His breast and shoulders also, with the length
Of his broad shield.

Opposed, in mail complete,
Stood Madoc in his strength. The flexile chains
Gave play to his full muscles, and displayed
How broad his shoulders, and his ample breast.
Small was his shield, there broadest where it fenced
The well of life, and gradual to a point
Lessening; steel-strong, and wieldy in his grasp.
It bore those blazoned eaglets, at whose sight,
Along the Marches, or where holy Dee
Through Cestrian pastures rolls his tamer stream,
So oft the yeoman had, in days of yore,
Cursing his perilous tenure, wound the horn, 59
And warden from the castle-tower rung out
The loud alarum-bell, heard far and wide.
Upon his helm no sculptured dragon sate,
Sate no fantastic terrors; a white plume
Nodded above, far-seen, floating like foam
On the war-tempest. 60 Man to man they stood,
The King of Aztlan and the Ocean Chief.

Fast, on the intervening buckler, fell

The Azteca's stone faulchion. Who hath watched
The midnight lightnings of the summer stom,
That, with their awful blaze, irradiate heaven,
Then leave a blacker night? so quick, so fierce,
Flashed Madoc's sword, which, like the serpent's tongue,
Seemed double, in its rapid whirl of light.
Unequal arms! for on the British shield
Availed not the stone faulchion's brittle edge,
And, in the golden buckler, Madoc's sword
Bit deep. Coanocotzin saw, and dropt
The unprofitable weapon, and received

His ponderous club,-that club, beneath whose force,
Driven by his father's arm, Tepollomi

Had fallen subdued,-and fast and fierce he drove
The massy weight on Madoc. From his shield,
The deadening force, communicated, ran
Up his stunned arm; anon, upon his helm,
Crashing, it came ;-his eyes shot fire, his brain
Swam dizzy, he recoils,―he reels,—again
The club descends.

That danger to himself
Recalled the Lord of Ocean.
On he sprung,
Within the falling weapon's curve of death,
Shunning its frustrate aim, and breast to breast
He grappled with the King. The pliant mail
Bent to his straining limbs, while plates of gold,
The feathery robe, the buckler's amplitude,
Cumbered the Azteca, and from his arm,
Clenched in the Briton's mighty grasp, at once
He dropt the impeding buckler, and let fall
The unfastened club; which when the Prince beheld,
He thrust him off, and drawing back resumed
The sword that from his wrist suspended hung,
And twice he smote the King; twice from the quilt
Of plumes the iron glides; and lo! the King,
So well his soldiers watch their monarch's need,
Shakes in his hand a spear.

But now a cry
Burst on the ear of Madoc, and he saw
Through opening ranks, where Urien was conveyed
A captive, to his death. Grief then and shame
And rage inspired him. With a mighty blow
He cleft Coanocotzin's helm; exposed

The monarch stood;-again the thunder-stroke
Came on him, and he fell.—The multitude,
Forgetful of their country and themselves,
Crowd round their dying King. Madoc, whose eye
Still followed Urien, called upon his men,
And, through the broken army of the foe,
Prest to his rescue.

But far off the old man

Was borne with furious speed. Ririd alone
Pursued his path, and through the thick of war
Close on the captors, with avenging sword,
Followed right on, and through the multitude,
And through the gate of Aztlan, made his way,
And through the streets, till, from the temple-mound,
The
press
of Pabas and the populace
Repelled him, while the old man was hurried up.
Hark! that infernal tambour! o'er the lake

Its long loud thunders roll, and through the hills,
Awakening all their echoes. Ye accurst,

Ye blow the fall too soon! Ye Dogs of Hell,
The Hart is yet at bay!-Thus long the old man,
As one exhausted or resigned, had lain,
Resisting not; but, at that knell of death,
Springing with unexpected force, he freed
His feet, and shook the Pabas from their hold,
And, with his armed hand, between the eyes
Smote one so sternly, that to earth he fell,
Bleeding, and all astound. A man of proof
Was Urien in his day; thought worthiest,
In martial thewes and manly discipline,
To train the sons of Owen. He had lost
Youth's supple sleight; yet still the skill remained,
And in his stiffened limbs a strength, which yet
Might put the young to shame. And now he set
His back against the altar, resolute
Not as a victim by the knife to die,
But in the act of battle, as became
A man grown grey in arms: and in his heart
There was a living hope; for now he knew
That Madoc lived, nor could the struggle long
Endure against that arm.

Soon was the way
Laid open by the sword; for, side by side,
The brethren of Aberfraw mowed their path;
And, following close, the Cymry drive along,
Till on the summit of the mound, the cry
Of victory rings aloud. The temple floor,
So often which had reeked with innocent blood,
Steams now with righteous slaughter. Franticly,
In the wild fury of their desperate zeal,
The Priests crowd round the God, and with their knives
Hack at the foe, and call on him to save,—
At the altar, at the Idol's foot they fall.
Nor with less frenzy did the multitude
Flock to defend their God. Fast as they fell,
New victims rushed upon the British sword;
And sure that day had rooted from the earth
The Aztecas, and on their conquerors drawn
Promiscuous ruin, had not Madoc now
Beheld from whence the fearless ardour sprang ;-
They saw Mexitli; momently they hoped
That he would rise in vengeance. Madoc seized
A massy club, and from his azure throne
Shattered the giant idol.

At that sight

The men of Aztlan pause; so was their pause

With growing fury as the danger grew,
Raged in the battle; but Yuhidthiton

Still with calm courage, till no hope remained,
Fronted the rushing foe. When all was vain,
When back within the gate Cadwallon's force,
Resistless, had compelled them, then the Chief
Called on the Tiger,-Let us bear from hence
The dead Ocellopan, the slaughtered King;
Not to the Strangers should their bones be left,
O Tlalala!-The Tiger wept with rage,
With generous anger. To the place of death,

Where, side by side, the noble dead were stretched, They fought their way. Eight warriors joined their shields;

On these, a bier which well beseemed the dead,
The lifeless Chiefs were laid. Yuhidthiton
Called on the people,-Men of Aztlan ! yet
One effort more! Bear hence Ocellopan,
And save the body of your noble King!

Not to the Strangers should their bones be left!—
That whoso heard, with wailing and loud cries,
Prest round the body-bearers; few indeed,
For few were they, who, in that fearful hour,
Had ears to hear,-but with a holy zeal,
Careless of death, around the bier they ranged
Their bulwark breasts. So toward the farther gate
They held their steady way, while outermost,
In unabated valour, Tlalala

Faced, with Yuhidthiton, the foe's pursuit.
Vain valour then, and fatal piety,

As the fierce conquerors bore on their retreat,
If Madoc had not seen their perilous strife:
Remembering Malinal, and in his heart
Honouring a gallant foe, he called aloud,
And bade his people cease the hot pursuit.

So, through the city gate, they bore away

The dead; and, last of all their countrymen,
Leaving their homes and temples to the foe,
Yuhidthiton and Tlalala retired.

XIX.

The Funeral.

SOUTHWARD of Aztlan stood, beside the Lake,
A city of the Aztecas, by name
Patamba. Thither, from the first alarm,
The women and infirm old men were sent,
And children: thither they who from the fight,
And from the fall of Aztlan, had escaped,
In scattered bands repaired. Their City lost,
Their Monarch slain, their Idols overthrown,-
These tidings spread dismay: but to dismay
Succeeded horror soon, and kindling rage,
Horror, by each new circumstance increased,
By numbers, rage emboldened. Lo! to the town,

Lamenting loud, a numerous train approach,
Like mountain torrents, swelling as they go.
Borne in the midst, upon the bier of shields,
The noble dead were seen. To tenfold grief
That spectacle provoked, to tenfold wrath
That anguish stung them. With their yells and groans
Curses are mixed, and threats, and bitter vows
Of vengeance full and speedy. From the wreck
Of Aztlan who is saved? Tezozomoc,

Chief servant of the Gods, their favoured Priest,
The voice by whom they speak; young Tlalala,
Whom even defeat with fresher glory crowns;
And, full of fame, their country's rock of strength,
Yuhidthiton him to their sovereign slain

Allied in blood, mature in wisdom, him

Of valour unsurpassable, by all

Beloved and honoured, him the general voice Acclaims their King; him they demand, to lead Their gathered force to battle, to revenge

Their Lord, their Gods, their kinsmen, to redeem Their altars and their country.

But the dead

First from the nation's gratitude require
The rites of death. On mats of mountain palm,
Wrought of rare texture and of richest hues,
The slaughtered warriors, side by side, were laid;
Their bodies wrapt in many-coloured robes
Of gossampine, bedecked with gems and gold.
The livid paleness of the countenance

A mask concealed, and hid their ghastly wounds.
The Pabas stood around, and, one by one,
Placed in their hands the sacred aloe leaves,
With mystic forms and characters inscribed;
And as each leaf was given, Tezozomoc
Addressed the dead,-So may ye safely pass
Between the mountains, which, in endless war,
Hurtle, with horrible uproar, and frush

Of rocks that meet in battle. 61 Armed with this,
In safety shall ye walk along the road,
Where the Great Serpent from his lurid eyes
Shoots lightning, and across the guarded way
Vibrates his tongue of fire. Receive the third,
And cross the waters where the Crocodile
In vain expects his prey. Your passport this
Through the Eight Deserts; through the Eight fills, this;
And this be your defence against the Wind,
Whose fury sweeps, like dust, the uprooted rocks,
Whose keenness cuts the soul. Ye noble Dead,
Protected with these potent amulets,
Soon shall your Spirits reach triumphantly
The Palace of the Sun!

The noble dead were borne: in loud lament
Then follow'd all by blood allied to them,
Or by affection's voluntary ties

Attach'd more closely, brethren, kinsmen, wives.
The Peers of Aztlan, all who from the sword
Of Britain had escaped, honouring the rites,
Came clad in rich array, and bore the arms
And ensigns of the dead. The slaves went last,
And dwarfs, the pastime of the living chiefs,
In life their sport and mockery, and in death
Their victims. Wailing and with funeral hymns.
The long procession moved. Mexitli's Priest,
With all his servants, from the temple-gate

Advanced to meet the train. Two piles were built
Within the sacred court, of odorous wood,
And rich with gums; on these, with all their robes,
Their ensigns and their arms, they laid the dead:
Then lit the pile. The rapid light ran up,
Up flamed the fire, and o'er the darken'd sky
Sweet clouds of incense curl'd.

The Pabas then Perform'd their bloody office. First they slew The women whom the slaughter'd most had loved, Who most had loved the dead. Silent they went Toward the fatal stone, resisting not,

Nor sorrowing, nor dismay'd, but as it seem'd,

With skulls and bones, a garb to emblem war,
Slaughter, and ruin, his imperial tasks.
Next in his hand the Priest a censer placed;
And while he knelt, directing to the God
The steaming incense, thus address'd the King:
Chosen by the people, by the Gods approved,
Swear to protect thy subjects, to maintain
The worship of thy fathers, to observe
Their laws, to make the sun pursue his course,
The clouds descend in rain, the rivers hold
Their wonted channels, and the fruits of earth
To ripen in their season: Swear, O King!
And prosper as thou holdest good thine oath,63

Was flush'd, whose eye was animate with fire;

Her most in life Coanocotzin prized,

By ten years' love endear'd, his counsellor,

His friend, the partner of his secret thoughts;
Such had she been, such merited to be.
She, as she bared her bosom to the knife,
Called on Yuhidthiton-Take heed, O king!
Aloud she cried, and pointed to the Priests;
Beware these wicked men! they to the war
Forced dead Lord-Thou knowest, and I know,
my
He loved the Strangers; that his noble mind,
Enlighten'd by their lore, had willingly
Put down these cursed altars!-As she spake,
They dragg'd her to the stone-Nay! nay! she cried,
There needs not force! I go to join my Lord!
His blood and mine be on you!-Ere she ceased,
The knife was in her breast. Tezozomoc,
Trembling with wrath, held up toward the Sun
Her reeking heart.

The dwarfs and slaves died last.
That bloody office done, they gather'd up
The ashes of the dead, and coffer'd them
Apart; the teeth with them, which unconsumed
Among the ashes lay, a single lock
Shorn from the corpse, and his lip-emerald
Now held to be the Spirit's flawless heart,
In better worlds. The Priest then held on high
The little ark which shrined his last remains,
And call'd upon the people;-Lo! behold!
This was your King, the bountiful, the brave,
Coanocotzin! Men of Aztlan, hold

His memory holy! learn from him to love
Your country and your Gods; for them to live
Like him, like him to die. So from yon Heaven,
Where in the Spring of Light his Spirit bathes,
Often shall he descend; hover above

On evening clouds, or plumed with rainbow wings,
Sip honey from the flowers, and warble joy,
Honour his memory! emulate his worth!
So saying, in the temple-tower he laid
The relics of the King.

These duties done,

The living claim their care. His birth, his deeds,
The general love, the general voice, have mark'd
Yuhidthiton for King. Bare-headed, bare
Of foot, of limb, scarf'd only round the loins,
The Chieftain to Mexitli's temple moved,
And knelt before the God. Tezozomoc
King over Aztlan there anointed him,
And over him, from hallow'd cedar-branch,
Sprinkled the holy water. Then the Priest
In a black garment robed him, figured white

Tezozomoc the crown of Aztlan placed; And in the robe of emblem'd royalty, Preceded by the golden wands of state, Yuhidthiton went forth, anointed King.

XX.

The Death of Coatel.

WHEN now the multitude beheld their King,
In gratulations of reiterate joy

They shout his name, and bid him lead them on
To vengeance. But to answer that appeal,
Tezozomoc advanced-Oh! go not forth,
Cried the Chief Paba, till the land be purged
From her offence! No God will lead ye on,
While there is guilt in Aztlan. Let the Priests
Who from the ruin'd city have escaped,
And all who in her temples have perform'd
The ennobling service of her injured Gods,
Gather together now.

He spake; the train
Assembled, priests and matrons, youths and maids.
Servants of Heaven! aloud the Archipriest began,
The Gods had favour'd Aztlan; bound for death
The White King lay: our countrymen were strong
In battle, and the conquest had been ours,--
I speak not from myself, but as the Powers,
Whose voice on earth I am, impel the truth,-
The conquest had been ours; but treason lurk'd
In Aztlan, treason and foul sacrilege;
And therefore were her children in the hour
Of need abandon'd; therefore were her youth
Cut down, her altars therefore overthrown.
The White King, whom ye saw upon the Stone
Of Sacrifice, and whom ye held in bonds,
Stood in the foremost fight and slew your Lord.
Not by a God, O Aztecas, enlarged,
Broke he his bondage! by a mortal hand,
An impious, sacrilegious, traitorous hand,
Your city was betray'd, your King was slain,
Your shrines polluted. The insulted Power,
He who is terrible, beheld the deed,
And now he calls for vengeance.

Stern he spake,

And from Mexitli's altar bade the Priest
Bring forth the sacred water. In his hand
He took the vase, and held it up, and cried,
Cursed be he who did this deed! Accursed
The father who begat him, and the breast
At which he fed! Death be his portion now,
Eternal infamy his lot on earth,

What were thy horrors when the fatal vase
Pass'd to thy trial,-when Tezozomoc
Fix'd his keen eye on thee! A deathiness
Came over her, her blood ran back,―her joints
Shook like the palsy, and the dreadful cup
Dropp'd from her conscious hold. The Priest exclaim'd,
The hand of God! the avenger manifest!
Drag her to the altar!--At that sound of death
The life forsook her limbs, and down she fell,
Senseless. They dragg'd her to the Stone of Blood,
Ali senseless as she lay;-in that dread hour
Nature was kind.

Tezozomoc then cried,
Bring forth the kindred of this wretch accurst,
That none pollute the earth. An aged Priest
Came forth and answer'd, There is none but I,
The father of the dead.

To death with him!
Exclaim'd Tezozomoc; to death with him;
And purify the nation!-But the King
Permitted not that crime-Chief of the Priests,
If he be guilty, let the guilty bleed,
Said he; but never, while I live and reign,
The innocent shall suffer. Hear him speak!

Hear me ! the old man replied. That fatal day
I never saw my child. At morn she left
The city, seeking flowers to dress the shrine
Of Coatlantona; and that at eve

I stood among the Pabas in the gate,
Blessing our soldiers, as they issued out,

Let them who saw bear witness-Two came forth,
And testified Aculhua spake the words
Of truth.

Full well I know, the old man pursued,
My daughter loved the Strangers,—that her heart
Was not with Aztlan: but not I the cause!
Ye all remember how the Maid was given,-
She being, in truth, of all our Maids the flower,-
In spousals to Lincoya, him who fled
From sacrifice. It was a misery
To me to see my only child condemn'd
In early widowhood to waste her youth,—
My only and my beautifullest girl!
Chief of the Priests, you order'd, I obey'd.
Not mine the fault, if, when Lincoya fled,
And fought among the enemies, her heart
Was with her husband.

He is innocent! He shall not die! Yuhidthiton exclaim'd. Nay, King Yuhidthiton! Aculhua cried, I merit death. My country overthrown,

My daughter slain, alike demand on me
That justice. When her years of ministry
Vow'd to the temple had expired, my love,
My selfish love, still suffer'd her to give
Her youth to me, by filial piety

In widowhood detain'd. That selfish crime
Heavily, heavily,—do I expiate!
But I am old; and she was all to me.
O King Yuhidthiton, I ask for death;
In mercy,
let me die; cruel it were
To bid me waste away alone in age,

By the slow pain of grief-Give me the knife
Which pierced my daughter's bosom!

The old man Moved to the altar; none opposed his way; With a firm hand he buried in his heart The reeking blade, and fell upon his child.

XXI.

The Sports.64

A TRANSITORY gloom that sight of death
Impress'd upon the assembled multitude;
But soon the brute and unreflecting crew
Turn'd to their sports. Some bare their olive limbs,
And in the race contend; with hopes and fears,
Which rouse to rage, some urge the mimic war.
Here one upon his ample shoulders bears
A comrade's weight, upon whose head a third
Stands poised, like Mercury in act to fly.
There other twain upon their shoulders prop
A forked beam, while on its height the third
To nimble cadence shifts his glancing feet,
And shakes a plume aloft, and wheels around
A wreath of bells with modulating sway.
Here round a lofty mast the dancers move
Quick, to quick music; from its top affix'd,
Each holds a coloured cord, and, as they weave
The complex crossings of the mazy dance,
The checquered network twists around the tree.
Its intertexture of harmonious hues.
But now a shout went forth, the Flyers mount,
And from all meaner sports the multitude
Flock to their favourite pastime. In the ground,
Branchless and barked, the trunk of some tall pine
Is planted; near its summit a square frame;
Four cords pass through the perforated square,
And fifty times and twice around the tree,
A mystic number, are entwined above.
Four Aztecas, equipped with wings, ascend,
And round them bind the ropes; anon they wave
Their pinions, and upborne on spreading plumes
Launch on the air, and wheel in circling flight,
The lengthened cords untwisting as they fly.
A fifth above, upon the perilous point
Dances, and shakes a flag; and on the frame,
Others the while maintain their giddy stand,

Till now, with many a round, the wheeling cords
Draw near their utmost length, and toward the ground
The aerial circlers speed; then down the ropes
They spring, and on their way from line to line
Pass, while the shouting multitude endure
A shuddering admiration.

On such sports,

Their feelings centered in the joy of sight,
The multitude stood gazing, when a man,
Breathless, and with broad eyes, came running ou,
His pale lips trembling, and his bloodless cheek
Like one who meets a lion in his path.
The fire! the fire! the temple! he exclaimed;
Mexitli!-They, atonished at his words,
Hasten toward the wonder,-and behold!
The inner fane is sheeted white with fire.
Dumb with affright they stood; the inquiring King
Looked to Tezozomoc; the Priest replied,

I go! the Gods protect me ;—and therewith
Ile entered boldly in the house of flame.
But instant bounding with inebriate joy,
He issues forth-The God! the God! he cries.
Joy!-joy!-the God!—the visible hand of Heaven!
Repressing then his transport,-Ye all know
How that in Aztlan Madoc's impious hand
Destroyed Mexitli's Image;—it is here,
Unbroken and the same!-Toward the gate
They press; they see the Giant Idol there,
The serpent girding him, his neck with hearts
Beaded, and in his hand the club,-even such
As oft in Aztlan, on his azure throne,
They had adored the God, they see him now,
Unbroken and the same!-Again the Priest
Entered; again a second joy inspired
To frenzy all around;-for forth he came,
Shouting with new delight,-for in his hand
The banner of the nation he upheld,

That banner to their fathers sent from Heaven,
By them abandoned to the conqueror.

He motioned silence, and the crowd were still.
People of Aztlan! he began, when first
Your fathers from their native land went forth,
In search of better seats, this banner came
From Heaven. The Famine and the Pestilence
Had been among them; in their hearts the spring
Of courage was dried up with midnight fires
Radiate, by midnight thunders heralded,
This banner came from Heaven; and with it came
Health, valour, victory. Aztecas! again
The God restores the blessing. To the God
Move now in solemn dance of grateful joy;
Exalt for him the song.

They formed the dance,
They raised the hymn, and sung Mexitli's praise.
Glory to thee, the Great, the Terrible,
Mexitli, guardian God!-From whence art thou,
O Son of Mystery?-From whence art thou,
Whose sire thy mother knew not? She at eve
Walked in the temple-court, and saw from Heaven
A plume descend, as bright and beautiful,
As if some spirit had embodied there
The rainbow hues, or dipt it in the light
Of setting suns. To her it floated down;
She placed it in her bosom, to bedeck
The altar of the God; she sought it there;
Amazed she found it not; amazed she felt
Another life infused.-From whence art thou,
O Son of Mystery? From whence art thou,
Whose sire thy mother knew not?

Grief was hers,
Wonder and grief, for life was in her womb,
And her stern children with revengeful eyes

Mexitli, save thy people! Dreadful one,
Arise, redeem thy city, and revenge!

An impious, an impenetrable foe,

Hath blackened thine own altars, with the blood
Of thine own priests; hath dashed thine Image down.
In vain did valour's naked breast oppose
Their mighty arms; in vain the feeble sword
On their impenetrable mail was driven.
Not against thee, Avenger, shall those arms
Avail, nor that impenetrable mail
Resist the fiery arrows of thy wrath.
Arise, go forth in anger, and destroy!

XXII

The Death of Lincoya.

AZTLAN, meantime, presents a hideous scene
Of slaughter. The hot sunbeam, in her streets,
Parched the bloodpools; the slain were heaped in hills;
The victors, stretched in every little shade,
With unhelmed heads, reclining on their shields,
Slept the deep sleep of weariness. Ere long,
To needful labour rising, from the gates
They drag the dead; and with united toil,
They dig upon the plain the general grave,
The

grave of thousands, deep and wide and long.
Ten such they delved, and o'er the multitudes
Who levelled with the plain the deep-dug pits,
Ten monumental hills they heaped on high.
Next, horror heightening joy, they overthrew
The skull-built towers, the files of human heads,
And earth to earth consigned them. To the flames
They cast the idols, and upon the wind
Scattered their ashes; then the temples fell,
Whose black and putrid walls were scaled with blood,
And not one stone of those accursed piles
Was on another left.

Victorious thus

In Aztlan, it behoved the Cymry now

There to collect their strength, and there a wait,
Or thence with centred numbers urge, the war.
For this was Ririd missioned to the ships,
For this Lincoya from the hills invites
Erillyab and her tribe. There did not breathe,
On this wide world, a happier man that day
Than young Lincoya, when from their retreat
He bade his countrymen come repossess
The land of their forefathers; proud at heart
To think how great a part himself had borne
In their revenge, and that beloved one,
The gentle saviour of the Prince, whom well
He knew his own dear love, and for the deed