BALLAD. (The sun's descending in the wave)

The sun's descending in the wave, I go, I go, my fate to brave: Ghosts of dead yncas now appear, Shriek as ye come Cold from the tomb, And see if Moniaco knows to fear.

Oh sun my sire! Lend me all thy noble fire: Illia Moniaco to thy tomb, Oh Atabalipa soon shall come; Cover me with scars, Nought can controul The dauntless soul, That shall live among its kindred stars.

What is't to die? to leave this clay, And breathe in everlasting day, For robes celestial shake off dust, Among the blest From care to rest, And emulate the virtues of the just:

Then sun, my sire, Lend me all thy noble fire, Illia Moniaco, &c.

Adieu ye friends, vain world adieu, Bliss is for me, but woe for you; While I, new born, shall go to find The upper heaven, You shall be driven, Like scattered chaff, before falfe fortune's wind,

Now sun, my fire, I feel, I feel thy noble fire! Illia Moniaco, &c.