Classic Poem

From Cholula's hostile plain,
Left her treacherous legions slain,
Left her temples all in flame,
Cortes' conquering army came.
High on Chalco's stormy steep
Shone their phalanx broad and deep;
High the' Hispanian banner rais'd,
Bore the Cross in gold emblaz'd.
Thick the gleaming spears appear'd,
Loud the neighing steeds were heard;
Flash'd the muskets' lightnings round,
Roll'd their thunders o'er the ground,
Echo'd from a thousand caves,
Down to Tenustitan's waves;—
Spacious lake, that far below
Bade its lucid level flow:
There the ever-sunny shore
Groves of palm and cocoa bore;
Maize-fields rich, savannas green,
Stretch'd around, with towns between.
Tacubà, Tezeùco fair,
Rear'd their shining roofs in air:
Mexico's imperial pride
Glitter'd midst the glassy tide,
Bright with gold, with silver bright,
Dazzling, charming all the sight
From their post the war-worn band
Raptur'd view'd the happy land:
‘Haste to victory, haste to ease,
Mark the spot that gives us these!’
On the' exulting heroes strode,
Shun'd the smooth insidious road,
Shun'd the rock's impending shade,
Shun'd the' expecting ambuscade.
Deep within a gloomy wood
Motezume's magicians stood:
Tlcàtlepùca's horrid form,
God of famine, plague, and storm,
High on magic stones they rais'd;
Magic fires before him blaz'd;
Round the lurid flames they drew,
Flames whence streams of sulphur flew;
There, while bleeding victims smok'd,
Thus his aid they loud invok'd:
‘Minister supreme of ill,
Prompt to punish, prompt to kill,
Motezunia asks thy aid!
Foreign foes his realms invade;
Vengeance on the strangers shed,
Mix them instant with the dead!
By thy temple's sable floor,
By thy altar stain'd with gore,
Stain'd with gore and strew'd with bones,
Echoing shrieks, and echoing groans!
Vengeance on the strangers shed,
Mix them instant with the dead!’
Ordaz heard, Velasquez heard—
Swift their falchions' blaze appear'd;
Alvarado rushing near,
Furious rais'd his glittering spear;
Calm, Olmedo mark'd the scene,
Calm he mark'd, and stepp'd between:
‘Vain their rites and vain their prayer,
Weak attempts beneath your care;
Warriors! let the wretches live!
Christians! pity, and forgive!’
Sudden darkness o'er them spread,
Glow'd the woods with dusky red;
Vast the Idol's stature grew,
Look'd his face of ghastly hue,
Frowning rage, and frowning hate,
Angry at his nation's fate;
Fierce his fiery eyes he roll'd,
Thus his tongue the future told;
Cortes' veterans paus'd to hear,
Wondering all, though void of fear:
‘Mourn, devoted city, mourn!
Mourn, devoted city, mourn!
Doom'd for all thy crimes to know
Scenes of battle, scenes of woe!
Who is he—O spare the sight!—
Rob'd in gold, with jewels bright?
Hark! he deigns the crowd to call;
Chiefs and warriors prostrate fall,
Reverence now to fury yields;
Strangers o'er him spread your shields!
Thick she darts, the arrows fly,
Hapless monarch! he must die!
Mark the solemn funeral state
Passing through the western gate!
Chàpultèqua's cave contains
Mighty Motezume's remains.
‘Cease the strife! alas, 'tis vain!
Myriads throng Otumba's plain;
Wide their feathery crests they wave,
All the strong and all the brave.
Gleaming glory through the skies,
See the' Imperial standard flies!
Down by force resistless torn;
Off in haughty triumph borne.
Slaughter heaps the vale with dead,
Fugitives the mountains spread.
‘Mexico, 'tis thine to know
More of battle, more of woe!—
Bright in arms the stranger train
O'er thy causeways move again.
Bend the bow, the shaft prepare,
Join the breast-plate's folds with care;
Raise the sacrificial fire,
Bid the captive youths expire;
Wake the sacred trumpet's breath,
Pouring anguish, pouring death;
Troops from every street repair,
Close them in the fatal snare;
Valiant as they are, they fly,
Here they yield, and there they die.
‘Cease the strife! 'tis fruitless all,
Mexico at last must fall!
Lo! the dauntless band return,
Furious for the fight they burn!
Lo! auxiliar nations round,
Crowding o'er the darken'd ground!
Corses fill thy trenches deep;
Down thy temple's lofty steep
See thy priests, thy princes thrown—
Hark! I hear their parling groan!
Blood thy lake with crimson dyes,
Flames from all thy domes arise!
‘What are those that round thy shore
Launch thy troubled waters o'er?
Swift canoes that from the fight
Aid their vanquish'd monarch's flight;
Ambush'd in the reedy shade,
Them the stranger barks invade;
Soon thy lord a captive bends,
Soon thy far-fam'd empire ends;
Otoméca shares thy spoils,
Tlàscalà in triumph smiles
Mourn, devoted city, mourn!
Mourn, devoted city, mourn!
‘Cease your boast, O stranger band,
Conquerors of my fallen land!
Avarice strides your van before,
Phantom meagre, pale, and hoar!
Discord follows, breathing flame,
Still opposing claim to claim;
Kindred demons haste along!
Haste, avenge my country's wrong!’
Ceas'd the voice with dreadful sounds,
Loud as tides that burst their bounds,
Roll'd the form in smoke away,
Amaz'd on earth the' exorcists lay;
Pondering on the dreadful lore,
Their course the' Iberians downward bore;
Their helmets glittering o'er the vale,
And wide their ensigns fluttering in the gale.