'Tis eve, the sun is sinking in the lake— <br /> <br />The lake, all glorious with his golden beams, <br /> <br />Whose calm clear breast reflects the mountains back <br /> <br />That raise their huge heads to the varied clouds. <br /> <br />The trees and flowers that grow along its banks <br /> <br />Smile in the lucid mirror. Every bough <br /> <br />Is vocal with the song of glittering birds, <br /> <br />Whose plumes are borrow'd from the rainbow's hues; <br /> <br />No other sound disturbs the silent air, <br /> <br />Although a prostrate nation is around, <br /> <br />Watching the last rays of the setting sun <br /> <br />In solemn and in graceful adoration. <br /> <br /> <br />The purple clouds grow deeper, deeper still, <br /> <br />Till the resplendent orb is seen no more; <br /> <br /> <br />But where he sunk upon the bright lake's margin <br /> <br />Appear two forms, majestic and erect, <br /> <br />Cloth'd in rich garments, hand in hand. <br /> <br /> They come! <br /> <br />Onward they come across the yielding waters, <br /> <br />That give them passage! <br /> <br /> Now they reach the shore! <br /> <br />While with glad shouts the people rend the skies— <br /> <br />"All hail, ye mighty Children of the Sun!"<br /><br />Louisa Stuart Costello<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-inca/
