Classic Poem

At morning their high-priest, Ayayaca,
Came with our guide: the venerable man
With reverential awe accosted us,
For we, he ween'd, were children of a race
Mightier than they, and wiser, and by Heaven
Beloved and favor'd more: he came to give
Fit welcome, and he led us to the Queen.
The fate of war had reft her of her realm;
Yet with affection, and habitual awe,
And old remembrances, which gave their love
A deeper and religious character,
Fallen as she was, and humbled as they were,
Her faithful people still, in all they could,
Obey'd Erillyab. She, too, in her mind
Those recollections cherish'd, and such thoughts
As though no hope allay'd their bitterness,
Gave to her eye a spirit and a strength,
And pride to features which belike had borne,
Had they been fashion'd by a happier fate,
Meaning more gentle and more womanly,
Yet not more worthy of esteem and love.
She sat upon the threshold of her hut;
For in the palace where her sires had reign'd
The conqueror dwelt. Her son was at her side;
A boy now near to manhood; by the door,
Bare of its bark, the head and branches shorn,
Stood a young tree with many a weapon hung,
Her husband's war-pole, and his monument
There had his quiver moulder'd, his stone-axe
Had there grown green with moss, his bow-string there
Sung as it cut the wind.
She welcom'd us
With a proud sorrow in her mien; fresh fruits
Were spread before us, and her gestures said
That when he lived whose hand was wont to wield
Those weapons, — that in better days, — that ere
She let the tresses of her widowhood
Grow wild, — she could have given to guests like us
A worthier welcome. Soon a man approach'd,
Hooded with sable, his half-naked limbs
Smear'd black: the people at his sight drew round,
The women wail'd and wept, the children turn'd
And hid their faces on their mothers' knees.
He to the Queen address'd his speech, then look'd
Around the children, and laid hands on two,
Of different sexes, but of age alike,
Some six years each, who at his touch shriek'd out.
But then Lincoya rose, and to my feet
Led them, and told me that the conquerors claim'd
These innocents for tribute; that the Priest
Would lay them on the altar of his god,
Pluck out their little hearts in sacrifice,
And with his brotherhood, in impious rites,
Feast on their flesh! — I shudder'd, and my hand
Instinctively unsheathed the avenging sword,
As he with passionate and eloquent signs,
Eye-speaking earnestness, and quivering lips,
Besought me to preserve himself, and those
Who now fell suppliant round me, — youths and maids,
Gray-headed men, and mothers with their babes.

I caught the little victims up, I kiss'd
Their innocent cheeks, I raised my eyes to heaven,
I call'd upon Almighty God to hear
And bless the vow I made; in our own tongue
Was that sworn promise of protection pledged —
Impetuous feeling made no pause for thought.
Heaven heard the vow; the suppliant multitude
Saw what was stirring in my heart; the Priest,
With eye inflamed and rapid answer, raised
His menacing hand; the tone, the bitter smile,
Interpreting his threat.
Meanwhile the Queen,
With watchful eye and steady countenance,
Had listen'd; now she rose, and to the Priest
Address'd her speech. Low was her voice and calm,
As one who spake with effort to subdue
Sorrow that struggled still; but while she spake,
Her features kindled to more majesty,
Her eye became more animate, her voice
Rose to the height of feeling; on her son
She call'd, and from her husband's monument
His battle-axe she took; and I could see,
That when she gave the boy his father's arms,
She call'd his father's spirit to look on
And bless them to his vengeance.
Silently
The tribe stood listening as Erillyab spake;
The very Priest was awed: once he essayed
To answer; his tongue fail'd him, and his lip
Grew pale and fell. He to his countrymen,
Of rage, and shame, and wonder full, return'd,
Bearing no victims, for their shrines accurs'd,
But tidings that the Hoamen had cast off
Their vassalage, roused to desperate revolt
By men in hue, and speech, and garment strange,
Who, in their folly, dared defy the power
Of Aztlan.
When the King of Aztlan heard
The unlook'd-for tale, ere yet he roused his strength,
Or pitying our rash valor, or perhaps
Curious to see the man so bravely rash,
He sent to bid me to his court. Surprised,
I should have given to him no credulous faith,
But fearlessly Erillyab bade me trust
Her honorable foe. Unarm'd I went,
Lincoya with me to exchange our speech
So as he could, of safety first assured;
For to their devilish idols he had been
A victim doomed, and, from the bloody rites
Flying, been carried captive far away.

From early morning till the midnoon hour
We travell'd in the mountains; then a plain
Open'd below, and rose upon the sight,
Like boundless ocean from a hill-top seen.
A beautiful and populous plain it was;
Fair woods were there, and fertilizing streams,
And pastures spreading wide, and villages
In fruitful groyes embower'd, and stately towns,
And many a single dwelling specking it,
As though for many a year the land had been
The land of peace. Below us, where the base
Of the great mountain to the level sloped,
A broad, blue lake extended far and wide
Its waters, dark beneath the light of noon.
There Aztlan stood upon the farther shore;
Amid the shade of trees its dwellings rose,
Their level roofs with turrets set around,
And battlements all burnish'd white, which shone
Like silver in the sunshine. I beheld
The imperial city, her far-circling walls,
Her garden groves and stately palaces,
Her temple's mountain-size, her thousand roofs;
And when I saw her might and majesty,
My mind misgave me then.
We reach'd the shore;
A floating islet waited for me there,
The beautiful work of man. I set my feet
Upon green-growing herbs and flowers, and sat
Embower'd in odorous shrubs; four long, light boats,
Yoked to the garden, with accordant song,
And dip and dash of oar in harmony,
Bore me across the lake.
Then in a car
Aloft by human bearers was I borne;
And through the city gate, and through long
Of marshall'd multitudes who throng'd the way
We reach'd the palace court. Four priests there;
Each held a burning censer in his hand,
And strew'd the precious gum as I drew nigh
And held the streaming fragrance forth to me,
Honoring me like a god. They led me in,
Where, on his throne, the royal Azteca
Coanocotzin sat. Stranger, said he,
Welcome; and be this coming to thy weal!
A desperate warfare doth thy courage court
But thou shalt see the people and the power
Whom thy deluded zeal would call to arms,
So may the knowledge make thee timely wise
The valiant love the valiant. — Come with me
So saying, he rose; we went together forth,
To the Great Temple. 'Twas a huge, square
Or rather like a rock it seemed, hewn out
And squared by patient labor. Never yet
Did our forefathers, o'er beloved chief
Fallen in his glory, heap a monument
Of that prodigious bulk, though every shield,
Was laden for his grave, and every hand
Toil'd unremitting at the willing work
From morn till eve, all the long summer day.

The ascent was lengthen'd with provoking art.
By steps which led but to a wearying path
Round the whole structure; then another flight
Another road around, and thus a third,
And yet a fourth, before we reach'd the height
Lo, now, Coanocotzin cried, thou seest
The cities of this widely-peopled plain;
And wert thou on yon farthest temple-top,
Yet as far onward wouldst thou see the land
Well husbanded like this, and full of men.
They tell me that two floating palaces
Brought thee and all thy people; — when I sound
The Tambour of the God, ten Cities hear
Its voice, and answer to the call in arms.

In truth, I felt my weakness, and the view
Had wakened no unreasonable fear,
But that a nearer sight had stirr'd my blood;
For on the summit where we stood, four Tower
Were piled with human skulls, and all around
Long files of human heads were strung to part
And whiten in the sun. What then I felt
Was more than natural courage — 'twas a trust
In more than mortal strength — a faith in God
Yea, inspiration from him! — I exclaimed,
Not though ten Cities ten times told obey'd,
The King of Aztlan's bidding, should I fear
The power of man.
Art thou then more than man
He answered; and I saw his tawny cheek
Lose its life-color as the fear arose;
Nor did I undeceive him from that fear,
For sooth I knew not how to answer him,
And therefore let it work. So not a word
Spake he, till we again had reach'd the court
And I, too, went in silent thoughtfulness:
But then when, save Lincoya, there was none
To hear our speech, again did he renew
The query, — Stranger! art thou more than man,
That thou shouldst set the power of man at nought?

Then I replied, Two floating Palaces
Bore me and all my people o'er the seas.
When we departed from our mother-land,
The Moon was newly born; we saw her wax
And wane, and witnessed her new birth again;
And all that while, alike by day and night,
We travell'd through the sea, and caught the winds,
And made them bear us forward. We must meet
In battle, if the Hoamen are not freed
From your accursed tribute, — thou and I,
My people and thy countless multitudes.
Your arrows shall fall from us as the hail
Leaps on a rock, — and when ye smite with swords,
Not blood, but fire, shall follow from the stroke.
Yet think not thou that we are more than men!
Our knowledge is our power, and God our strength,
God, whose almighty will created thee,
And me, and all that hath the breath of life.
He is our strength; — for in His name I speak, —
And when I tell thee that thou shalt not shed
The life of man in bloody sacrifice,
It is His holy bidding which I speak:
And if thou wilt not listen and obey,
When I shall meet thee in the battle-field,
It is His holy cause for which I fight,
And I shall have His power to vanquish thee!

And thinkest thou our Gods are feeble? cried
The King of Aztlan; thinkest thou they lack
Power to defend their altars, and to keep
The kingdom which they gave us strength to win?
The Gods of thirty nations have opposed
Their irresistible might, and they lie now
Conquer'd, and caged, and fetter'd at their feet.
That we who serve them are no coward race,
Let prove the ample realm we won in arms: —
And I their leader am not of the sons
Of the feeble! As he spake, he reached a mace,
The trunk and knotted root of some young tree,
Such as old Albion and his monster-brood
From the oak-forest for their weapons pluck'd,
When father Brute and Corineus set foot
On the White Island first. Lo this, quoth he,
My club! and he threw back his robe; and this
The arm that wields it! — 'Twas my father's once:
Erillyab's husband, King Tepollomi,
He felt its weight. — Did I not show thee him?
He lights me at my evening banquet. There,
In very deed, the dead Tepollomi
Stoop up against the wall, by devilish art
Preserv'd; and from his black and shrivell'd hand
The steady lamp hung down.
My spirit rose
At that abomination; I exclaim'd,
Thou art of noble nature, and full fain
Would I in friendship plight my hand with thine;
But till that body in the grave be laid,
Till thy polluted altars be made pure,
There is no peace between us. May my God,
Who, though thou know'st him not, is also thine,
And after death will be thy dreadful Judge,
May it please Him to visit thee, and shed
His mercy on thy soul! — But if thy heart
Be harden'd to the proof, come when thou wilt!
I know thy power, and thou shalt then know mine.