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IN PERU.

THE demon of the earthquake passed

With scourge through Andes' table-lands,

And fertile plains were turned to sands,

Huge mountains down their summits cast,

And Nature into one sad night

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Pressed ruins of a thousand years.

A traveller from a foreign shore

Went curious through the country then

To mark the horrors of that blight,

The thoughts and superstitious fears

Such things might raise in untaught men,

And, more than all, to search for gold

Or art unearthed from cellars old,

And relics of forgotten lore.

Where Llanganatis eastward runs

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