus bright and brief was Aza's dream
Of transport in his love requited,
Transient as the electric beam
That dies upon the gloom it lighted.
The glance of an unhallowed eye,
Practis'd in wiliest treachery,
Saw but to covet this fair flower
Blooming within its native bower;
And now thro' her deserted home,
For Zilia dwells no longer there,
In vain, alas! may Aza roam,

He seeks for hope, and meets despair. Oh! that the breast should c'er be steel'd Against another's agony,

Or keep the fount of feeling seal'd,

Last aught its flow should profit by ;

That there are hearts, o'er which the dews
Of pity ever vainly fall,

Whose cold unkindness can refuse

To hear the voice of sorrow's call.
The tender tear, the swelling sigh
Awake in such no sympathy;

Nay, it has ever been the pride
Of those whose barren souls within
Love never liv'd, or early died,
To thwart the bliss they cannot win;
And thus the dark Huascar bore
Afar from all her heart held dear,
The maiden in whose eyes he wore
A form of loathing and of fear.

Now in the Temple of the Sun,
As priestess of its splendid shrine,
Dwells Zilia-but how dimly on
Her spirit's gloom its glories shine;
In sooth they could but ill accord
With her distracted feelings now,

Woo'd by a tyrant she abhorr'd,
And urged to break her first fond vow.
And must she to such bidding yield?
Will not her Idol's altar shield
Its fairest virgin-worshipper?
Alas! its laws have destin'd her,
Chief of her train, and none beside,
*To be the reigning Inca's bride.
As the bright bird of Paradise,

If once upon the earth it light.
Can ne'er again have power to rise,
And wing to Heaven its airy flight,
Thus Zilia, can thy hopes no more
Beyond thy gorgeous dungeon soar;
Huascar claims thee for his own,
And never yet on +Cozco's throne
A sovereign of its region sate,
In vice and crime so obdurate,
Ere justly, tho' too late, he fell

By one who track'd his purpose well.

The loud Haylli had ceased-no more

In measured interval,

Upon the temple's marble floor

The sylph-like footsteps fall.

Both song and dance are o'er, till night
Come to demand the vesper rite.

According to the Peruvian code of laws respecting their religious rights and ceremonies, the Inca had the appointment of the Chief Priestess of the temple, who was obliged to become also the Inca's wife.

+ Cozco was the imperial city of Peru, in the midst of which upon a lofty eminence was built the celebrated Temple of the Sun, commanding an extensive prospect of the adjacent country.

All their songs were panegyrics in praise of the Sun, and called Haylli, i.e. triumph, with these they intermixed the quick and acute sayings of discreet lovers, commencing and concluding every stanza with the word Haylli.-Rycaut.