Where his Iola might be lone,
To dream of fancies all her own.
Yes! oft as evening shades came down,
On giant Andes' glittering crown
Of endless snow, that shines afar
Next to the radiant zenith star;
Then throw their dark and sombre lines,
Upon the mountain's lower pines:
Come, then, to me, and we will speak,
Sweet thrilling words, and on my cheek,
Thy lip shall feed till we expire,
In glowing love's consuming fire."
"Yes, I will come, maid of Peru!
Though Fate, yon soaring Andes threw,
Between my wish and thee my love,
That lofty barrier I'd remove;
And press to thee with Condor's flight,
To thee, to love, to life's delight.
N'er since these eyes beheld the day,
Have they seen aught, whose potent sway,
Could bend my will, as thou, dear maid!
Sweet star, amid my spirit's shade.
Not all the wealth that gleams around
Within thy country's magic bound,
And fills my world with loudest fame,
Of this new world's most wondrous name,
Sways more with me than idle dream,
Or transient bubbles on a stream,
Compared, Iola! with thy power;--
And I will come to thy sweet bower."