"Sleep on," they said, in whispers low,
"Nor fear the white man's coming,
For we have put no glyph to show,
The spot of thy entombing.
"Inca, thy warfare here is done,
Each bitter scene or tender,
Go to thy sire, the shining Sun,
In kingly garb and splendor.
"Earth hath no honors thou hast not,
Brave, wise, in every station,