Nor yet, alas! the dreadful work is done;

Fresh legions pour adown the Pyrenees:

It deepens still, the work is scarce begun,

Nor mortal eye the distant end foresees.

Fall'n nations gaze on Spain; if freed, she frees

More than her fell Pizarros once enchained:

Strange retribution! now Columbia's ease

Repairs the wrongs that Quito's sons sustained,  ¹

While o'er the parent clime prowls Murder unrestrained.