Robert Southey's Madoc (1805, 1812) Vol. 2

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Robert Southey (1774-1843)
Madoc... part 2
London: Longman Rees and Orme, 1805
(1812 third edition text used here)

Contents Vol. I

Contents Vol. II

Madoc in Wales notes

Madoc in Aztlan notes more notes

Transcriber's Comments

Thanatopsis, etc. | Mormons & Mound-Builders | Conneaut Giants | Ossian

CONTENTS OF VOL. II.
________

MADOC IN AZTLAN.

001 5. War Denounced

006 6. The Festival of the Dead

019 7. The Snake-God

030 8. The Conversion of the Hoamen

037 9. Tlalala

047 10. The Arrival of the Gods

058 11. The Capture

066 12. Hoel

074 13. Coatel

080 14. The Stone of Sacrifice

094 15. The Battle

102 16. Goervyl

115 17. The Deliverance

125 18. The Victory

136 19. The Funeral

143 20. The Death of Coatel

149 21. The Sports

155 22. The Death of Lincoya

161 23. Caradoc

166 24. The Embassy

172 25. The Lake Fight

179 26. The Close of the Century

194 27. The Migration

215 Remainder of The Notes

[ 1 ]

M A D O C.

V.

THIS is the day, when, in a foreign grave,
King Owen's relics shall be laid to rest.
No bright emblazonries bedecked his bier,
No tapers blaz'd, no prelate sung the mass,
No choristers the funeral dirge inton'd,
No mitred abbots, and no tonsured train,
Lengthen'd the pomp of ceremonious woe.
His decent bier was with white linen spread
And canopied; two elks and bisons, yok'd,
Drew on the car; foremost Cadwallon bore
The Crucifix; with single voice distinct,
The good Priest Llorien chanted loud and deep
The solemn service; Madoc next the bier
Followe'd his father's corpse; bareheaded then
Came all the people, silently and slow.

V. - 2

The burial-place was in a grassy plat,
A little level glade of sunny green,
Between the river and a rocky bank,
Which, like a buttress, from the precipice
Of naked rock sloped out. On either side
'Twas skirted by the woodlands. A stone cross
Stood on Cynetha's grave, sole monument,
Beneath a single cocoa, whose straight trunk
Rose like an obelisk, and wav'd on high
Its palmy plumage, green and never sere.
Here, by Cynetha's side, with Christian prayers,
All wrongs forgotten now, was Owen laid.
Rest, King of Gwyneth, in a foreign grave!
From foul indignity of Romish pride
And bigot priesthood, from a falling land
Thus timely snatched, and from the impending yoke,
Rest in the. kingdom of thy noble son!

Ambassadors from Aztlan in the vale
Awaited their return, -- Yuhidthiton,
Chief of the Chiefs, and Helhua the Priest.
With these came Malinal. They met the Prince,
And with a sullen stateliness return'd
His salutation; then the Chief began:
Lord of the Strangers, hear me! by my voice

V. - 3

The People and the Pabas and the King
Of Aztlan speak. Our injured Gods have claim'd
Their wonted worship, and made manifest
Their wrath: we dare not impiously provoke
The Dreadful. Worship ye in your own way;
But we must keep the path our fathers kept.

We parted, O Yuhidthiton! as friends
And brethren, said the Christian Prince; alas,
That this should be our meeting! When we pledged,
In the broad daylight and the eye of Heaven,
Our hands in peace, ye heard and understood.
The will of God, and felt that it was good,
In reason and in heart. This calm assent
Ye would bely, by midnight miracles
Scar'd, and such signs of darkness as beseem
The daemons whom ye dread! or, likelier,
Dup'd by the craft of those accursed men
Whose trade is blood. Ask thou of thine own heart,
Yuhidthiton, --

But Helhua broke his speech:
Our bidding is to tell thee, quoth the Priest,
That Aztlan hath restor'd, and will maintain,
Her ancient faith. If it offendeth thee,
Move thou thy dwelling place.

V. - 4

Madoc replied,
This day have I deposited in earth
My father's bones; and where his bones are laid,
There mine shall moulder.

Malinal at that
Advanced. -- Prince Madoc, said the youth, I come,
True to thy faith and thee, and to the weal
Of Aztlan true, and bearing, for that truth,
Reproach and shame and scorn and obloquy.
In sorrow come I here, a banish'd man;
Here take, in sorrow, my abiding place,
Cut off from all my kin, from all old ties
Divorced; all dear, familiar countenances
No longer to be present to my sight;
The very mother-language which I learnt,
A lisping baby on my mother's knees,
No more with its sweet sounds to comfort me.
So be it.! -- To his brother then he turn'd:
Yuhidthiton, said he, when thou shalt find --
As find thou wilt -- that those accursed men
Have played the juggler with thee, and deceiv'd
Thine honest heart; when Aztlan groans in blood, --
Bid her remember then, that Malinal
Is in the dwellings of her enemy.
Where all his hope in banishment hath been

V. - 5

To intercede for her, and heal her wounds,
And mitigate her righteous punishment.

Sternly and sullenly his brother heard;
Yet hearkened he as one whose heart perforce
Supprest its instinct; and there might be seen
A sorrow in his silent stubbornness.
And now his ministers on either hand
A water-vessel fill, and heap dry sedge
And straw before his face, and fire the pile.
He, looking upward, spread his arms, and cried,
Hear me, ye Gods of Aztlan, as we were,
And are, and will be yours! Behold your foes!
He stooped, and lifted up one ample urn, --
Thus let their blood be shed! -- And far away
He whirl'd the scattering water. Then again
Rais'd the full vase, -- Thus let their lives be quench'd!
And out he pour'd it on the flaming pile.
The steam-cloud, hissing from the extinguish'd heap,
Spread like a mist; and, ere it melted off,
Homeward the heralds of the war had turn'd.

[ 6 ]

VI.

Hoamen in their Council-hall are met.
To hold the Feast of Souls! seat above seat,
Ranged round the circling theatre they sit.
No light but from the central fire, whose smoke,
Slow passing through the over aperture,
Excludes the day, and fills the conic roof,
And hangs above them like a cloud. Around,
The ghastly bodies of their chiefs are hung,
Shrivell'd and parched by heat; the humbler dead
Lie on the floor; white bones, exposed to view,
On deer or elk skin laid, or softer fur,
Or web, the work of many a mournful hour;
The loathlier forms of flesh mortality
Swath'd, and in decent tenderness conceal'd.
Beside each body pious gifts are laid,
Mantle and belt and feathery coronal,

VI. - 7

The bow he used in war, his drinking-shell,
His arrows for the chase, the sarbacan,
Through whose long tube the slender shaft, breath-driven,
Might pierce the winged game. Husbands and wives,
Parents and children, there in death they lie;
The widow'd and the parent and the child
Look on in silence. Not a sound is heard
But of the crackling brand, or mouldering fire,
Or when, amid yon pendent string of shells,
The slow wind wakes a shrill and feeble sound, --
A sound of sorrow to the mind attun'd
By sights of woe.

Ayayaca at length
Came forward. -- Spirits, is it well with ye?
Is it well, Brethren? said the aged Priest;
Have ye receiv'd your mourning, and the rites
Of righteous grief? or round your dwelling-place
Still do your shadows roam dissatisfied,
And to the cries of wailing woe return
A voice of lamentation? Teach us now,
If we in aught have fail'd, that I, your Priest,
When I shall join ye soon, as soon I must,
May unimpeded pass the perilous floods,
And in the Country of the Dead be hail'd
By you, with song and dance and grateful joy.

VI. - 8

So saying, to the Oracle he turn'd,
Awaiting there the silence which implied
Peaceful assent. Against the eastern wall,
Fronting the narrow portal's winding way,
An Image stood: a cloak of fur disguis'd
The rude proportion of its uncouth limbs;
The skull of some old seer of days of old
Topp'd it, and with a visor this was mask'd,
Honouring the oracular Spirit, who at times
There took his resting place. Ayayaca
Repeated, Brethren, is it well with ye?
And rais'd the visor. But he started back,
Appall'd and shuddering; for a moony light
Lay in its eyeless sockets, and there came
From its immovable and bony jaws
A long, deep groan, thrice uttered, and thrice felt
In every heart of all the hearers round.
The good old Priest stood tottering, like a man
Stricken with palsy; and he gaz'd with eyes
Of asking horror round, as if he look'd
For counsel in that fear. But Neolin
Sprung boldly to the oracle, and cried,
Speak, Spirit! tell us of our sin, and teach
The atonement! A sepulchral voice replied,
Ye have for other Gods forsaken us,

VI. - 9

And we abandon you! -- and crash with that,
The Image fell.

A loud and hideous shriek,
As of a demon, Neolin set up;
So wild a yell, that, even in that hour,
Came with fresh terror to the startled ear.
While yet they sate, pale and irresolute,
Helhua the Azteca came in. He bore
A shield and arrow, tokens these of war,
Yet now beheld with hope, so great relief
They felt his human presence.

Hoamen, hear me!
The messenger began; Erillyab, thou,
Elders and Priests and People! but chiefly thou,
Prince Amalahta, as of these by birth,
So now of years mature, the rightful Lord --
Shall it be peace or war? -- thus Aztlan saith;
She, in her anger, from the land will root
The Children of the Sea; but, viewing ye
In mercy, to your former vassalage
Invites ye, and remits the tribute lives,
And for rebellion claimeth no revenge.

Oh, praise your Gods! cried Neolin, and hail
This day-spring of new hope! Aztlan remits

VI. - 10

The tribute lives, -- what more could Madoc give?
She claimeth no revenge, and, if she claim'd,
He could not save. O Hoamen, bless your Gods;
Appease them! Thou, Prince Amalahta, speak,
And seize the mercy.

Amalahta stood
In act of speech; but then Erillyab rose. --
Who gives thee, boy, this Elder's privilege?
The Queen exclaim'd; -- and thou, Priest Neolin,
Curb thou thy traitorous tongue! The reign is mine;
I hold it from my father, he from his;
Age before age, beyond the memory
Of man it hath been thus. My father fell
In battle for his people, and his sons
Fell by his side; they perish'd, but their names
Are with the names we love, -- their happy souls
Pursue in fields of bliss the shadowy deer;
The spirit of that noble blood which ran
From their death-wounds is in the ruddy clouds,
Which go before the Sun, when he comes forth
In glory. Last of that illustrious race
Was I, Erillyab. Ye remember well,
Elders, that day when I assembled here
The people, and demanded at their choice
The worthiest, to perpetuate our old line

VI. - 11

Of Kings and Warriors. -- To the wind he spread
His black and blood-red banner. Even now
I hear his war-drum's tripled sound, that call'd
The youth to battle; even now behold
The hope which lit his dark and fiery eye,
And kindled with a sunnier glow his cheek,
As he from yonder war-pole, in his pride,
Took the death-doers down. -- Lo, here the bones
Of King Tepollomi! -- my husband's bones! --
There should be some among ye who beheld,
When, all with arrows quilled, and cloth'd with blood
As with a purple garment, he sustain'd
The unequal conflict, till the Aztecas
Took him at vantage, and their monarch's club
Let loose his struggling soul. Look, Hoamen, here,
See through how wide a wound his spirit fled!
Twenty long years of mournful widowhood
Have passed away; so long have I maintain'd
The little empire left us, loving well
My people, and by them as well belov'd.
Say, Hoamen, am I still your Queen?

At once
The whole assembly rose with one acclaim, --
Still, O Erillyab, O Beloved, rule
Thy own beloved people!

VI. - 12

But the Gods!
Cried Amalahta; -- but the Oracle!
The Oracle! quoth she; what hath it said
That forty years of suffering hath not taught
This wretched people? -- They abandon us?
So let them go! Where were they at that hour,
When, like a blasting night-wind in the spring,
The multitudes of Aztlan came upon us?
Where were they when my father went to war?
Where were they when thy father's stiffen'd corpse,
Even after death a slave, held up the lamp
To light his conqueror's revels? -- Think not, Boy,
To palter with me thus! A fire may tremble
Within the sockets of a skull, and groans
May issue from a dead man's fleshless jaws,
And images may fall, and yet no God
Be there! -- If it had walked abroad with life,
That had indeed been something!

Then she turned
Her voice toward the people. -- Ye have heard
This Priest of Aztlan, whose insidious tongue
Bids ye desert the Children of the Sea,
And vow again your former vassalage.
Speaks Aztlan of the former? O my people!
I too, could tell ye of the former days,

VI. - 13

When yonder plain was ours, with all its woods
And waters and savannas! -- of those days,
When, following where her husband's stronger arm
Had open'd the light glebe, the willing wife
Dropt in the yellow maize; ere long to bear
Its increase to the general store, and toss
Her flowing tresses in the dance of joy.
And I could tell ye how those summer stores
Were hoarded for the invader's winter feasts;
And how the widows clipped those flowing locks,
To strew them, not upon their husband's grave, --
Their husbands had no graves! -- but on the rocks
And mountains in their flight. And even these rocks
And mountains could not save us! year by year,
Our babes, like firstlings of the flock, were cull'd
To be the banquet of these Aztecas!
This very wretch, who tells us of the past,
Hath chosen them for the butchery. -- Oh, I thank you
For this brave anger! -- in your name I take
The war-gift!

Gods of Aztlan! Helhua cried,
As to Erillyab's ready hand he gave
The deadly tokenl, in your name I give
The war-gift! Ye have thirsted over long;
Take now your fill of blood! -- He turned away;

VI. - 14

And Queen Erillyab bade the tribe fulfil
Their customary rites.

Each family
Bore its own dead, and to the general grave,
With melancholy song and sob of woe,
The slow procession moves. The general grave
Was delved within a deep and shady dell,
Fronting a cavern in the rock, -- the scene
Of many a bloody rite ere Madoc came, --
A temple, as they deem'd, by Nature made,
Where the Snake-Idol stood. On fur and cloth.
Of woven grass, they lay their burthens down,
Within the ample pit; their offerings range
Beside, and piously a portion take
Of that cold earth, to which for ever now
Consign'd they leave their fathers, dust to dust;
Sad relic that, and wise remembrancer.
But, as with bark and resinous boughs they pile
The sepulchre, suddenly Neolin
Sprung up aloft, and shrieked, as one who treads
Upon a viper in his heedless path.
The God! the very God! he cried, and howl'd
One long, shrill, piercing, modulated cry;
Whereat from that dark temple issu'd forth
A Serpent, huge and hideous. On he came,

VI. - 15

Strait to the sound, and curl'd around the Priest
His mighty folds innocuous, overtopping
His human height, and, arching down his head,
Sought in the hands of Neolin for food;
Then questing, rear'd and stretch'd and wav'd his neck,
And glanced his forky tongue. Who then had seen
The man, with what triumphant fearlessness,
Arms, thighs, and neck, and body, wreath'd and ring'd
In those tremendous folds, he stood secure,
Play'd with the reptile's jaws, and call'd for food,
Food for the present God! -- who then had seen
The fiendish joy which fir'd his countenance,
Might well have ween'd that he had summon'd up
The dreadful monster from its native Hell,
By devilish power, himself a fiend inflesh'd.

Blood for the God! he cried; Lincoya's blood!
Friend of the Serpent's foe! -- Lincoya's blood!
Cried Amalahta; and the people turn'd
Their eyes to seek the victim, as if each
Sought his own safety in that sacrifice.
Alone Erillyab raised her voice, confus'd,
But not confounded; she alone exclaim'd,
Madoc shall answer this! Unheard her voice
By the bewilder'd people, by the Priest

VI. - 16

Unheeded; and Lincoya sure had fallen
The victim of their terror n that hour
Had he been found; but, when his watchful eye
Beheld the monster from his den come forth,
He fled to bear the tidings. -- Neolin
Repeats the accursed call, Food for the God!
Ayayaca, his unbelieving Priest!
At once all eager eyes were fix'd on him;
But he came forward calmly at the call.
Lo! here am I! quoth he; and, from his head
Plucking the thin gray hairs, he dealt them round. --
Countrymen, kinsmen, brethren, children, take
These in remembrance of me! there will be
No relick of your aged Priest but this.
From manhood to old age, full threescore years,
Have I been your true servant: fit it is
That I, who witness'd Aztlan's first assault,
Should perish her last victim! -- And he mov'd
Towards the death; but then Erillyab
Seiz'd him, and by the garment drew him, back! --
By the Great Spirit, but he shall not die!
The Queen exclaim'd; nor shalt thou triumph thus,
Lyar and traitor! Hoamen, to your homes!
Madoc shall answer this!

VI. - 17

Irresolute
They heard, and inobedient; to obey
Fearing, yet fearful to remain. Anon
The Queen, repeats her bidding, To your homes,
My people! -- But when Neolin perceiv'd
The growing stir and motion of the crowd,
As from the outward ring they mov'd away,
He uttered a new cry, and, disentangling
The passive reptile's folds, rush'd out among them,
With outstretch'd hands, like one possess'd, to seize
His victim. Then they fled; for who could tell
On whom the madman, in that hellish fit,
Might cast the lot? An eight-years boy he seiz'd,
And held him by the leg, and, whirling him
In ritual dance, till breath and sense were gone,
Set up the death-song of the sacrifice.
Amalahta, and what others rooted love
Of evil leagued with. him, accomplices
In treason, join'd the death-song and the dance.
Some, too, there were, believing what they fear'd,
Who yielded to their old idolatry,
And mingled in the worship. Round and round
The accursed minister of murder whirl'd
His senseless victim; they, too, round and round
In maddening motion, and with maddening cries

VI. - 18

Revolving, whirled and wheeled. At length, when now,
According to old rites, he should have dash'd
On the stone Idol's head the wretch's brains,
Neolin stopt, and once again began
The long, shrill, piercing, modulated cry.
The Serpent knew the call, and, rolling on,
Wave above wave, his rising length, advanced
His open jaws; then, with the expected prey,
Glides to the dark recesses of his den.

[ 19 ]

VII.

Meantime Erillyab's messenger had girt
His loins, and, like a roebuck, o'er the hills
He sped. He met Cadwallon and the Prince
In arms, so quickly Madoc had obey'd
Lincoya's call: at noon he heard the call,
And still the sun was riding high in heaven,
When up the valley where the Hoamen dwelt
He led his twenty spears. O welcome, friend
And brother! cried the Queen. Even as thou saidst,
So hath it proved; and those accursed schemes
Of treachery, which that wretched boy reveal'd
Under the influence of thy potent drink,
Have ripen'd to effect. From what a snare
The timely warning saved me! for, be sure,
What I had seen I else should have believed,
In utter fear confounded. The Great Spirit,

VII. - 20

Who taught thee to foresee the evil thing,
Will give thee power to quell it.

On they went
Toward the dell, where now the Idolaters
Had built their dedicated fire, and still
With feast, and fits of song, and violent dance,
Pursued their rites. When Neolin perceived
The Prince approach, fearlessly he came forth,
And raised his arm, and cried, Strangers, away!
Away, profane! hence to your mother-land!
Hence to your waters! for the God is here; --
He came for blood, and he shall have his fill!.
Impious, away!

Seize him! exclaimed the Prince;
Nor had he time for motion nor for flight,
So instantly was that command obey'd.
Hoamen, said Madoc, hear me! -- I came here,
Stranger alike to Aztlan and to you;
I found ye an oppressed, wretched race,
Groaning beneath your chains; at your request,
For your deliverance I unsheath'd the sword,
Redeemed ye from your bondage, and preserv'd
Your children from the slaughter. With those foes,
Whose burden ye for forty years endur'd,
This traitor hath conspir'd, against yourselves,

VII. - 21

Your Queen, and me, your friend; the solemn faith
Which in the face of yonder sun we pledged,
Each to the other, this accursed man
Hath broken, and hath stained his hands this day
With innocent blood. Life must atone for life:
Ere I destroy the Serpent, whom his wiles
Have train'd so well, last victim, he shall glut
The monster's maw.

Strike, man! quoth Neolin:
This is my consummation, the reward
Of my true faith! the best that I could ask,
The best the God could give: -- to rest in him,
Body with body be incorporate,
Soul into soul absorb'd, and I and he
One life, inseparable, for ever more.
Strike! I am weary of this mortal part;
Unite me to the God!

Triumphantly
He spake; the assembl'd people, at his words,
With rising awe gaz'd on the miscreant;
Madoc himself, when now he would have giv'n
The sign for death, in admiration paus'd;
Such power hath fortitude. And he perceiv'd
The auspicious moment, and set up his cry.
Forth, from the dark recesses of the cave,

VII. - 22

The Serpent came: the Hoamen at the sight
Shouted; and they who held the Priest, appall'd,
Relax'd their hold. On came the mighty Snake,
And twin'd, in many a wreath, round Neolin,
Darting aright, aleft, his sinuous neck,
With searching eye, and lifted jaw, and tongue
Quivering, and hiss as of a heavy shower
Upon the summer woods. The Britons stood
Astounded at the powerful reptile's bulk,
And that strange sight. His girth was as of man;
But easily could he have overtopp'd
Goliath's helm'd head, or that huge King
Of Basan, hugest of the Anakim.
What then was human strength, if once involv'd
Within those dreadful coils? -- The multitude
Fell prone, and worshipp'd; pale Erillyab grew,
And turn'd upon the Prince a doubtful eye; The
Britons too were pale, albeit they held
Their spears protended; and they also look'd
On Madoc, who the while stood silently,
Contemplating how wiseliest he might cope
With that surpassing strength.

But Neolin,
Well hoping now success, when he had aw'd
The general feeling thus, exclaim'd aloud,

VII. - 23

Blood for the God! give him the Stranger's blood!
Avenge him on his foes! and then, perchance,
Terror had urged them to some desperate deed,
Had Madoc ponder'd more, or paus'd in act
One moment. From the sacrificial flames
He snatch'd a firebrand, and with fire and sword
Rush'd at the monster; back the monster drew
His head upraised recoiling, and the Prince
Smote Neolin; all circled as he was,
And clipped in his false Deity's embrace,
Smote he the accursed Priest; the avenging sword
Fell on his neck; through flesh and bone it drove
Deep in the chest: the wretched criminal
Tottered, and those huge rings a moment held
His bloody corpse upright, while Madoc struck
The Serpent: twice he struck him, and the sword
Glanced from the impenetrable scales; nor more
Availed its thrust, though driven by that strong arm;
For on the unyielding skin the temper'd blade
Bent. He sprung upward then, and in the eyes
Of the huge monster flash'd the fiery brand.
Impatient of the smoke and burning, back
The reptile wreath'd, and from his loosening clasp
Dropt the dead Neolin, and turn'd, and fled
To his dark den.

VII. - 24

The Hoamen, at that sight,
Rais'd a loud wonder-cry with one accord,
Great is the Son of Ocean, and his God
Is mightiest! But Erillyab silently
Approach'd the great Deliverer: her whole frame
Trembled with strong emotion; and she took
His hand, and gazed a moment earnestly,
Having no power of speech, till with a gush
Of tears her utterance came, and she exclaim'd,
Blessed art thou, my brother! for the power
Of God is in thee! and she would have kiss'd
His hand in adoration; but he cried,
God is indeed with us, and in his name
Will we complete the work! -- then to the cave
Advanced, and call'd for fire. Bring fire! quoth he;
By his own element this spawn of hell
Shall perish! and he entered to explore
The cavern depths. Cadwallon followed him,
Bearing in either hand a flaming brand;
For sword or spear avail'd not.

Far in the hill,
Cave within cave, the ample grotto pierced,
Three chambers in the rock. Fit vestibule
The first to that wild temple, long and low,
Shut out the outward day. The second vault

VII. - 25

Had its own daylight from a central chasm
High in the hollow; here the Image stood,
Their rude idolatry, -- a sculptured snake, --
If term of art may such misshapen form
Beseem, -- around a human figure coil'd,
And all begrimed with blood. The inmost cell
Dark; and far up, within its blackest depth,
They saw the Serpent's still small eye of fire.
Not if they thinn'd the forest for their pile,
Could they with flame or suffocating smoke
Destroy him there; for through the open roof
The clouds would pass away. They paus'd not long:
Drive him beneath the chasm, Cadwallon cried,
And hem him in with fire, and from above
We crush him.

Forth they went, and climbed the hill,
With all their people. Their united strength
Loosened the rocks, and ranged them round the brink,
Impending. With Cadwallon on the height
Ten Britons wait; ten with the Prince descend,
And, with a firebrand each in either hand,
Enter the outer cave. Madoc advanced;
And, at the entrance of the inner den,
He took his stand alone. A bow he bore,
And arrows round whose heads dry tow was twin'd,

VII. - 26

In pine-gum dipped; he kindled these, and shot
The fiery shafts. Upon the mailed skin,
As on a rock, the bone-tipt arrows fell;
But, at their bright and blazing light effray'd,
Out rush'd the reptile. Madoc from his path
Retir'd against the side, and called his men;
And in they came, and circled round the Snake,
And, shaking all their flames, as with a wheel
Of fire they ring'd him in. From side to side
The monster turns; -- where'er he turns, the flame
Flares in his nostrils and his blinking eyes;
Nor aught against the dreaded element
Did that brute force avail, which could have crush'd
Milo's young limbs, or Theban Hercules,
Or old Manoah's mightier son, ere yet
Shorn of his strength. They press him now, and now
Give back, here urging, and here yielding way,
Till right beneath the chasm they centre him.
At once the crags are loosed, and down they fall
Thundering. They fell like thunder; but the crash
Of scale and bone was heard. In agony
The Serpent writh'd beneath the blow; in vain
From under the incumbent load essay'd
To drag his mangled folds. One heavier stone
Fasten'd and flattened him; yet still, with tail

VII. - 27

Ten cubits long, he lash'd the air, and foin'd
From side to side, and rais'd his raging head
Above the height of man, though half his length
Lay mutilate. Who then had felt the force
Of that wild fury, little had to him
Buckler or corselet profited, or mail,
Or might of human arm. The Britons shrunk
Beyond its arc of motion; but the Prince
Took a long spear, and, springing on the stone
Which fix'd the monster down, provok'd his rage.
Uplifts the Snake his head retorted, high
He lifts it over Madoc, then darts down
To seize his prey. The Prince, with foot advanced,
Inclines his body back, and points the spear
With sure and certain aim, then drives it up
Into his open jaws; two cubits deep
It pierced, the monster forcing on the wound.
He clos'd his teeth for anguish, and bit short
The ashen hilt. But not the rage which now
Clangs all his scales can from its seat dislodge
The barbed shaft; nor those contortions wild,
Nor those convulsive shudderings, nor the throes
Which shake his inmost entrails, as with the air
In suffocating gulps the monster now
Inhales his own life-blood. The Prince descends;

VII. - 28

He lifts another lance; and now the Snake,
Gasping as if exhausted, on the ground
Reclines his head one moment. Madoc seiz'd
That moment, planted in his eye the spear;
Then, setting foot upon his neck, drove down
Through bone and brain and throat, and to the earth
Infix'd the mortal weapon. Yet once more
The Snake essayed to rise; his dying strength
Fail'd him, nor longer did those mighty folds
Obey the moving impulse, crush'd and scotch'd;
In every ring, through all his mangled length,
The shrinking muscles quivered, then collaps'd
In death.

Cadwallon and his comrades now
Enter the den; they roll away the crag
Which fix'd him down, pluck out the mortal spear,
Then drag him forth to day; the force conjoin'd
Of all the Britons difficulty drag
His lifeless bulk. But when the Hoamen saw
That form portentous trailing in its gore,
The jaws which in the morning they had seen
Purpled with: human blood, now in their own
Blackening, -- aknee they fell before the Prince,
And, in adoring admiration rais'd
Their hands with one accord, and all in fear

VII. - 29

Worshipped the mighty Deicide. But he,
Recoiling from those sinful honors, cried,
Drag out the Idol now, and heap the fire,
That all may be consum'd!

Forthwith they heaped
The sacrificial fire, and on the pile
The Serpent, and the Image and the corpse
Of Neolin were laid; with prompt supply
They feed the raging flames, hour after hour,
Till now the black and nauseous smoke is spent,
And, mingled with the ruins of the pile,
The undistinguishable ashes lay.
Go! cried Prince Madoc, cast them in the stream,
And scatter them upon the winds, that so
No relic of this foul idolatry
Pollute the land. To-morrow meet me here,
Hoamen, and I will purify yon den
Of your abominations. Come ye here
With humble hearts; for ye, too, in the sight.
Of the Great Spirit, the Beloved One,
Must be made pure, and cleans'd from your offence,
And take upon yourselves his holy law.

[ 30 ]

VIII.

How beautiful, O Sun, is thine uprise,
And on how fair a scene! Before the Cave
The Elders of the Hoamen wait the will
Of their Deliverer; ranged without their ring,
The tribe look on, thronging the narrow vale,
And what of gradual rise the shelving comb
Display'd, or steeper eminence of wood,
Broken with crags and sunny slope of green,
And grassy platform. With the Elders sate
The Queen and Prince, their rank's prerogative,
Excluded else for sex unfit, and youth
For counsel immature. Before the arch,
To that rude fane, rude portal, stands the Cross,
By Madoc's hand victorious planted there.
And, lo, Prince Madoc comes! no longer mail'd

VIII. - 31

In arms of mortal might; the spear and sword,
The hauberk and the helmet laid aside,
Gorget and gauntlet, greaves and shield, -- he comes
In peaceful tunic clad, and mantle long;
His hyacinthine locks now shadowing
That face, which late, with iron overbrow'd,
Struck from within the aventayle such awe
And terror to the heart. Bareheaded he,
Following the servant of the altar, leads
The reverential train. Before them, rais'd
On high, the sacred images are borne;
There, in faint semblance, holiest Mary bends
In virgin beauty o'er her babe divine, --
A sight which almost to idolatry
Might win the soul by love. But who can gaze
Upon that other. form, which on the rood
In agony is stretch'd? -- his hands transfix'd,
And lacerate with the body's pendent weight;
The black and deadly paleness of his face,
Streak'd with the blood which from that crown of scorn
Hath ceas'd to flow; the side-wound streaming still;
And open still those eyes, from which the look
Not yet hath passed away, that went to, Heaven,
When, in that hour, the Son of Man exclaim'd,
Forgive them, for they know not what they do!

VIII. - 32

And now, arrived before the cave, the train
Halt to the assembled elders, where they sate
Ranged in half-circle, Madoc then advanced,
And raised, as if in act to speak, his hand.
Thereat was every human sound suppress'd;
And every quickened ear and eager eye
Center'd on his lips.

The Prince began, --
Hoamen, friends, brethren, -- friends we have been long,
And brethren shall be, ere the day go down, --
I come not here propounding doubtful things,
For counsel, and deliberate resolve
Of searching thought; but with authority
From Heaven, to give the law, and to enforce
Obedience. Ye shall worship God alone,
The One Eternal. That Beloved One
Ye shall not serve with offer'd fruits, or smoke
Of sacrificial fire, or blood, or life;
Far other sacrifice he claims, -- a soul
Resign'd, a will subdued, a heart made clean
From all offence. Not for your lots on earth,
Menial or mighty, slave or highly-born,
For cunning in the chase, or strength in war,
Shall ye be judged hereafter; -- as ye keep
The law of love, as ye shall tame your wrath,

VIII. - 33

Forego revenge, forgive your enemies,
Do good to them that wrong ye, ye will find
Your bliss or bale. This law came down from Heaven.
Lo, ye behold Him there by whom it came;
The Spirit was in Him, and for the sins
Of man He suffer'd thus, and by His death
Must all mankind be blest. Not knowing Him,
Ye wandered on in error; knowing now,
And not obeying, what was error once
Is guilt and wilful wrong. If ever more
Ye bow to your false deities the knee,
If ever more ye worship them with feast,
Or sacrifice or dance, whoso offends
Shall from among the people be cut off
Like a corrupted member, lest he taint
The whole with death. With what appointed rites
Your homage must be paid, ye shall be taught;
Your children, in the way that they shall go,
Train'd from childhood up. Make ye, meantime,
Your prayer to that Beloved One who sees
The secrets of all hearts; and set ye up
This, the memorial of his chosen Son,
And Her who, blessed among women, fed
The Appointed at Her breast, and by His cross
Endur'd intenser anguish, therefore sharing

VIII. - 34

His glory now, with sunbeams rob'd, the Moon
Her footstool, and a wreath of stars her crown.

Hoamen, ye deem us children of a race
Mightier than ye, and wiser, and by heaven
Beloved and favour'd more. From this pure law
Hath all proceeded, -- wisdom, power, whate'er
Here elevates the soul, and makes it ripe
For higher powers and more exalted bliss.
Share then our law, and be with us, on earth,
Partakers of these blessings, and in Heaven
Co-heritors with us of endless joy.

Ere yet one breath or motion had disturb'd
The reverential hush, Erillyab rose.
My people, said the Queen, their God is best
And mightiest. Him to whom we offer'd up
Blood of our blood, and of our flesh the flesh,
Vainly we deemed divine; no spirit he
Of good or evil, by the conquering arm
Of Madoc mortal proved. What then remains,
But that the blessing proffer'd thus in love,
In love we take? -- Deliverer; Teacher, Friend,
First in the fellowship of faith I claim
The initiatory rite.

VIII. - 35

I also, cried
The venerable Priest Ayayaca,
Old as I am, I also, like a child,
Would learn this wisdom yet before I die.
The Elders rose, and answered, We and all!
And from the congregated tribe burst forth
One universal shout: -- Great is the God
Of Madoc, -- worthy to be serv'd is He!

Then to the mountain rivulet, which roll'd
Like amber over its dark bed of rock,
Did Madoc lead Erillyab, in the name
Of Jesus, to his Christian family,
Accepted now. On her and on her son,
The Elders and the People, Llorien
Sprinkled the sanctifying waters. Day
Was scarcely two hours old when he began
His work, and when he ceas'd, the sun had past
The heights of noon. Ye saw that blessed work,
Sons of the Cymry, Cadog, Deiniol,
Padarn, and Teilo! ye whose sainted names
Your monumental temples still record;
Thou, David, still rever'd, who in the vale,
Where, by old Hatterill's wintry torrents swoln,
Rude Hodney rolls his raging stream, didst choose

VIII. - 36

Thy hermit home; and ye who by the sword
Of the fierce Saxon, when the bloodier Monk
Urged on the work of murder, for your faith
And freedom fell, -- Martyrs and Saints, ye saw
This triumph of the Cymry and the Cross,
And struck your golden harps to hymns of joy.

[ 37 ]

IX.

As now the rites were ended, Caradoc
Came from the ships, leading an Azteca
Guarded and bound. Prince Madoc, said the Bard,
Lo! the first captive of our arms I bring.
Alone, beside the river I had stray'd,
When, from his lurking-place, the savage hurl'd
A javelin. At the rustle of the reeds,
From whence the blow was aim'd, I turn'd in time,
And heard it whizz beside me. Well it was,
That from the ships they saw and succour'd me;
For, subtle as a serpent in my grasp,
He seem'd all joint and flexure; nor had I
Armour to ward, nor weapon to offend,
To battle all unus'd and unprepar'd;
But I too, here upon this barbarous land,

IX. - 38

Like Elmur and like Arohan of old,
Must lift the ruddy spear.

This is no day
For vengeance, answered Madoc, else his deed
Had met no mercy. Freely let him go!
Perchance the tidings of our triumph here
May yet reclaim his country. -- Azteca,
Go, let your Pabas know that we have crush'd
Their complots here; beneath our righteous sword
The Priest and his false Deity have fallen;
The idols been consum'd, and, in their stead,
The emblems of our holy faith set up,
Whereof the Hoamen have this day been made
Partakers. Say to Aztlan, when she too,
Will make her temples clean, and put away
Her foul abominations, and accept
The Christian Cross, that Madoc then accords
Forgiveness for the past, and peace to come.
This better part let her, of her free will
And wisdom, choose in time.

Till Madoc spake,
The captive reckless of his peril stood,
Gazing with resolute and careless eye,
As one in whom the lot of life or death
Moved neither fear nor feeling; but that eye

IX. - 39

Now sparkling with defiance, -- Seek ye peace?
He cried; O weak and woman-hearted man!
Already wouldst thou lay the sword to rest?
Not with the burial of the sword this strife
Must end; for never doth the Tree of Peace
Strike root and flourish, till the strong man's hand
Upon his enemy's grave hath planted it.
Come ye to Aztlan then in quest of peace?
Ye feeble souls, if that be what ye seek
Fly hence! our Aztlan suffers on her soil
No living stranger.

Do thy bidding, Chief!
Calmly Cadwallon answered. To her choice
Let Aztlan look, lest what she now reject
In insolence of strength, she take upon her
In sorrow, and in suffering, and in shame,
By strong compulsion, penitent too late.
Thou hast beheld our ships with gallant men
Freighted, a numerous force; -- and for our arms, --
Surely thy nation hath acquir'd of them
Disastrous knowledge.

Curse upon your arms!
Exclaimed the Savage. -- Is there one among you
Dare lay that cowardly advantage by,
And meet me, man to man, in honest strife?

IX. - 40

That I might grapple with him, weaponless,
On yonder rock, breast against breast, fair force
Of limb and breath and blood; -- till one or both,
Dashed down the shattering precipice, should feed
The mountain-eagle! -- Give me, I beseech you,
That joy!

As wisely, said Cynetha's son,
Thy foe might challenge thee, and bid thee let
Thy strong right hand hang idle in the fray,
That so his weakness with thy strength might cope
In equal battle! -- Not in wrongful war,
The tyrants of our weaker brethren,
Wield we these dreadful arms; -- but when assail'd
By fraud and force, when called upon to aid
The feeble and oppressed, shall we not
Then put our terrors forth, and thunder-strike
The guilty?

Silently the Savage heard;
Joy brighten'd in his eyes, as they unloos'd
His bonds; he stretch'd his arms at length, to feel
His liberty; and, like a greyhound then
Slipt from the leash, he bounded o'er the hills.
What was from early morning till noon day
The steady travel of a well-girt man,
He, with fleet feet and unfatiguable,

IX. - 41

In three short hours hath traversed; in the lake
He dash'd, now shooting forth his pointed arms,
Arrow-like darting on; recumbent now,
Forces, with springing feet, his easier way;
Then with new speed, as freshen'd by repose,
Again he breasts the water. On the shore
Of Aztlan now he stands, and breathes at will,
And wrings his dripping locks; then through the gate
Pursued his way.

Green garlands deck the gate;
Gay are the temples with green boughs affix'd;
The door-posts and the lintels hung with wreaths;
The fire of sacrifice, with flames bedimm'd,
Burns in the sunlight, pale; the victims wait
Around, impatient of their death delay'd.
The Priest, before Tezcalipoca's shrine,
Watches the maize-strewn threshold, to announce
The footsteps of the God; for this the day,
When to his favour'd city he vouchsafes
His annual presence, and, with unseen feet,
Imprints the maize-strewn threshold; follow'd soon
By all whose altars with eternal fires
Aztlan illum'd, and fed with human blood; --
Mexitli, woman-born, who from the womb,
Child of no mortal sire, leaped terrible,

IX. - 42

The arm'd avenger of his mother's fame;
And he whose will the subject winds obey,
Quetzalcoatl, and Tlaloc, Water-God,
And all the host of Deities, whose power
Requites with bounty Aztlan's pious zeal,
Health and rich increase giving to her sons,
And withering in the war her enemies.
So taught the Priests; and therefore were the gates
Green-garlanded, the temples green with boughs,
The door-posts and the lintels hung with wreaths;
And yonder victims, ranged around the fire,
Are destined, with the steam of sacrifice,
To greet their dreadful coming.

With the train.
Of Warrior-Chiefs Coanacotzin stood,
That, when the Priest proclaim'd the enter'd God,
His lips before the present Deity
Might pour effectual prayer. The assembled Chiefs
Saw Tlalala approach, more welcome now,
As one whose absence from the appointed rites
Had waken'd fear and wonder. -- Think not ye,
The youth exclaimed, careless impiety
Could this day lead me wandering. I went forth
To dip my javelin in the Strangers' blood, --
A sacrifice, methought, our Gods had lov'd

IX. - 43

To scent, and sooner hastened to enjoy.
I fail'd, and fell a prisoner; but their fear
Released me, -- coward fear, or idiot hope,
That, like Yuhidthiton, I might become
Their friend, and merit chastisement from Heaven,
Pleading the Strangers' cause. They bade me go,
And proffer peace. -- Chiefs, were it possible
That tongue of mine could win you to that shame,
Out would I pluck the member, though my soul
Followed its bloody roots. The Stranger finds
No peace in Aztlan but the peace of death!

'Tis bravely said! Yuhidthiton replied,
And fairly may'st thou boast, young Tlalala;
For thou art brave in battle. Yet 'twere well
If that same fearless tongue were taught to check
Its boyish license now. No law forbade
Our friendship with the Stranger, when my voice
Pleaded for proffered peace; that fault I shar'd
In common with the King, and with the Chiefs,
The Pabas, and the People, none foreseeing
Danger or guilt: but, when at length the Gods
Made evident their wrath in prodigies,
I yielded to their manifested will
My prompt obedience. -- Bravely hast thou said,

IX. - 44

And brave thou art, young Tyger of the War!
But thou hast dealt with other enemies
Than these impenetrable men, -- with foes�
Whose conquer'd Gods lie idle in their chains,
And with tame weakness brook captivity.
When thou hast met the strangers in the fight,
And in the doings of that fight outdone
Yuhidthiton, revile him then for one
Slow to defend his country and his faith;
Till then, with reverence, as beseems thy youth,
Respect thou his full fame!

I wrong it not!
I wrong it not! cried the young Azteca;
But truly, as I hope to equal it,
Honor thy well-earned glory. -- But this peace! --
Renounce it! -- say that it shall never be! --
Never, as long as there are Gods in Heaven,
Or men in Aztlan!

That, the King replied,
The Gods themselves have answer'd. Never yet
By holier ardour were our countrymen
Possess'd: peace-offerings of repentance fill
The temple courts; from every voice ascends
The contrite prayer; daily the victim's heart
Sends its propitiatory steam to Heaven;

IX. - 45

And, if the aid divine may be procur'd
By the most dread solemnities of faith,
And rigour of severest penitence,
Soon shall the present influence strengthen us,
And Aztlan be triumphant.

While they spake,
The ceaseless sound of song and instrument
Rung through the air, now rising like the voice
Of angry ocean, now subsiding soft
As when the breeze of evening dies away.
The horn, and shrill-ton'd pipe, and drum, that gave
Its music to the hand, and hollowe'd wood,
Drum-like, whose thunders, ever and anon
Commingling with the sea-shell's spiral roar,
Clos'd the full harmony. And now the eve
Past on, and, through the twilight visible,
The frequent fire-flies' brightening beauties shone.
Anxious and often now the Priest survey'd
The maize-strewn threshold; for the wonted hour
Was come, and yet no footstep of the God!
More radiant now the fire of sacrifice,
Fed to full fury, blaz'd; and its red smoke
Imparted to the darker atmosphere
Such obscure light, as, o'er Vesuvio seen,
Or pillar'd upon Etna's mountain head,

IX. - 46

Makes darkness dreadful. In the captives' cheeks
Then might a livid paleness have been seen,
And wilder terror in their ghastly eyes,
Expecting momently the pang of death.
Soon in the multitude a doubt arose,
Which none durst mention, lest his neighbour's fears,
Divulged, should strengthen his: - the hour was past,
And yet no foot had mark'd the sprinkled maize.

[ 47 ]

X.

Now every moment gave their doubts new force,
And every wondering eye disclos'd the fear
Which on the tongue was trembling, when to the King,
Emaciate like some bare anatomy,
And deadly pale, Tezozomoc was led
By two supporting Priests. Ten painful months,
Immured amid the forest had he dwelt,
In abstinence and solitary prayer
Passing his nights and days: thus did the Gods.
From their High Priest exact, when they enforced,
By danger or distress, the penance due
For public sins; and he had dwelt ten months,
Praying and fasting, and in solitude,
Till now might every bone of his lean limbs
Be told, and in his starv'd and bony face
The living eye appear'd unnatural, --
A ghostly sight.

X. - 48

In breathless eagerness
The multitude drew round as he began, --
O King, the Gods of Aztlan are not come;
They will not come before the Strangers' blood
Smoke on their altars: but they have beheld
My days of prayer, and nights of watchfulness,
And fasts austere, and bloody disciplines,
And have reveal'd their pleasure. Who is here
Who to the White King's dwelling-place dare go,
And execute their will?

Scarce had he said,
When Tlalala exclaimed, I am the man.

Hear then! Tezozomoc replied. -- Ye know
That self-denial and long penance purge
The film and foulness of mortality,
For more immediate intercourse with Heaven
Preparing the pure spirit; and all eyes
May witness that with no relaxing zeal
I have performed my duty. Much I fear'd
For Aztlan's sins, and oft, in bitterness,
Have groan'd and bled for her iniquity;
But chiefly for this solemn day the fear
Was strong upon me, lest her Deities,
Estrang'd, should turn away, and we be left

X. - 49

A spiritless and God-abandon'd race,
A warning to the earth. Ten weary months
Have the raw maize and running water been
My only food; but not a grain of maize
Hath stayed the gnawing appetite, nor drop
Of water cool'd my parch'd and painful tongue,
Since yester morn arose. Fasting I pray'd,
And, praying, gash'd myself; and all night long
I watched and wept, and supplicated Heaven,
Till the weak flesh, its life-blood almost drain'd,
Sunk with the long austerity: a dread
Of death came over me; a deathy chill
Ran through my veins, and loosen'd every limb;
Dim grew mine eyes; and I could feel my heart,
Dying away within me, intermit
Its slow and feeble throbs, then suddenly
Start, as it seemed exerting all its force
In one last effort. On the ground I fell,
I know not if entranced, or dead indeed,
But without motion, hearing, sight, or sense,
Feeling, or breath, or life. From that strange state,
Even in such blessed freedom from all pain
That sure I thought myself in very Heaven,
I woke, and raised my eyelids, and beheld

X. - 50

A light which seemed to penetrate my bones
With life and health. Before me, visible,
Stood Coatlantona; a wreath of flowers
Circled her hair, and from their odorous leaves
Arose a lambent flame; not fitfully,
Nor with faint flash or spark of earthly flowers:
From these, for ever flowing forth, there play'd,
In one perpetual dance of pointed light,
The azure radiance of innocuous fire.
She spake: -- Hear, Aztlan! and give ear, O King!
She said, Not yet the offended Gods relax
Their anger; they require the Strangers' blood
The foretaste of their banquet. Let their will
Be known to Aztlan, and the brave perform
Their bidding: I, meantime, will seek to soothe,
With all a mother's power, Mexitli's wrath.
So let the maidens daily with fresh flowers
Garland my temple! -- Daily with fresh flowers
Garland her temple, Aztlan! and revere
The gentle mother of thy guardian God!

And let the brave, exclaimed young Tlalala;
Perform her bidding! Servant of the Gods,
Declare their will -- Is it that I should seek
The Strangers, in the first who meets my way

X. - 51

To plunge the holy weapon? Say thou to me,
Do this; -- and I depart to do the deed,
Though my life-blood should mingle with the foe's.

O brave young Chief! Tezozomoc replied;
With better fortune may the grateful Gods
Reward thy valour! deed so hazardous
They ask not. Couldst thou from the mountain holds
Tempt one of these accursed to pursue
Thine artful flight, an ambush'd band might rise
Upon the unsuspecting enemy,
And intercept return; then hitherward
The captive should be led, and Aztlan's Gods
On their own altars see the sacrifice,
Well pleas'd, and Aztlan's sons, inspirited,
Behold the omen of assured success.
Thou know'st that Tlaloc's annual festival
Is close at hand. A Stranger's child would prove
A victim, whose rare value would deserve
His certain favour. More I need not say.
Chuse thou the force for ambush; and thyself
Alone, or with a chosen comrade, seek
The mountain dwellers.

Instant as he ceas'd,
Ocelopan exclaim'd, I go with thee,

X. - 52

O Tlalala! my friend! -- If one alone
Could have the honor of this enterprize,
My love might yield it thee; -- but thou wilt need
A comrade. -- Tlalala, I go with thee!

The Chief replied,Whom should my heart select,
Its tried companion else, but thee, so oft
My brother in the battle? We will go,
Shedder of blood! together will we go,
Now, ere the midnight!

Nay, the Priest replied,
A little while delay; and, ere ye go,
Devote yourselves to Heaven! Feebly he spake,
Like one exhausted; gathering then new force,
As with laborious effort, he pursued, --
Bedew Mexitli's altar with your blood,
And go beneath his guidage. I have yet
Strength to officiate, and to bless your zeal.
So saying, to the Temple of the God
He led the way. The warriors followed him;
And, with his chiefs, Coanocotzin went,
To grace with all solemnity the rite.
They pass the Wall of Serpents, and ascend
The massive fabric; four times they surround
Its ample square; the fifth, they reach the height.

X. - 53

There, on the level top, two temple-towers
Were rear'd: the one, Tezealipoca's fane,
Supreme of Heaven, where now the wily Priest
Stood, watchful for his. presence, and observ'd
The maize-strewn threshold. His the other pile,
By whose peculiar power and patronage
Aztlan was blest, Mexitli, woman-born.
Before the entrance, the eternal fire
Was burning; bare of foot they enter'd there.

On a blue throne, with four huge silver snakes,
As if the keepers of the sanctuary,
Circled, with stretching neck, and fangs display'd,
Mexitli sate; another graven snake
Belted with scales of gold his monster bulk.
Around the neck a loathsome collar hung,
Of human hearts; the face was mask'd with gold;
His specular eyes seem'd fire; one hand uprear'd
A club; the other, as in battle, held
The shield; and over all, suspended, hung
The banner of the nation. They beheld
In awe, and knelt before the Terrible God.

Guardian of Aztlan! cried Tezozomoc,
Who to thy mortal mother hast assign'd

X. - 54

The kingdom o'er all trees and arborets
And herbs and flowers, giving her endless life,
A Deity among the Deities;
While Coatlantona implores thy love
To thine own people, they in fear approach
Thy awful fane, who know no fear beside,
And offer up the worthiest sacrifice,
The blood of heroes!

To the ready Chiefs
He turn'd, and said, Now stretch your arms, and make
The offering to the God. They their bare arms
Stretch'd forth, and stabb'd them with the aloe-point.
Then, in a golden vase, Tezozomoc
Received the mingled streams, and held it up
Toward the giant Idol, and exclaim'd,
Terrible God! Protector of our realm!
Receive thine incense! Let the steam of blood
Ascend to thee, delightful! So mayst thou
Still to thy chosen people lend thine aid;
And these blaspheming strangers from the earth
Be swept away, as erst the monster race
Of Mammuth, Heaven's fierce ministers of wrath,
Who drain'd the lakes in thirst, and for their food
Exterminated nations. And as when,
Their dreadful ministry of death fulfill'd,

X. - 55

Ipalnemoani, by whom we live,
Bade thee go forth, and with thy lightnings fill
The vault of Heaven, and with thy thunders rock
The rooted earth, till of the monster race
Only their monumental bones remained;
So arm thy favour'd people with thy might,
Terrible God! and purify the land
From these blaspheming foes!

He said, and gave
Ocelopan the vase. -- Chiefs, ye have pour'd
Your strength and courage to the Terrible God,
Devoted to his service: take ye now
The beverage he hath hallow'd. In your youth.
Ye have quaff'd manly blood, that manly thoughts
Might ripen in your hearts; so now with this,
Which mingling from such noble veins hath flow'd,
Increase of valor drink, and added force.
Ocelopan received the bloody vase,
And drank, and gave in silence to his friend
The consecrated draught; then Tlalala
Drain'd off the offering. Braver blood than this
My lips can never taste! quoth he; but soon
Grant me, Mexitli, a more grateful cup, --
The stranger's life.

Are all the rites perform'd?

X. - 56

Ocelopan enquir'd. Yea, all is done,
Answered the Priest. Go! and the guardian God
of Aztlan be your guide!

They left the fane.
Lo! as Tezozomoc was passing by
The eternal fire, the eternal fire shot up
A long blue flame. He started; he exclaimed,
The God! the God! Tezcalipoca's Priest
Echoed the welcome cry, The God! the God!
For, lo! his footsteps mark the maize-strewn floor!
A mighty shout from all the multitudes
Of Aztlan rose; they cast into the fire
The victims, whose last shrieks of agony
Mingled unheeded with the cries of joy.
Then louder from the spiral sea-shell's depth
Swell'd the full roar, and from the hollow wood
Peal'd deeper thunders. Round the choral band,
The circling nobles, gay with gorgeous plumes,
And gems which sparkled to the midnight fire,
Mov'd in the solemn dance; each in his hand,
In measur'd movements lifts the feathery shield,
And shakes a rattling ball to measur'd sounds.
With quicker steps, the inferior chiefs without,
Equal in number, but in just array,
The spreading radii of the mystic wheel,

X. - 57

Revolve; and, outermost, the youths roll round,
In motions rapid as their quicken'd blood.
So thus with song and harmony, the night
Passed on in Aztlan, and all hearts rejoiced.

[ 58 ]

XI.

Meantime from Aztlan, on their enterprise,
Shedder of Blood and Tiger of the War,
Ocelopan and Tlalala set forth.
With chosen followers, through the silent night,
Silent they travell'd on. After a way
Circuitous and far through lonely tracks,
They reach'd the mountains, and, amid the shade
Of thickets covering the uncultur'd slope,
Their patient ambush placed. The Chiefs alone
Held on, till, winding in ascent, they reach'd
The heights which o'er the Britons' mountain hold
Impended; there they stood, and by the moon,
Who yet, with undiminished lustre, shone
High in the dark blue firmament, from thence
Explor'd the steep descent. Precipitous
The rock beneath them lay, a sudden cliff

XI. - 59

Bare and unbroken; in its midway holes,
Where never hand could reach nor eye intrude,
The eagle built her eyry. Farther on,
Its interrupted crags and ancient woods
Offer'd a difficult way. From crag to crag,
By rocky shelf, by trunk or root or bough,
A painful toil and perilous, they past.
And now, stretch'd out amid the matted shrubs,
Which, at the entrance of the valley, cloth'd
The rugged bank, they crouch'd.

By this the stars
Grew dim; the glow-worm hath put out her lamp;
The owls have ceas'd their night-song. On the top
Of yon magnolia, the loud turkey's voice
Is heralding the dawn; from tree to tree
Extends the wakening watch-note, far and wide,
Till the whole woodlands echo with the cry.
Now breaks the morning; but as yet no foot
Hath mark'd the dews, nor sound of man is heard.
Then first Ocelopan beheld, where near,
Beneath the shelter of a half-roof'd hut,
A sleeping Stranger lay. He pointed him
To Tlalala. The Tiger look'd around:
None else was nigh. -- Shall I descend, he said,
And strike him? here is none to see the deed.

XI. - 60

We offered to the Gods our mingled blood
Last night; and now, I deem it, they present
An offering which shall more propitiate them,
And omen sure success. I will go down
And kill!

He said, and, gliding like a snake,
Where Caradoc lay sleeping made his way.
Sweetly slept he, and pleasant were his dreams
Of Britain, and the blue-eyed maid he lov'd.
The Azteca stood over him; he knew
His victim, and the power of vengeance gave
Malignant joy. Once hast thou 'scap'd my arm;
But what shall save thee now? the Tyger thought,
Exulting; and he rais'd his spear to strike.
That instant, o'er the Briton's unseen harp
The gale of morning past, and swept its strings
Into so sweet a harmony, that sure
It seemed no earthly tone. The savage man
Suspends his stroke; he looks astonish'd round;
No human hand is near; -- and, hark! again
The aerial music swells and dies away.
Then first the heart of Tlalala felt fear:
He thought that some protecting spirit liv'd
Beside the stranger, and, abash'd, withdrew.

XI. - 61

A God protects him! to Ocelopan,
Whispering, he said. Didst thou not hear the sound
Which enter'd into me, and fix'd my arm
Powerless above him?

Was it not a voice
From thine own Gods, to strengthen thee, replied
His sterner comrade, and make evident
Their pleasure in the deed?

Nay! Tlalala
Rejoin'd; they speak in darkness and in storms:
The thunder is their voice, that peals through Heaven,
Or, rolling underneath us, makes earth rock
In tempest, and destroys the sons of men.
It was no sound of theirs, Ocelopan!
No voice to hearten; -- for I felt it pass
Unmanning every limb; -- yea, it relax'd
The sinews of my soul. Shedder of Blood,
I cannot lift my hand against the man.
Go, if thy heart be stronger!

But mean time
Young Caradoc arose, of his escape
Unconscious; and by this the stirring sounds
Of day began, increasing now, as all
Now to their toil betake them. Some go fell
The stately wood; some from the trunk low-laid

XI. - 62

Hew the huge boughs; here round the fire they char
The stake-points; here they level with a line
The ground-plot, and infix the ready piles,
Or, interknitting them with osiers, weave
The wicker wall; others along the lake,
From its shoal waters, gather reeds and canes, --
Light roofing, suited to the genial sky.
The woodman's measured stroke, the regular saw,
The wain slow-creaking, and the voice of man
Answering his fellow, or, in single toil,
Cheering his labour with a cheerful song,
Strange concert made to those fierce Aztecas,
Who, beast-like, in their silent lurking place
Couch'd close and still, observant for their prey.

All overseeing, and directing all,
From place to place mov'd Madoc, and beheld
The dwellings rise. Young Hoel at his side
Ran on, best pleased when at his uncle's side
Courting indulgent love. And now they came
Beside the half-roof'd hut of Caradoc;
Of all the mountain-dwellings that the last.
The little boy, in boyish wantonness,
Would quit his Uncle's hold, and haste away,
With childhood's frolic speed, then laugh aloud,

XI. - 63

To tempt pursuit; now running to the huts,
Now toward the entrance of the valley straits.
But, wheresoe'er he turn'd, Ocelopan,
With hunter's eye, pursued his heedless course,
In breath-suspending vigilance. Ah me!
The little wretch toward his lurking-place
Draws near, and calls on Madoc; and the Prince
Thinks of no danger nigh, and follows not
The childish lure! Nearer the covert now
Young Hoel runs, and stops, and calls again;
Then, like a lion, from his couching-place
Ocelopan leaped forth, and seiz'd his prey.

Loud shrieked the affrighted child, as in his arms
The savage grasped him; startled at the cry,
Madoc beheld him hastening through the pass.
Quick as instinctive love can urge his feet
He follows, and he now almost has reach'd
The incumber'd ravisher, and hope inspires
New speed; -- yet nearer now, and nearer still, --
And, lo! the child holds out his little arms!
That instant, as the Prince had almost laid
His hand upon the boy, young Tlalala
Leapt on his neck; and soon, though Madoc's strength
With frantic fury shook him from his hold,

XI. - 64

Far down the steep Ocelopan had fled.
Ah! what avails it now, that they, by whom
Madoc was standing to survey their toil,
Have missed their Chief, and spread the quick alarm?
What now avails it, that, with distant aid,
His gallant men come down? Regarding nought
But Hoel, but the wretched Llaian's grief,
He rushes on; and ever, as he draws
Near to the child, the Tiger Tlalala
Impedes his way. And now they reach the place
Of ambush, and the ambushed band arise,
And Madoc is their prisoner.

Caradoc,
In vain thou leadest on the late pursuit!
In vain,Cadwallon, thy alarmed love
Caught the first sound of evil! They pour out
Tumultuous from the vale, a half-arm'd troop;
Each with such weapons as his hasty hand
Can seize, they rush to battle. Gallant men,
Your valor boots not! It avails not now,
With such fierce onset that ye charge the foe,
And drive with such full force the weapon home!
They, while ye slaughter them, impede pursuit;
And far away, meantime, their comrades bear
The prisoner Prince. In vain his noble heart

XI. - 65

Swells now with wild and suffocating rage;
In vain he struggles: -- they have bound his limbs
With the tough osier, and his struggles now
But bind more close and cuttingly the band.
They hasten on; and while they bear the prize,
Leaving their ill-doomed fellows in the fight
To check pursuit, foremost afar of all,
With unabating strength, by joy inspir'd,
Ocelopan to Aztlan bears the child.

[ 66 ]

XII.

Good tidings travel fast. -- The chief is seen;
He hastens on; he holds the child on high;
He shouts aloud. Through Aztlan spreads the news;
Each to his neighbour tells the happy tale, --
Joy, -- joy to Aztlan! the Blood-shedder comes!
Tlaloc has given his victim.

Ah, poor child!
They from the gate swarm out to welcome thee;
Warriors, and men grown gray, and youths and maids,
Exulting, forth they crowd. The mothers throng
To view thee, and, while thinking of thy doom,
They clasp their own dear infants to the breast
With deeper love, delighted think that thou
Shalt suffer for them. He, poor child, admires
The strange array; with wonder he beholds
Their olive limbs, half bare, their plumy crowns,

XII. - 67

And gazes round and round, where all was new,
Forgetful of his fears. But when the Priest
Approach'd to take him from the Warrior's arms,
Then Hoel scream'd; and, from that hideous man
Averting, to Ocelopan he turn'd,
And would have clung to him, so dreadful late,
Stern as he was, and terrible of eye,
Less dreadful than the Priest, whose dark aspect,
Which Nature with her harshest characters
Had featured, art made worse. His cowl was white;
His untrimm'd hair, a long and loathsome mass,
With cotton cords intwisted, clung with gum,
And matted with the blood, which, every morn,
He from his temples drew before the God,
In sacrifice; bare were his arms, and smear'd
Black: but his countenance a stronger dread
Than all the horrors of that outward garb,
Struck with quick instinct to young Hoel's heart:
It was a face whose settled sullenness
No gentle feeling ever had disturb'd;
Which, when he probed a victim's living breast,
Retain'd its hard composure.

Such was he
Who took the son of Llaian, heeding not
His cries and screams, and arms in suppliant guise,

XII. - 68

Stretch'd out to all around, and strugglings vain.
He to the Temple of the Water God
Conveyed his victim. By the threshold, there
The ministering Virgins stood, a comely band
Of high-born damsels, to the temple rites
By pious parents vow'd. Gladly to them
The little Hoel leaped; their gentle looks
No fear excited; and he gazed around,
Pleased and surprised, unconscious to what end
These things were tending. O'er the rush-strewn floor
They to the azure Idol led the boy,
Now not reluctant, and they rais'd the hymn.

God of the Waters! at whose will the streams
Flow in their wonted channel, and diffuse
Their plenty round, the blood and life of earth;
At whose command they swell, and o'er their banks
Burst with resistless ruin, making vain
The toils and hopes of man, -- behold this child!
O, strong to bless, and mighty to destroy,
Tlaloc! behold thy victim! so mayst thou
Restrain the peaceful streams within their banks,
And bless the labours of the husbandman.

God of the Mountains! at whose will the clouds

XII. - 69

Cluster around the heights; who sendest them
To shed their fertilizing showers, and raise
The drooping herb, and o'er the thirsty vale
Spread their green freshness; at whose voice the hills
Grow black with storms; whose wrath the thunder speaks;
Whose bow of anger shoots the lightning shafts,
To blast the works of man, -- behold this child!
O strong to bless, and mighty to destroy,
Tlaloc! behold thy victim! so may'st thou
Lay by the fiery arrows of thy rage,
And bid the genial rains and dews descend.

O thou, Companion of the powerful God!
Companion and Beloved! -- when he treads
The mountain-top, whose breath diffuses round
The sweets of summer; when he rides the waves,
Whose presence is the sunshine and the calm, --
Aiauh, O green-rob'd Goddess, see this child!
Behold thy victim! so mayst thou appease
The sterner mind of Tlaloc when he frowns,
And Aztlan flourish in thy fostering smile.

Young Spirits! ye whom Aztlan's piety
� Hath given to Tlaloc, to enjoy with him,
For aye the cool delights of Tlalocan, --

XII. - 70

Young Spirits of the happy; who have left
Your Heaven to-day, unseen assistants here, --
Behold your comrade! see the chosen child,
Who through the lonely cave of death must pass,
Like you, to join you in eternal joy.

Now from the rush-strewn temple they depart.
They place their smiling victim in a car,
Upon whose sides of pearly shell there play'd,
Shading and shifting still, the rainbow light.
On virgin shoulders is he borne aloft,
With dance before, and song and music round;
And thus they seek, in festival array,
The water-side. There lies the sacred bark,
All gay with gold, and garlanded with flowers:
The virgins with the joyous boy embark;
Ten boatmen urge them on; the Priests behind
Follow, and all the long solemnity.
The lake is overspread with boats; the sun
Shines on the gilded prows, the feathery crowns,
The sparkling waves. Green islets float along,
Where high-born damsels, under jasmine bowers,
Raise the sweet voice, to which the echoing oars,
In modulated motion, rise and fall.
The moving multitude along the shore

XII. - 71

Flows like a stream; bright shines the unclouded sky;
Heaven, earth, and waters wear one face of joy.
Young Hoel with delight beholds the pomp;
His heart throbs joyfully; and if he thinks
Upon his mother now, 'tis but to think
How beautiful a tale for her glad ear
He hath when he returns. Meantime the maids
Weave garlands for his head, and raise the song:

Oh, happy thou, whom early from the world
The Gods require! not by the wasting worm
Of sorrow cankered, nor condemned to feel
The pang of sickness, nor the wound of war,
Nor the long miseries of protracted age;
But call'd in youth, the chosen of the God,
To share his joys. Soon shall thy rescu'd soul,
Child of the Stranger! in his blissful world,
Mix with the blessed spirits; for not thine,
Amid the central darkness of the earth,
To endure the eternal void, -- not thine to live,
Dead to all objects of eye, ear, or sense,
In the long horrors of one endless night,
With endless being curset. For thee the bowers
Of Tlalocan have blossomed with new sweets;
For thee have its immortal trees matur'd

XII. - 72

The fruits of Heaven; thy comrades even now
Wait thee, impatient, in their fields of bliss;
The God will welcome thee, his chosen child,
And Aiauh love thee with a mother's love.
Child of the Stranger! dreary is thy way!
Darkness and Famine through the cave of Death
Must guide thee. Happy thou, when on that night
The morning of the eternal day shall dawn.

So as they sung young Hoel's song of death,
With rapid strength the boatmen plied their oars,
And through the water swift they glided on;
And now to shore they drew. The stately bank
Rose with the majesty of woods o'erhung,
And rocks, or peering through the forest shade
Or rising from the lake, and with their bulk
Glassing its dark, deep waters. Half-way up,
A cavern pierced the rock; no human foot
Had trod its depths, nor ever sunbeam reached
Its long recesses and mysterious gloom:
To Tlaloc it was hallow'd; and the stone
Which closed its entrance never was remov'd,
Save when the yearly festival return'd,
And in its womb a child was sepulchred,
The living victim. Up the winding path,

XII. - 73

That to the entrance of the cavern led,
With many a painful step the train ascend;
But many a time, upon that long ascent,
Young Hoel would have paused, with weariness
Exhausted now. They urge him on, -- poor child!
They urge him on! -- Where is Cadwallon's aid?
Where is the sword of Ririd? where the arm
Of Madoc now? -- Oh! better had he liv'd,
Unknowing and unknown, on Arvon's plain,
And trod upon his noble father's grave,
With peasant feet, unconscious! -- They have reached
The cavern now, and from its mouth the Priests
Roll the huge portal. Thitherward they force
The son of Llaian. A cold air comes out; --
It chills him, and his feet recoil; -- in vain
His feet recoil; -- in vain he turns to fly,
Aftrighted at the sudden gloom that spreads
Around; -- the den is closed, and he is left
In solitude and darkness, -- left to die!

[ 74 ]

XIII.

That morn from Aztlan Coatel had gone,
In search of flowers, amid the woods and crags,
To deck the shrine of Coatlantona;
Such flowers as, in the solitary wilds
Hiding their modest beauty, made their worth
More valued for its rareness. 'Twas to her
A grateful task; not only for she fled
Those cruel rites, to which nor reverent use
Nor frequent custom could familiarize
Her gentle heart, and teach it to put off
All womanly feeling, -- but that, from all eyes
Escap'd and all obtrusive fellowship,
She in that solitude might send her soul
To where Lincoya with the Strangers dwelt.
She from the summit of the woodland heights
Gaz'd on the lake below. The sound of song
And instrument, in soften'd harmony,

XIII. - 75

Had reached her where she stray'd; and she beheld
The pomp, and listened to the harmony,
A moment, with delight: but then a fear
Came on her, for she knew with what design
The Tyger and Ocelopan had sought
The dwellings of the Cymry. -- Now the boats
Drew nearer, and she knew the Stranger's child.
She watch'd them land below; she saw them wind
The ascent; -- and now from that abhorred cave
The stone is rolled away, -- and now the child
From light and life is cavern'd. Coatel
Thought of his mother then, of all the ills
Her fear would augur, and, how worse than all
Which even a mother's maddening fear could feign,
His actual fate. She thought of this, and bow'd
Her face upon her knees, and clos'd her eyes,
Shuddering. Suddenly in the brake beside,
A rustling startled her, and from the shrubs
A Vulture rose.

She mov'd toward the spot,
Led by an idle impulse, as it. seem'd,
To see from whence the carrion bird had fled.
The bushes overhung a narrow chasm
Which pierced the hill; upon its mossy sides
Shade-loving herbs and flowers luxuriant grew,

XIII. - 76

And jutting crags made easy the descent.
A little way descending, Coatel
Stoopt for the flowers, and heard, or thought she heard,
A feeble sound below. She rais;d her head,
And anxiously she listened for the sound,
Not without fear. -- Feebly again, and like
A distant cry, it came; and then she thought,
Perhaps it was the voice of that poor child,
By the slow pain of hunger doom'd to die.
She shuddered at the thought, and breath'd a groan
Of unavailing pity; -- but the sound
Came nearer, and her trembling heart conceiv'd
A dangerous hope. The Vulture from that chasm
Had fled, perchance accustom'd in the cave
To seek his banquet, and by living feet
Alarm'd: -- there was an entrance then below;
And were it possible that she could save
The Stranger's child, -- Oh, what a joy it were
To tell Lincoya that!

It was a thought
Which made her heart with terror and delight,
Throb audibly. From crag to crag she passed,
Descending, and beheld a narrow cave
Enter the hill. A little way the light
Fell; -- but its feeble glimmering she herself

XIII. - 77

Obstructed half, as, stooping, in she went.
The arch grew loftier, and the increasing gloom
Filled her with more affright, and now she paus'd,
For at a sudden and abrupt descent
She stood, and feared its unseen depth; her heart
Failed, and she back had hastened; but the cry
Reached her again, the near and certain cry
Of that most pitiable innocent.
Again adown the dark descent she look'd,
Straining her eyes: by this the strengthen'd sight
Had grown adapted to the gloom around,
And her dilated pupils now receiv'd
Dim sense of objects near. Something below,
White in the darkness, lay: it mark'd the depth.
Still Coatel stood dubious; but she heard
The wailing of the child, and his loud sobs; --
Then, clinging to the rock with fearful hands,
Her feet explored below, and twice she felt
Firm footing, ere her fearful hold relax'd.
The sound she made, along the hollow rock
Ran echoing. Hoel heard it, and he came
Groping along the side. A dim, dim light
Broke on the darkness of his sepulchre;
A human form drew near him: -- he sprang on,
Screaming with joy, and clung to Coatel,

XIII. - 78

And cried, O take me from this dismal place!
She answer'd not, she understood him not;
But clasped the little victim to her breast,
And shed delightful tears.

But from that den
Of darkness and of horror, Coatel
Durst not convey the child, though in her heart
There was a female tenderness, that yearn'd,
Even with maternal love, to cherish him.
She hushed his clamours, fearful lest the sound
Might reach some other ear; she kiss'd away
The tears that stream'd adown his little cheeks;
She gave him food, which in the morn she brought,
For her own wants, from Aztlan. Some few words
Of Britain's ancient language she had learnt
From her Lincoya, in those happy days
Of peace when Aztlan was the Stranger's friend;
Aptly she learnt, what willingly he taught,
Terms of endearment, and the parting words
Which promis'd quick return. She on the child
The endearing phrase bestow'd; and if it chanced
Imperfect knowledge or some difficult sound
Check'd her heart's utterance, then the gentle tone,
The fond caress, intelligibly spake
Affection's language.

XIII. - 79

But when she arose,
And would have climb'd the ascent, thee affrighted boy
Fast held her, and his tears interpreted
The prayer to leave him not. Again she kiss'd
His tears away; again of soon return
Assur'd and sooth'd him; till reluctantly
And weeping, but in silence, he unloos'd
His grasp; and up the difficult ascent
Coatel climb'd, and, to the light of day
Returning, with her flowers she hasten'd home.

[ 80 ]

XIV.

Who comes to Aztlan, bounding like a deer
Along the plain? -- The herald of success;
For, lo! his locks are braided, and his loins
Cinctured with white; and, see! he lifts the shield,
And brandishes the sword. The populace
Flock round, impatient for the tale of joy,
And follow to the palace in his path.
Joy! joy! the Tiger hath achiev'd his quest!
They bring a captive home! -- Triumphantly
Coanocotzin and his Chiefs go forth
To greet the youth triumphant, and receive
The victim, whom the gracious Gods have given,
Sure omen and first-fruits of victory.
A woman leads the train, young, beautiful, --
More beautiful for that translucent joy
Flushing her cheek, and sparkling in her eye; --
Her hair is twin'd with festal flowers, her robe

XIV. - 81

With flowing wreaths adorned; she holds a child,
He, too, bedeck'd and garlanded with flowers,
And, lifting him, with agile force of arm,
In graceful action, to harmonious step
Accordant, leads the dance. It is the wife
Of Tlalala, who, with his child, goes forth
To meet her hero-husband.

And, behold,
The Tiger comes! and, ere the shouts and sounds
Of gratulation cease, his followers bear
The captive Prince. At that so welcome sight,
Loud rose the glad acclaim; nor knew they yet
That he who there lay patient in his bonds,
Expecting the inevitable lot,
Was Madoc. Patient in his bonds he lay,
Exhausted with vain efforts, desperate now,
And silently resign'd. But when the King
Approached the prisoner, and beheld his face,
And knew the Chief of Strangers, at that sound
Electric joy shot through the multitude,
And, like the raging of the hurricane,
Their thundering transports peal'd. A deeper joy,
A nobler triumph, kindled Tlalala,
As, limb by limb, his eye survey'd the Prince
With a calm fierceness. And, by this, the Priests

XIV. - 82

Approach'd their victim, clad in vestments white
Of sacrifice, which from the shoulders fell,
As from the breast, unbending, broad and straight,
Leaving their black arms bare. The blood-red robe,
The turkoise pendent from his down-drawn lip,
The crown of glossy plumage, whose green hue
Vied with his emerald ear drops, mark'd their Chief,
Tezozomoc: his thin and ghastly cheek,
Which, -- save the temple serpents, when he brought
Their human banquet -- never living eye
Rejoiced to see, became more ghastly now,
As, in Mexitli's name, upon the Prince
He laid his murtherous hand. But, as he spake,
Up darted Tlalala his eagle glance. --
Away! away! he shall not perish so!
The warrior cried; -- not tamely, by the knife,
Nor on the jasper-stone, his blood shall flow!
The Gods of Aztlan love a Warrior-Priest!
I am their Priest to-day!

A murmuring
Ran through the train; nor waited he to hear
Denial thence, but on the multitude
Aloud he called: When first our fathers seiz'd
This land, there was a savage chief who stopt
Their progress. He had gain'd the rank he bore,

XIV. - 83

By long probation: stripes, which laid his flesh
All bleeding bare, had forced not one complaint;
Not when the working bowels might be seen,
One movement; hand-bound, he had been confin'd
Where myriad insects on his nakedness
Infix'd their venomous anger, and no start,
No shudder, shook his frame; last, in a net
Suspended, he had felt the agony
Of fire, which to his bones and marrow pierced,
And breath'd the suffocating smoke which fill'd
His lungs with fire, without a groan, a breath,
A look, betokening sense; so gallantly
Had he subdued his nature. This brave man
Met Aztlan in the war, and put her Chiefs
To shame. Our Elders have not yet forgot
How from the slaughter'd brother of their King
He stript the skin, and form'd of it a drum,
Whose sound affrighted armies. With this man
My father cop'd in battle; here he led him,
An offering to the God; and, man to man,
He slew him here in fight. I was a child,
Just old, enough to lift my father's shield;
But I remember, on that glorious day,
When from the sacred combat he return'd,
His red hands reeking with the hot heart's-blood,

XIV. - 84

How in his arms he took me, and besought
The God whom he had serv'd, to bless his boy,
And make me like my father. Men of Aztlan!
Mexitli heard his prayer! -- here I have brought
The Stranger-Chief, the noblest sacrifice
That ever graced the altar of the God;
Let then, his death be noble! so my boy
Shall, in the day of battle, think of me,
And, as I followed my brave father's steps,
Pursue my path of glory.

Ere the Priest
Could frame denial, had the Monarch's look
Bespake assent. -- Refuse not this, he cried,
O servant of the Gods! He hath not here
His arms to save him; and the Tiger's strength
Yields to no mortal might. Then for his sword
He called, and bade Yuhidthiton address
The Stranger-Chief.

Yuhidthiton began:
The Gods of Aztlan triumph, and thy blood
Must wet their altars. Prince, thou shalt not die
The coward's death, but, sworded and in fight,
Fall as becomes the valiant. Should thine arms.
Subdue in battle six successive foes,
Life, liberty, and glory will repay

XIV. - 85

The noble conquest. Madoc, hope not this!
Strong are the brave of Aztlan!

Then they loosed
The Ocean Chieftain's bonds; they rent away
His garments; and, with songs and shouts of joy,
They led him to the Stone of Sacrifice.
Round was that Stone of blood; the half-rais'd arm
Of one of manly growth, who stood below,
Might rest upon its height; the circle small,
An active boy might almost bound across.
Nor needed for the combat ampler space;
For in the centre was the prisoner's foot
Fast fetter'd down. Thus fetter'd, Madoc stood.
He held a buckler, light and small, of cane,
O'erlaid with beaten gold; his sword, the King,
Honoring a noble enemy, had given,
A weapon tried in war, -- to Madoc's grasp
Strange and unwieldy 'twas a broad, strong staff,
Set thick with transverse stones, on either side
Keen-edged as Syrian steel. But, when he felt
The weapon, Madoc call'd to mind his deeds
Done on the Saxon in his father's land,
And hope arose within him. Nor, though now
Naked he stood, did fear for that, assail
His steady heart; for often had he seen

XIV. - 86

His gallant countrymen, with naked breasts,
Rush on their iron-coated enemy,
And win the conquest.

Now hath Tlalala
Arrayed himself for battle. First, he donn'd
A gipion, quilted close of gossampine;
O'er that a jointed mail of plates of gold,
Bespotted like the tiger's speckled pride,
To speak his rank; it clad his arms half-way,
Half-way his thighs; but cuishes had he none,
Nor gauntlets, nor feet-armour. On his helm
There yawned the semblance of a tyger's head,
The long, white teeth extended, as for prey;
Proud crest, to blazon his proud title forth.
And now toward the fatal stage, equipp'd
For fight, he went; when, from the press behind,
A warrior's voice was heard, and clad in arms,
And shaking in his angry grasp the sword,
Ocelopan rush'd on, and call'd aloud,
On Tlalala, and claim'd the holy fight.
The Tyger, heedless of his clamor, sprung
Upon the stone, and turned him to the war.
Fierce leaping forward came Ocelopan,
And bounded up the ascent, and seiz'd his arm: --
Why wouldst thou rob me of a deed like this?

XIV. - 87

Equal our peril in the enterprize,
Equal our merit: -- thou wouldst reap alone
The guerdon! Never shall my children lift
Their little hands at thee, and say, Lo! there
The Chief who slew the White King! -- Tlalala,
Trust to the lot, or turn on me, and prove,
By the best chance to which the brave appeal,
Who best deserves this glory!

Stung to wrath,
The Tyger answered not: he rais'd his sword,
And they had rush'd to battle; but the Priests
Came hastening up, and by their common Gods,
And by their common country, bade them cease
Their impious strife, and let the lot decide
From whom Mexitli should that day receive
His noble victim. Both unsatisfied,
But both obedient, heard. Two equal shafts,
As outwardly they seemed, the Paba brought;
His mantle hid their points; and Tlalala
Drew forth the broken stave. A bitter smile
Darken'd his cheek, as angrily he cast
To earth the hostile lot. -- Shedder of Blood,
Thine is the first adventure! he exclaimed;
But thou mayst perish here! -- and in his heart
The Tyger hop'd Ocelopan might fall,

XIV. - 88

As, sullenly retiring from the stage,
He mingled with the crowd.

And now oppos'd Prince Madoc and the Life-Destroyer stood.
This, clad in arms complete, free to advance
In quick assault or shun the threaten'd blow,
Wielding his wonted sword; the other, stript,
Save of that fragile shield, of all defence;
His weapon strange and cumbrous; and pinn'd down
Disabled from all onset, all retreat.

With looks of greedy joy, Ocelopan
Surveyed his foe, and wonder'd to behold
The breast so broad, the bare and brawny limbs
Of matchless strength. The eye of Madoc, too,
Dwelt on his foe; his countenance was calm,
Something more pale than wonted, like a man
Prepar'd to meet his death. The Azteca
Fiercely began the fight; now here, now there,
Aright, aleft, above, below, he wheel'd
The rapid sword: still Madoc's rapid eye
Pursued the motion, and his ready shield,
In prompt interposition, caught the blow,
Or turn'd its edge aside. Nor did the Prince

XIV. - 89

Yet aim the sword to wound, but held it forth,
Another shield, to save him, till his hand,
Familiar with its weight and shape uncouth,
Might wield it well to vengeance. Thus he stood,
Baffling the impatient enemy, who now
Wax'd wrathful, thus to waste in idle strokes,
Reiterate so oft, his bootless strength.
And now yet more exasperate he grew;
For from the eager multitude, was heard,
Amid the din of undistinguished sounds,
The Tyger's murmured name, as though they thought,
Had he been on the stone, ere this, besure,
The Gods had tasted of their sacrifice,
Now all too long delay'd. Then fiercelier,
And yet more rapidly, he drove the sword;
But still the wary Prince or met its fall,
And broke the force, or bent him from the blow;
And now retiring, and advancing now,
As one free foot permitted, still provok'd,
And baffled still, the savage; and sometimes
With cautious strength did Madoc aim attack,
Mastering each moment now with abler sway
The acquainted sword. But, though as yet unharm'd
In life or limb, more perilous the strife
Grew momently; for, with repeated strokes,

XIV. - 90

Battered and broken now, the shield hung loose;
And shouts of triumph from the multitude
Arose, as piecemeal they beheld it fall,
And saw the Prince expos'd.

That welcome sight,
Those welcome sounds, inspir'd Ocelopan;
He felt each limb new-strung. Impatient now
Of conquest long delay'd, with wilder rage
He drives the weapon. Madoc's lifted sword
Receiv'd its edge, and shiver'd with the blow.
A shriek of transport burst from all around;
For, lo! the White King, shieldless, weaponless,
Naked before his foe! That savage foe,
Dallying with the delight of victory,
Drew back a moment to enjoy the sight,
Then yell'd in triumph, and sprang on to give
The consummating blow. Madoc beheld
The coming death; he darted up his hand
Instinctively to save, and caught the wrist
In its mid fall, and drove with desperate force
The splinter'd truncheon of his broken sword
Full in the enemy's face. Beneath his eye
It broke its way, and, where the nasal nerves
Branch in fine fibrils o'er their mazy seat,
Burst through, and, slanting upward, in the brain
Buried its jagged point.

XIV. - 91

Madoc himself
Stood at his fall astonish'd, at escape
Unhop'd, and strange success. The multitude
Beheld, and they were silent; and they stood
Gazing in terror. But far other thoughts
Rose in the Tyger's heart: it was a joy
To Tlalala; and forth he sprung, and up
The Stone of Sacrifice, and called aloud
To bring the Prince another sword and shield
For his last strife. Then, in that interval,
Upon Ocelopan he fix'd his eyes,
Contemplating the dead, as though thereby
To kindle in his heart a fiercer thirst
For vengeance. Nor to Madoc was the sting
Of anger wanting, when in Tlalala
He knew the captive whom his mercy freed,
The man whose ambush had that day destroy'd
Young Hoel and himself; -- for sure he deem'd
Young Hoel was with God, and he himself
At his death-day arriv'd. And now he grasped
A second sword, and held another shield;
And from the Stone of Blood Ocelopan
Was borne away; and fresh in arms, and fierce
With all that makes a savage thirst for war,
Hope, vengeance, courage, superstitious hate,

XIV. - 92

A second foe came on. By this, the Prince
Could wield his weapon well; and, dreading now
Lest, in protracted combat, he might stand
Again defenceless, he put forth his strength,
As oft assailing as assailed, and watch'd
So well the Tyger's-motions, and receiv'd
The Tyger's blows so warily, and aim'd
His own so fierce and fast, that in the crowd
Doubt and alarm prevail'd. Ilanquel grew
Pale at her husband's danger; and she clasp'd
The infant to her breast, whom late she held
On high to see his victory. The throng
Of the beholders silently look'd on;
And in their silence might at times be heard
An indrawn breath of terror; and the Priests
Angrily murmur'd, that, in evil hour,
Coanocotzin had indulged the pride
Of vaunting valour, and from certain death
Repriev'd the foe.

But now a murmur rose
Amid the multitude; and they who stood
So thickly throng'd, and with such eager eyes
Late watched the fight, hastily now broke up,
And, with disorder'd speed and sudden arms,
Ran to the city gates. More eager now,

XIV. - 93

Conscious of what had chanced, fought Tlalala:
And hope invigorated Madoc's heart;
For well he ween'd Cadwallon was at hand,
Leading his gallant friends. Aright he ween'd:
At hand Cadwallon was! His gallant friends
Came from the mountains with impetuous speed,
To save or to revenge. Nor long endur'd
The combat now: the Priests ascend the stone,
And bid the Tyger hasten to defend
His country and his Gods; and, hand and foot,
Binding the captive Prince, they bear him thence,
And lay him in the temple. Then his heart
Resigned itself to death, and Madoc thought
Of Llaian and Goervyl; and he felt
That death was dreadful. But not so the King
Permitted; but not so had Heaven decreed;
For noble was the King of Aztlan's heart,
And pure his tongue from falsehood: he had said,
That by the warrior's death should Madoc die;
Nor dar'd the Pabas violently break
The irrevocable word. There Madoc lay
In solitude; the distant battle reach'd
His ear; inactive and in bonds he lay,
Expecting the dread issue, and almost
Wishe'd for the perils of the fight again.

[ 94 ]

XV.

Not unprepar'd, Cadwallon found the sons
Of Aztlan, nor defenceless were her walls;
But, when the Britons' distant march was seen,
A ready army issued from her gates,
And dight themselves to battle: these the King
Coanocotzin had, with timely care,
And provident for danger, thus array'd.
Forth issuing from the gates, they met the foe;
And with the sound of sonorous instruments,
And with their shouts and screams and yells, drove back
The Britons' fainter war-cry, as the swell
Of ocean, flowing onward, up its course
Repels the river-stream. Their darts and stones
Fell like the raindrops of the summer-shower,
So fast, and on the helmet and the shield,
On the strong corselet and the netted mail,
So innocent they fell. But not in vain

XV. - 95

The bowmen of Deheubarth sent, that day,
Their iron bolts abroad: those violent deaths
Descended on the naked multitude;
And through the chieftain's quilted gossampine,
Through feathery breastplate and effulgent gold,
They reached the life.

But soon no interval
For archer's art was left, nor scope for flight
Of stone from whirling sling. Both hosts, alike
Impatient for the proof of war, press on:
The Aztecas, to shun the arrowy storm;
The Cymry, to release their Lord, or heap
Aztlan in ruins, for his monument.
Spear against spear, and shield to shield, and breast
To breast, they met; equal in force of limb
And strength of heart, in resolute resolve,
And stubborn effort of determin'd wrath:
The few, advantaged by their iron mail;
The weaklier, arm'd, of near retreat assur'd
And succor close at hand, in tenfold troops
Their foemen overnumbering. And of all
That mighty multitude, did every man
Of either host, alike inspir'd by all
That stings to will and strengthens to perform,
Then put forth all his power; for well they knew

XV. - 96

Aztlan that day must triumph or must fall.
Then sword and mace on helm and buckler rang,
And hurtling javelins whirr'd along the sky.
Nor, when they hurl'd the javelin, did the sons
Of Aztlan, prodigal of weapons, loose
The lance, to serve them for no second stroke:
A line of ample measure still retained
The missile shaft; and, when its blow was spent,
Swiftly the dexterous spearman coil'd the string,
And sped again the artificer of death.
Rattling, like summer hailstones, they descend,
But from the Britons' iron panoply,
Baffled and blunted, fell; nor more avail'd
The stony falchion there, whose broken edge
Inflicts no second wound; nor profited,
On the strong buckler or the crested helm,
The knotty club; though fast, in blinding showers,
Those javelins fly, those heavy weapons fall
With stunning weight. Meantime, with wonted strength,
The men of Gwyneth through their fenceless foes
Those lances thrust, whose terrors had so oft
Affray'd the Saxons, and whose home-driven points
So oft had pierced the Normen's knightly arms.
Little did then his pomp of plumes bestead
The Azteca, or glittering pride of gold,

XV. - 97

Against the tempered sword; little his casque,
Gay with its feathery coronal, or drest
In graven terrors, when the Briton's hand
Drove in through helm and head the spiked mace,
Or swung its iron weights with shattering sway,
Which, where they struck, destroy'd. Beneath those arms
The men of Aztlan fell; and whoso dropt,
Dead or disabled, him his comrades bore
Away, with instant caution, lest the sight
Of those whom they had slaughter'd might inspire
The foe with hope and courage. Fast they fell,
And fast were resupplied, man after man
Succeeding to the death. Nor in the town
Did how the sight of their slain countrymen,
Momentarily carried in and piled in heaps,
Awake one thought of fear. Hark! through the streets
Of Aztlan, how, from house to house and tower
To tower, reiterate, Paynalton's name
Calls all her sons to battle! at whose name
All must go forth, and follow to the field
The Leader of the Armies of the Gods,
Whom, in his unseen power, Mexitli now
Sends out to lead his people. They, in crowds,
Throng for their weapons to the House of Arms,
Beneath their guardian Deity preserv'd

XV. - 98

Through years of peace; and there the Pabas stood
Within the temple-court, and dealt around
The ablution of the Stone of Sacrifice,
Bidding them, with the holy beverage,
Imbibe diviner valor, strength of arm
Not to be wearied, hope of victory,
And certain faith of endless joy in Heaven,
Their sure reward. -- Oh, happy, cried the Priests,
Your brethren who have fallen! already they
Have joined the company of blessed souls;
Already they, with song and harmony,
And in the dance of beauty, are gone forth,
To follow down his western path of light,
Yon Sun, the Prince of Glory, from the world
Retiring to the Palace of his rest.
Oh, happy they who for their country's cause,
And for their Gods, shall die the brave man's death!
Them will their country consecrate with praise,
Them will the Gods reward! -- They heard the Priests
Intoxicate, and from the gate swarmed out
Tumultuous to the fight of martyrdom.

But when Cadwallon every moment saw
The enemies increase, and with what rage
Of drunken valor to the fight they rush'd,

XV. - 99

He, against that impetuous attack,
As best he could, providing, form'd the troops
Of Britain into one collected mass:
Three equal sides it offer'd to the foe,
Close and compact; no multitude could break
The condens'd strength; its narrow point prest on,
Entering the throng's resistance, like a wedge,
Still from behind impell'd. So, thought the Chief,
Likeliest the gates of Aztlan might be gain'd,
And Hoel and the Prince preserved, if yet
They were among mankind. Nor could the force
Of hostile thousands break that strength condens'd,
Against whose iron sides the stream of war
Rolled unavailing, as the ocean waves,
Which, idly round some insulated rock
Foam furious, warning with their silvery smoke
The mariner far off. Nor could the point
Of that compacted body, though it bore
Right on the foe, and with united force
Pressed on to enter, through the multitude
Win now its difficult way; as where the sea
Pours through some strait its violent waters, swoln
By inland fresh, vainly the oarmen there
With all their weight and strength essay to drive.
Their galley through the pass, the stress and strain
Availing scarce to stem the impetuous stream.

XV. - 100

And, hark! above the deafening din of fight
Another shout, heard like the thunder-peal,
Amid the war of winds! Lincoya comes,
Leading the mountain-dwellers. From the shock
Aztlan recoil'd. And now a second troop
Of Britons to the town advanced, for war
Impatient and revenge. Cadwallon these,
With tidings of their gallant Prince enthrall'd,
Had summoned from the ships. That dreadful tale
Roused them to fury. Not a man was left
To guard the fleet; for who could have endur'd
That idle duty? who could have endur'd
The long, inactive, miserable hours,
And hope and expectation, and the rage
Of maddening anguish? Ririd led them on;
In whom a brother's love had call'd not up
More spirit-stirring pain than trembled now
In every British heart, so dear to all
Was Madoc.On they came; and Aztlan then
Had fled appall'd; but in that dangerous hour
Her faith preserv'd her. From the gate, her Priests
Rushed desperate out, and to the foremost rank
Forced their wild way, and fought with martyr zeal.
Through all the host contagious fury spread;
Nor had the sight that hour enabled them

XV. - 101

To mightier efforts, bad Mexitli, clad
In all his imaged terrors, gone before
Their way, and driven upon his enemies
His giant club destroying. Then more fierce
The conflict grew; the din of arms, the yell
Of savage rage, the shriek of agony,
The groan of death, commingled in one sound
Of undistinguish'd horrors; while the Sun,
Retiring slow beneath the plain's far verge,
Shed o'er the quiet hills his fading light.

[ 102 ]

XVI.

Silent and solitary is thy vale,
Caermadoc, and how melancholy now
That solitude and silence! Broad noonday,
And not a sound of human life is there!
The fisher's net, abandoned in his haste,
Sways idly in the waters; in the tree,
Which its last stroke had pierced, the hatchet hangs;
The birds, beside the mattock and the spade,
Hunt in the new-turned mould, and fearlessly
Fly through the cage-work of the imperfect wall,
Or through the vacant dwelling's open door
Pass and repass secure.

In Madoc's house,
And on his bed of reeds, Goervyl lies,
Her face toward the ground. She neither weeps
Nor sighs, nor groans; too strong her agony

XVI. - 103

For outward sign of anguish, and for prayer
Too hopeless was the ill; and though, at times,
The pious exclamation passed her lips,
Thy will be done! yet was that utterance
Rather the breathing of a broken heart
Than of a soul resign'd. Mervyn, beside,
Hangs over his dear mistress silently,
Having no hope or comfort to bestow,
Nor aught but sobs and unavailing tears.
The women of Caermadoc, like a flock
Collected in their panic, stand around
The house of their lost leader; and they, too,
Are mute in their despair. Llaian alone
Is absent; wildly hath she wander'd forth
To seek her child; and such the general woe,
That none kath mark'd her absence. Yet have they,
Though unprotected thus, no selfish fear:
The sudden evil had destroy'd all thought,
All sense, of present danger to themselves,
All foresight.

Yet new terrors! Malinal,
Panting with speed, bursts in, and takes the arms
Of Madoc down. Goervyl, at that sound,
Started in sudden hope; but, when she saw
The Azteca, she utter'd a faint scream

XVI. - 104

Of wrongful fear, remembering not the proofs
Of his tried truth, nor recognizing aught
In those known features save their hostile hue.
But he, by worser fear abating soon
Her vain alarm, exclaimed, I saw a band
Of Hoamen coming up the straits, for ill,
Besure, for Amalahta leads them on.
Buckle this harness on, that, being armed,
I may defend the entrance.

Scarce had she
Fastened the breastplate with her trembling hands,
When, flying from the sight of men in arms,
The women crowded in. Hastily he seiz'd
The shield and spear, and on the threshold took
His stand; but, wakened now to provident thought,
Goervyl, following, helmed him. There was now
No time to gird the baldric on: she held
Her brother's sword, and bade him look to her
For prompt supply of weapons; in herself
Being resolv'd not idly to abide,
Nor unprepared of hand or heart to meet,
The issue of the danger, nor to die
Reluctant now.

Rightly had they divin'd
The Hoaman's felon purpose. When he heard

XVI. - 105

The fate of Madoc, from his mother's eye
He mask'd his secret joy, and took his arms,
And to the rescue, with the foremost band,
Set forth. But soon, upon the way, he told
The associates of his crime, that now their hour
Of triumph was arriv'd; Caermadoc, left
Defenceless, would become, with all its wealth,
The spoilers' easy prey, -- raiment and arms
And iron; skins of that sweet beverage,
Which to a sense of its own life could stir
The joyful blood; the women, above all,
Whom to the forest they might bear away,
To be their slaves, if so their pleasure was;
Or, yielding them to Aztlan, for such prize
Receive a royal guerdon. Twelve there were,
Long leagued with him in guilt, who turn'd aside.
And they have reached Caermadoc now, and now
Rush onward where they see the women fly;
When, on the threshold, clad in Cimbric arms,
And with long lance protended, Malinal
Rebuffs them from the entrance. At that sight
Suddenly quail'd, they stood as midnight thieves
Who find the master waking; but ere long,
Gathering assured courage, as they saw
No other guard, press'd forward, and essay'd

XVI. - 106

To turn his spear aside. Its steady point,
True to the impelling strength, held on, and thrust
The foremost through the breast, and breath and blood
Follow'd the re-drawn shaft. Nor seem'd the strife
Unequal now, though with their numbers they
Beleagur'd in half-ring the door, where he,
The sole defender, stood. From side to side
So well and swiftly did he veer the lance,
That every enemy beheld its point
Aimed at himself direct. But chief on one
Had Malinal his deadly purpose fix'd,
On Armalahta; by his death to quell
The present danger, and cut off the root
Of many an evil, certain else to spring
From that accursed stock. On him his eye
Turne'd with more eager wilfulness, and dwelt
With keener ken; and now, with sudden step
Bending his body on, at him he drives
The meditated blow: but that ill Prince,
As chiefly sought, so chiefly fearing, swerv'd
Timely aside; and, ere the Azteca
Recover'd from the frustrate aim, the spear
Was seiz'd, and from his hold by stress and weight
Of numbers wrench'd. He, facing still the foe,
And holding at arm's length the target, put back

XVI. - 107

His hand, and call'd Goervyl, and from her
Received the sword; -- in time, for the enemy
Pressed on so near, that, having now no scope
To raise his arm, he drove the blade straight on.
It enter'd at the mouth of one who