Still dearer loved the dearest. Round the youth,
Women and children, the infirm and old,
Gather to hear his tale; and as they stood
With eyes of steady wonder, outstretched necks,
And open lips of listening eagerness,

Fast played the tide of triumph in his veins,
Flushed his brown cheek, and kindled his dark eye.
And now, reposing from his toil awhile,
Lincoya, on a crag above the straits,

Sate underneath a tree, whose twinkling leaves
Sung to the gale at noon. Ayayaca

Sate by him in the shade: The old man had loved
The youth beside him from his boyhood up,

And still would call him boy. They sate and watched
The laden bisons winding down the way,
The multitude who now with joy forsook
Their desolated dwellings; and their talk
Was of the days of sorrow, when they groaned
Beneath the intolerable yoke, till sent
By the Great Spirit o'er the pathless deep,
Prince Madoc the Deliverer came to save.
As thus they communed, came a woman up,
Seeking Lincoya; 't was Aculhua's slave,
The nurse of Coatel. Her wretched eye,
ller pale and livid countenance, foretold
Some tale of misery, that his life-blood ebbed
In ominous fear. But when he heard her words
Of death, he seized the lance, and raised his arm
To strike the blow of comfort.

The old man
Caught his uplifted hand.-Oerhasty boy,
Quoth he, regain her yet, if she was dear!
Seek thy beloved in the Land of Souls,

And beg her from the Gods. The Gods will hear,
And in just recompense of fearless faith,
Restore their charge.

The miserable youth
Turned at his words a hesitating eye.
I knew a prisoner, so the old man pursued,
Or hoping to beguile the youth's despair
With tales that suited the despair of youth,
Or credulous himself of what he told,-
I knew a prisoner once who welcomed death
With merriment and songs and joy of heart,
Because, he said, the friends whom he loved best
Were gone before him to the Land of Souls;
Nor would they to resume their mortal state,
Even when the keeper of the Land allowed,
Forsake its pleasures; therefore he rejoiced
To die and join them there. I questioned him,
How of these hidden things unknowable
So certainly he spake. The man replied,
One of our nation lost the maid he loved, 66
Nor would he bear his sorrow,-being one
Into whose heart fear never found a way,-
But to the Country of the Dead pursued
Her spirit. Many toils he underwent,
And many dangers gallantly surpassed,
Till to the Country of the Dead he came.
Gently the Guardian of the Land received
The living suppliant; listened to his prayer,
And gave him back the Spirit of the Maid.
But from that happy country, from the songs
Of joyance, from the splendour-sparkling dance,
Unwillingly compelled, the Maiden's Soul

Loathed to return; and he was warned to guard

The subtle captive well and warily,
Till in her mortal tenement relodged,
Earthly delights might win her to remain
A sojourner on earth. Such lessoning
The Ruler of the Souls departed gave;

261

And mindful of his charge the adventurer brought
His subtle captive home. There underneath
The shelter of a hut, his friends had watched
The Maiden's corpse, secured it from the sun,
And fanned away the insect swarms of heaven.
A busy hand marred all the enterprise :
Curious to see the Spirit, he unloosed
The knotted bag which held her, and she fled.
Lincoya, thou art brave; where man has gone
Thou wouldst not fear to follow?

Silently
Lincoya listened, and with unmoved eyes;
At length he answered, Is the journey long?
The old man replied, A way of many moons.
I know a shorter path! exclaimed the youth.
And up he sprung, and from the precipice
Darted: A moment,-and Ayayaca heard
His body dash upon the rocks below.

XXIII.

Caradoc and Senena.

MAID of the golden locks, far other lot
May gentle Heaven assign thy happier love,
Blue-eyed Senena!-She, though not as yet
Had she put off her boy-habiliments,
Had told Goervyl all the history

Of her sad flight, and easy pardon gained

From that sweet heart, for guile which meant no ill,
And secrecy, in shame too long maintained.
With her dear Lady now, at this still hour
Of evening, is the seeming page gone forth,
Beside Caermadoc mere. They loitered on,
Along the windings of its grassy shore,
In such free interchange of inward-thought
As the calm hour invited; or at times,
Willingly silent, listening to the bird
Whose one repeated melancholy note,
By oft repeating melancholy made,
Solicited the ear; or gladlier now
Hearkening that cheerful one, who knoweth all
The
songs of all the winged choristers, 67
And in one sequence of melodious sounds
Pours all their music. But a wilder strain
At fits came o'er the water; rising now,
Now with a dying fall, in sink and swell
More exquisitely sweet than ever art
Of man evoked from instrument of touch,
Or beat, or breath. 68 It was the evening gale,

Which, passing o'er the harp of Caradoc,

Swept all its chords at once, and blended all
Their music into one continuous flow.

The solitary Bard beside his harp

Leant underneath a tree, whose spreading boughs,
With broken shade that shifted to the breeze,
Overhead
Played on the waving waters.
There was the leafy murmur, at his foot
The lake's perpetual ripple; aud from far,
Borne on the modulating gale, was heard-

The roaring of the mountain-cataract.-
A blind man would have loved the lovely spot.
Here was Senena by her Lady led,

Trembling, but not reluctant. They drew nigh,
Their steps unheard upon the elastic moss,
Till playfully Goervyl, with quick touch,
Ran o'er the harp-strings. At the sudden sound
He rose.-Hath then thy hand, quoth she, O Bard,
Forgot its cunning, that the wind should be
Thine harper?-Come! one strain for Britain's sake;
And let the theme be Woman!-He replied,
But if the strain offend, O Lady fair,

Blame thou the theme, not me!-Then to the harp
He sung, Three things a wise man will not trust,
The Wind, the Sunshine of an April day,
And Woman's plighted faith. I have beheld
The Weathercock upon the steeple-point
Steady from morn till eve; and I have seen
The bees go forth upon an April morn,
Secure the sunshine will not end in showers;
But when was Woman true?

False Bard! thereat,
With smile of playful anger, she exclaimed,
False Bard! and slanderous song! Were such thy thoughts
Of woman, when thy youthful lays were heard
In Heilyn's hall?—But at that name his heart
Leaped, and his cheek with sudden flush was fired;
In Heilyn's hall, quoth he, I learned the
song.
There was a Maid, who dwelt among the hills
Of Arvon, and to one of humbler birth
Had pledged her troth;-nor rashly, nor beguiled,—
They had been playmates in their infancy,
And she in all his thoughts had borne a part,
And all his joys. The Moon and all the Stars
Witnessed their mutual vows; and for her sake
The song was framed; for in the face of day
She broke them.-But her name! Goervyl cried.
Quoth he, The poet loved her still too well,
To couple it with shame.

O fate unjust

Of womankind! she cried; our virtues bloom,
Like violets, in shade and solitude,
While evil eyes hunt all our failings out,
For evil tongues to bruit abroad in jest,
And song of obloquy!--1 knew a Maid,
And she too dwelt in Arvon, and she too
Loved one of lowly birth, who ill repaid
Her spotless faith; for he to ill reports,
And tales of falsehood cunningly devised,
Lent a light ear, and to his rival left

The loathing Maid. The wedding-day arrived,
The harpers and the gleemen, far and near,
Came to the wedding-feast; the wedding-guests
Were come,
the altar dressed, the bridemaids met,
The father, and the bridegroom, and the priest
Wait for the bride. But she the while did off
Her bridal robes, and clipt her golden locks,
And put on boy's attire, through wood and wild
To seek her own true love; and over sea,
Forsaking all for him, she followed him,
Nor hoping nor deserving fate so fair;
And at his side she stood, and heard him wrong
Her faith with slanderous tales; and his dull
As it had learnt his heart's forgetfulness,
Knows not the trembling one, who even now

eye,

HARK! from the towers of Aztlan how the shouts
Of clamorous joy re-ring! the rocks and hills
Take up the joyful sound, and o'er the lake
Roll their slow echoes.-Thou art beautiful,
Queen of the Valley! thou art beautiful!
Thy walls, like silver, sparkle to the sun.
Melodious wave thy groves, thy garden-sweets
Enrich the pleasant air, upon the lake
Lie the long shadows of thy towers, and high
In heaven thy temple-pyramids arise,
Upon whose summit now, far visible
Against the clear blue sky, the Cross of Christ
Proclaims unto the nations round the news
Of thy redemption. Thou art beautiful,
Aztlan! O City of the Cymbric Prince!
Long mayest thou flourish in thy beauty, long
Prosper beneath the righteous conqueror,
Who conquers to redeem! Long years of peace
And happiness await thy Lord and thee,
Queen of the Valley!

Hither joyfully

The Hoamen came to repossess the land
Of their forefathers. Joyfully the youth
Come shouting, with acclaim of grateful praise,
Their great Deliverer's name; the old, in talk
Of other days, which mingled with their joy
Memory of many a hard calamity, 69

And thoughts of time and change, and human life
How changeful and how brief. Prince Madoc met
Erillyab at the gate.-Sister and Queen,
Said he, here let us hold united reign,
O'er our united people; by oue faith,
One interest bound, and closer to be linked
By laws and language and domestic ties,
Till both become one race, for ever more
Indissolubly knit.

O friend, she cried,
The last of all my family am I;

Yet sure, though last, the happiest, and by Heaven
Favoured abundantly above them all.

Dear friend, and brother dear! enough for me
Beneath the shadow of thy shield to dwell,
And see my people, by thy fostering care,
Made worthy of their fortune. Graciously
Hath the Beloved One ordained all,
Educing good from ill, himself being good.
Then to the royal palace of the Kings
Of Aztlan, Madoc led Erillyab,

Drew nigh the town. The Hoamen, as they came,
Knew the green mantle of their privilege,
The symbols which they bore, an arrow-point
Depressed, a shield, a net, which, from the arm
Suspended, held their food. They through the gate
Pass with permitted entrance, and demand
To see the Ocean Prince. The Conqueror
Received them, and the elder thus began:
Thus to the White King, King Yuhidthiton
His bidding sends; such greeting as from foe
Foe may receive, where individual hate
Is none, but honour and assured esteem,
And what were friendship did the Gods permit,
The King of Aztlan sends. Oh dream not thou
That Aztian is subdued; nor in the pride
Of conquest tempt thy fortune! Unprepared
For battle, at an hour of festival,

Her children were surprised; and thou canst tell
How perilously they maintained the long

And doubtful strife. From yonder temple-mount Look round the plain, and count her towns, and mark Her countless villages, whose habitants

All are in arms against thee! Thinkest thou

To root them from the land? or wouldst thou live,
Harassed by night and day with endless war,
War at thy gates; and to thy children leave
That curse for their inheritance?-The land
Is all before thee: Go in peace, and chuse

Thy dwelling-place, North, South, or East, or West;
Or mount again thy houses of the sea
And search the waters. Whatsoe'er thy wants
Demand, will Aztlan willingly supply,
Prepared with friendly succour, to assist
Thy soon departure. Thus Yuhidthiton,
Remembering his old friendship, counsels thee;
Thus, as the King of Aztlan, for himself
And people, he commands. If obstinate,
If blind to your own welfare, ye persist,
Woe to ye, wretches! to the armëd man,
Who in the fight must perish; to the wife,
Who vainly on her husband's aid will call;
Woe to the babe that hangs upon the breast!
For Aztlan comes in anger, and her Gods
Spare none. 7°

The Conqueror calmly answered him,-
By force we won your city, Azteca;
By force we will maintain it :-to the King
Repeat my saying.-To this goodly land
Your fathers came for an abiding-place.
Strangers as we, but not like us, in peace.
They conquered and destroyed. A tyrant race,
Bloody and faithless, to the hills they drove
The unoffending children of the vale,
And, day by day, in cruel sacrifice

Consumed them. God hath sent the Avengers here!
Powerful to save we come, and to destroy,
When Mercy on Destruction calls for aid.

Go tell your nation, that we know their force,
That they know ours! that their Patamba soon
Shall fall like Aztlan; and what other towns
They seek in flight shall like Patamba fall;
Till broken in their strength and spirit-crushed,
They bow the knee, or leave the land to us,
Its worthier Lords.

If this be thy reply,
Son of the Ocean! said the messenger,

I bid thee, in the King of Aztlan's name,
Mortal defiance. In the field of blood,
Before our multitudes shall trample down
Thy mad and miserable countrymen,
Yuhidthiton invites thee to the strife
Of equal danger. So may he avenge
Coanocotzin, or like him in death
Discharge his duty.

Tell Yuhidthiton,

Madoc replied, that in the field of blood

I never shunned a foe. But say thou to him,
I will not seek him there, against his life
To raise the hand which hath been joined with his
In peace. With that the Heralds went their way;
Nor to the right nor to the left they turn,
But to Patamba straight they journey back.

XXV.

The Lake Fight.

THE mariners, meantime, at Ririd's will,
Unreeve the rigging, and the masts they strike;
And now ashore they haul the lightened hulks,
Tear up the deck, the severed planks bear off,
Disjoin the well-scarfed timbers, and the keel
Loosen asunder; then to the lake-side
Bear the materials, where the Ocean Lord
Himself directs their work. Twelve vessels there,
Fitted alike to catch the wind, or sweep
With oars the moveless surface, they prepare ;
Lay down the keel, the stern-post rear, and fix
The strong-curved timbers. Others from the wood
Bring the tall pines, and from their hissing trunks
Force, by the aid of fire, the needful gum;
Beneath the close-caulked planks its odorous stream
They pour; then, last, the round-projecting prows
With iron arm, and launch, in uproar loud

Of joy anticipating victory,

The galleys long and sharp. The masts are reared,
The sails are bent, and lo! the ready barks
Lie on the lake.

It chanced, the Hoamen found
A spy of Aztlan, and before the Prince
They led him. But when Madoc bade him tell,
As his life-ransom, what his nation's force,
And what their plans; the savage answered him,
With dark and sullen eye and smile of wrath,
If aught the knowledge of my country's force
Could profit thee, be sure, ere I would let

My tongue play traitor, thou shouldst limb from limb
Hew me, and make each separate member feel
A separate agony of death. O Prince!

But I will tell

That ye may

ye of my nation's force,

know and tremble at your doom;

That fear may half subdue ye to the sword
Of vengeance-Can ye count the stars of Heaven?
The waves which ruffle o'er the lake? the leaves
look

Swept from the autumnal forest? Can ye
Upon the eternal snows of yonder height,
And number each particular flake that formed
The mountain-mass?-so numberless they come,
Whoe'er can wield the sword, or hurl the lance,
Or aim the arrow; from the growing boy,
Ambitious of the battle, to the old man,

Who to revenge his country and his Gods
Hastens, and then to die. By land they come ;
And years must pass away ere on their path
The grass again will grow they come by lake;
And ye shall see the shoals of their canoes
Darken the waters. Strangers! when our Gods
Hlave conquered, when ye lic upon the Stone
Of Sacrifice extended one by one,

share

Half of our armies cannot taste your flesh,
Though given in equal shares, and every
Minced like a nestling's food!
Madoc replied,
Azteca, we are few; but through the woods
The Lion walks alone. The lesser fowls
Flock multitudinous in heaven, and fly
Before the Eagle's coming. We are few;
And yet thy nation hath experienced us
Enough for conquest. Tell thy countrymen,
We can maintain the city which we won.
So saying he turned away, rejoiced at heart
To know himself alike by lake or land
Prepared to meet their power. The fateful day
Draws on; by night the Aztecas embark.
At day-break from Patamba they set forth,
From every creek and inlet of the lake,
All moving toward Aztlan; safely thus
Weening to reach the plain before her walls,
And fresh for battle. Shine thou forth, O Sun!
Shine fairly forth upon the scene so fair!

Their thousand boats, and the ten thousand oars
From whose broad bowls the waters fall and flash,
And twice ten thousand feathered helms, and shields,
Glittering with gold and scarlet plumery.
Onward they come with song and swelling horn;
While, louder than all voice and instrument,
The dash of their ten thousand oars, from shore
To shore and hill to hill, re-echoing rolls,
In undistinguishable peals of sound
And endless echo. On the other side
Advance the British barks; the freshening breeze
Fills the broad sail; around the rushing keel
The waters sing, while proudly they sail on
Lords of the water. Shine thou forth, O Sun!
Shine forth upon their hour of victory!
Onward the Cymry speed. The Aztecas,
Though wondering at that unexpected sight,
Bravely made on to meet them, seized their bows,
And showered, like rain, upon the pavaised barks,
The rattling shafts. Strong blows the auspicious gale;
Madoc, the Lord of Ocean, leads the way;
He holds the helm; the galley where he guides
Flies on, and full upon the first canoe
Drives shattering; midway its long length it struck,
And o'er the wreck with unimpeded force
Dashes among the fleet. The astonished meu
Gaze in inactive terror. They behold
Their splintered vessels floating all around,
Their warriors struggling in the lake, with arms
Experienced in the battle vainly now.
Dismayed they drop their bows, and cast away
Their unavailing spears, and take to flight,
Before the Masters of the Elements,

.

Who rode the waters, and who made the winds Wing them to vengeance! Forward now they bend, And backward then, with strenuous strain of arm, Press the broad paddle.-Hope of victory

Was none, nor of defence, nor of revenge,
To sweeten death. Toward the shore they speed,
Toward the shore they lift their longing eyes:-
O fools, to meet on their own element
The Sons of Ocean!-Could they but aland
Set foot, the strife were equal, or to die
Less dreadful. But, as if with wings of wind,
On fly the British barks!-the favouring breeze
Blows strong;-far, far behind their roaring keels
Lies the long line of foam; the helm directs.
Their force; they move, as with the limbs of life,
Obedient to the will that governs them.
Where'er they pass, the crashing shock is heard,
The dash of broken waters, and the cry
Of sinking multitudes. Here one plies fast
The practised limbs of youth, but o'er his head
The galley drives; one follows a canoe
With skill availing only to prolong
Suffering; another, as with wiser aim
He swims across, to meet his coming friends,
Stunned by the hasty and unheeding oar,
Sinks senseless to the depths. Lo! yonder boat
Graspt by the thronging strugglers; its light length
Yields to the overbearing weight, and all
Share the same ruin. Here, another shows
Crueller contest, where the crew hack off
The hands that hang for life upon its side,
Lest altogether perish; then in vain
The voice of friend or kinsman prays for
Imperious self controls all other thoughts;
And still they deal around unnatural wounds,
When the strong bark of Britain over all
Sails in the path of death.-God of the Lake,
Tlaloc! and thou, O Aiaul, green-robed Queen!
How many a wretch, in dying agonies,
Invoked ye in the misery of that day!
Long after, on the tainted lake, the dead
Weltered; there, perched upon his floating prey,
The vulture fed in daylight; and the wolves,
Assembled at their banquet round its banks,
Disturbed the midnight with their howl of joy.

XXVI.

mercy;

The Close of the Century.

THERE was mourning in Patamba; the north wind
Blew o'er the lake, and drifted to the shore
The floating wreck and bodies of the dead.
Then on the shore the mother might be seen,
Seeking her child; the father to the tomb,
With limbs too weak for that unhappy weight,
Bearing the bloated body of his son;
The wife, who, in expectant agony,
Watched the black carcass on the coming wave.

On every brow terror was legible;
Anguish in every eye. There was not one,
Who in the general ruin did not share
Peculiar grief, and in his country's loss
Lament some dear one dead. Along the lake
The frequent funeral-piles, for many a day,
With the noonlight their melancholy flames
Dimly commingled; while the mourners stood,

Watching the pile, to feed the lingering fire, As slowly it consumed the watery corpse.

Thou didst not fear, young Tlalala! thy soul,
Unconquered and unconquerable, rose
Superior to its fortune. When the Chiefs
Hung their dejected heads, as men subdued
In spirit, then didst thou, Yuhidthiton,
Calm in the hour of evil, still maintain
Thy even courage. They from man to man
Go, with the mourners mourning, and by grief
Rousing their rage, till, at the promised fight,
The hope of vengeance, a ferocious joy
Flashed in the eye which still retained the tear
Of tender memory. To the brave they spake
Of Aztlan's strength,-for Aztlan still was strong :-
The late defeat,— -not there by manly might,
By honourable valour, by the force
Of arms subdued, shame aggravated loss;
The White Men from the waters came, perchance
Sons of the Ocean, by their parent Gods
Aided, and conquerors not by human skill.
When man met man, when in the field of fight
The soldier on firm earth should plant his foot,
Then would the trial be, the struggle then,
The glory, the revenge.

Tezozomoc,

Alike unbroken by defeat, endured
The evil day; but in his sullen mind

Worked thoughts of other vengeance. He the King
Summoned apart from all, with Tlalala,
And thus advised them: We have vainly tried
The war; these mighty Strangers will not yield
To mortal strength: yet shall they be cut off
So ye will heed my counsel, and to force
Add wisdom's aid. Put on a friendly front;
Send to their Prince the messenger of
peace;
He will believe his words; he will forgive
The past; the offender may. So days and months,
Yea, years, if needful, will we wear a face
Of friendliness, till some fit hour arrive,
When we may fire their dwellings in the night,
Or mingle poison in their cups of mirth.
The warrior, from whose force the Lion flies,
Falls by the Serpent's tooth.

Thou speakest well,
Tlalala answered; but my spirit ill
Can brook revenge delayed.

The Priest then turned
Bis small and glittering eye toward the King;
But on the Monarch's mild and manly brow
A meaning sate, which made his crafty eye
Bend, quickly abashed. While yet I was a child,
Replied the King of Aztlan, on my heart
My father laid two precepts. Boy, be brave!
So, in the midnight battle, shalt thou meet,
Fearless, the sudden foe: Boy, let thy lips
Be clean from falsehood! in the mid-day sun,
So never shalt thou need from mortal man
To turn thy guilty face. Tezozomoc,
Holy I keep the lessons of my sire.

But if the enemy, with their dreadful arms,
Again, said Tlalala.-If again the Gods
Will our defeat, Yuhidthiton replied,
Vain is it for the feeble power of man

To strive against their will. I omen not
Of ill, young Tyger! but if ill betide,
The land is all before us. Let me hear
Of perfidy and serpent-wiles no more!
In the noon-day war, and in the face of Heaven,
I meet my foes. Let Aztlan follow me;
And if one man of all her multitudes
Shall better play the warrior in that hour,
Be his the sceptre! But if the people fear
The perilous strife, and own themselves subdued,
Let us depart! the universal Sun

Confines not to one land his partial beams;
Nor is man rooted, like a tree, whose seed
The winds on some ungenial soil have cast,
There where he cannot prosper.

The dark Priest
Concealed revengeful anger, and replied,
Let the King's will be done! An awful day
Draws on;
the Circle of the Years is full; 7'
We tremble for the event. The times are strange;
There are portentous changes in the world;
Perchance its end is come.
Be it thy care,

Priest of the Gods, to see the needful rites
Duly performed, Yuhidthiton replied.
On the third day, if yonder God of Light
Begin the Circle of the Years anew,
Again we march to war.

One day is past; At earliest dawn

Another day comes on.
Then was there heard through all Patamba's streets,
The warning voice,-Woe! woe! the Sun hath reached
The limits of his course; he hath fulfilled

The appointed cycle!-Fast, and weep, and pray,-
Four Suns have perished,-fast, and weep, and pray,
Lest the fifth perish also. On the first
The floods arose; the waters of the heavens,
Bursting their everlasting boundaries,
Whelmed in one deluge earth and sea and sky,
And quenched its orb of fire. The second Sun
Then had its birth, and ran its round of years;
Till having reached its date, it fell from heaven,
And crushed the race of men. Another life
The Gods assigned to Nature; the third Sun
Formed the celestial circle; then its flames
Burst forth, and overspread earth, sea, and sky,
Deluging the wide universe with fire,

Till all things were consumed, and its own flames
Fed on itself, and spent themselves, and all
Was vacancy and darkness. Yet again

The world had being, and another Sun

Rolled round the path of Heaven. That perished too:
The mighty Whirlwinds rose, and far away
Scattered its dying flames. The fifth was born;
The fifth to-day completes its destined course,
Perchance to rise no more. O Aztlan, fast
And pray! the Cycle of the Years is full!

Thus, through Patamba, did the ominous voice
Exhort the people. Fervent vows all day
Were made, with loud lament; in every fane,
In every dwelling-place of man, were prayers,
The supplications of the affrighted heart,
Earnestly offered up with tears and groans.
So passed the forenoon; and when now the Sun
Sloped, from his southern height, the downward way