from CANTO XVI
The world has no such pleasing joy
As may compare to that received
By the folk of a battered fleet
When, beaten by uproarious winds,
It takes a safe and pleasant port
In peaceful and well-known shelter.
Not otherwise all this your camp
At the end of adventures and events
And times of sorrow, misadventures, too,
Happy and in great pleasure did arrive
At a fine pueblo, well laid out,
To which they gave the title of San Juan
And " de los caballeros " to recall
The ones who first did elevate
In these new lands and regions
The bloody standard on which Christ
For general salvation was raised up.
Here all the Indians with pleasure
Did share their houses with our folk.
And when, all lodged and settled down,
We were endeavoring to be good neighbors,
Hoping that surely water would be given
For which they wept and grieved so much.
Now hardly another day gone by
To the hour of that weeping when the heavens,
Being covered o'er with clouds, poured down
So much water on all that land
That the barbarians were amazed
At the mercy the Lord had shown us there.
from CANTO XVII
After this all did travel on
Further into plains and found
Such sum and mighty herds of beasts
That 'twas a frightful thing to imagine them.
In size they are like Spanish bulls,
Wooly in the extreme and all humpbacked,
Of plenteous flesh and of black horns,
Most splendid lard and rich in fat,
And, like to he-goats, they have beards,
And they are so swift turning
They do run much more than deer,
And so many do go in bands
That twenty, thirty thousand head at once
Are often and commonly found.
And they enjoy such widespread plains
That for six or eight hundred leagues
All seems to be a peaceful sea
With no sort of valley or hill
Where a man can in any way
Limit his vision or rest it
Upon as much height as an orange occupies,
If such excess may so be said.
The General being at his meal one day,
The barbarians set up a wail
So loud and fearful that we thought
The last moment had now arrived
To the tremendous judgment, final point
Of universal end for all the world.
Wherefore, all being much perturbed,
Confused, we asked the translators
The cause of that wailing, and they replied
That 'twas for water all the people wept,
For much time now had passed away
In which the clouds had never watered
The earth, which, in a thousand places dry,
Was so cracked and so burnt with thirst
That 'twas impossible to raise
As much as one of the crops they had sown.
For this reason the Commissary, then,
And Father Fray Cristobal, trusting in
The highest Good through which we live,
Did order that it should be cried aloud
That they should weep no more nor be downcast,
Because they would ask their Father,
Who there in Heaven was, to have pity
On all that land, and that they hoped,
Though these were disobedient children,
He yet would give much water to them all
And they would come in such good time
That all the planting might be saved.
And just as tender babes are quieted
When once assured of the things
For which they weep and grieve and tire themselves,
So they, all silent, were at peace,
And it is true, lord, to such an extent
That if by evil chance a man were lost
Upon these plains 'twould be the same
As though he were lost and did find himself
In the midst of the sea, beyond all hope
Of ever seeing himself freed from the strait.
The world has no such pleasing joy
As may compare to that received
By the folk of a battered fleet
When, beaten by uproarious winds,
It takes a safe and pleasant port
In peaceful and well-known shelter.
Not otherwise all this your camp
At the end of adventures and events
And times of sorrow, misadventures, too,
Happy and in great pleasure did arrive
At a fine pueblo, well laid out,
To which they gave the title of San Juan
And " de los caballeros " to recall
The ones who first did elevate
In these new lands and regions
The bloody standard on which Christ
For general salvation was raised up.
Here all the Indians with pleasure
Did share their houses with our folk.
And when, all lodged and settled down,
We were endeavoring to be good neighbors,
Hoping that surely water would be given
For which they wept and grieved so much.
Now hardly another day gone by
To the hour of that weeping when the heavens,
Being covered o'er with clouds, poured down
So much water on all that land
That the barbarians were amazed
At the mercy the Lord had shown us there.
from CANTO XVII
After this all did travel on
Further into plains and found
Such sum and mighty herds of beasts
That 'twas a frightful thing to imagine them.
In size they are like Spanish bulls,
Wooly in the extreme and all humpbacked,
Of plenteous flesh and of black horns,
Most splendid lard and rich in fat,
And, like to he-goats, they have beards,
And they are so swift turning
They do run much more than deer,
And so many do go in bands
That twenty, thirty thousand head at once
Are often and commonly found.
And they enjoy such widespread plains
That for six or eight hundred leagues
All seems to be a peaceful sea
With no sort of valley or hill
Where a man can in any way
Limit his vision or rest it
Upon as much height as an orange occupies,
If such excess may so be said.
The General being at his meal one day,
The barbarians set up a wail
So loud and fearful that we thought
The last moment had now arrived
To the tremendous judgment, final point
Of universal end for all the world.
Wherefore, all being much perturbed,
Confused, we asked the translators
The cause of that wailing, and they replied
That 'twas for water all the people wept,
For much time now had passed away
In which the clouds had never watered
The earth, which, in a thousand places dry,
Was so cracked and so burnt with thirst
That 'twas impossible to raise
As much as one of the crops they had sown.
For this reason the Commissary, then,
And Father Fray Cristobal, trusting in
The highest Good through which we live,
Did order that it should be cried aloud
That they should weep no more nor be downcast,
Because they would ask their Father,
Who there in Heaven was, to have pity
On all that land, and that they hoped,
Though these were disobedient children,
He yet would give much water to them all
And they would come in such good time
That all the planting might be saved.
And just as tender babes are quieted
When once assured of the things
For which they weep and grieve and tire themselves,
So they, all silent, were at peace,
And it is true, lord, to such an extent
That if by evil chance a man were lost
Upon these plains 'twould be the same
As though he were lost and did find himself
In the midst of the sea, beyond all hope
Of ever seeing himself freed from the strait.