II.
But better for the injured Indian race
Had woods of machineel the land o'erspread:
Yea in that tree so blest by Nature's grace
A direr curse had they inherited,
Than if the Upas there had rear'd its head
And sent its baleful scyons all around,
Blasting where'er its effluent force was shed,
In air and water, and the infected ground,
All things wherein the breath or sap of life is found.
III.
The poor Guaranies dreamt of no such ill,
When for themselves in miserable hour,
The virtues of that leaf, with pure good will
They taught their unsuspected visitor,
New in the land as yet. They learnt his power
Too soon, which law nor conscience could restrain,
A fearless but inhuman conqueror,
Heart-hardened by the accursed lust of gain.
O fatal thirst of gold! O foul reproach for Spain!
