"Butcher!" she exclaimed, to the viceroy, who stood in his balcony, overlooking the scene of execution. "Butcher! you have then the heart to kill a woman!"
These were the only words of weakness. She recovered herself instantly, and, preparing for her fate, without looking for any effect from her words, she proceeded to cover her face with the _saya_, or veil, which she wore. Drawing it aside for the purpose, the words "_Vive la Patria!_" embroidered in letters of gold, were discovered on the _basquina_. As the signal for execution was given, a distant hum, as of the clamors of an approaching army, was heard fitfully to rise upon the air.
"It is he! He comes! It is Bolivar! It is the Liberator!" was her cry, in a tone of hope and triumph, which found its echo in the bosom of hundreds who dared not give their hearts a voice. It was, indeed, the Liberator. Bolivar was at hand, pressing onward with all speed to the work of deliverance; but he came too late for the rescue of the beautiful and gifted damsel to whom he owed so much. The fatal bullets of the executioners penetrated her heart ere the cry of her exultation had subsided from the ear. Thus perished a woman worthy to be remembered with the purest and proudest who have done honor to nature and the sex; one who, with all the feelings and sensibilities of the woman, possessed all the pride and patriotism, the courage, the sagacity and the daring of the man.
Imperial bird! that soarest to the sky-- Cleaving through clouds and storms thine upward way-- Or, fixing steadfastly that dauntless eye, Dost face the great, effulgent god of day! Proud monarch of the feathery tribes of air! My soul exulting marks thy bold career, Up, through the azure fields, to regions fair, Where, bathed in light, thy pinions disappear.
Thou, with the gods, upon Olympus dwelt, The emblem, and the favorite bird of Jove-- And godlike power in thy broad wings hast felt Since first they spread o'er land and sea to rove: From Ida's top the Thunderer's piercing sight Flashed on the hosts which Ilium did defy; So from thy eyrie on the beetling height Shoot down the lightning-glances of thine eye!
From his Olympian throne Jove stooped to earth For ends inglorious in the god of gods! Leaving the beauty of celestial birth, To rob Humanity's less fair abodes: Oh, passion more rapacious than divine, That stole the peace of innocence away! So, when descend those tireless wings of thine, They stoop to make defenselessness their prey.