Of Heaven, again the ominous warner cried, Woe! woe! the Cycle of the Years is full! Quench every fire! Extinguish every light! And every fire was quenched, and every light Extinguished at the voice.
Began the rites. They gashed themselves, and plunged Into the sacred pond of Ezapan,
Till the clear water, on whose bed of sand The sunbeams sparkled late, opaque with blood, On its black surface mirrored all things round. The children of the temple, in long search Had gathered, for the service of this day, All venomous things that fly, or wind their path With sinuous trail, or crawl on reptile feet. These, in one cauldron, o'er the sacred fire They scorch, till of the loathsome living tribes, Who, writhing in their burning agonies, Fix on each other ill-directed wounds, Ashes alone are left. In infants' blood They mix the infernal unction, and the Priests Anoint themselves therewith.
Lo! from the South The Orb of Glory his regardless way Holds on. Again Patamba's streets receive The ominous voice,-Woe! woe! the Sun pursues His journey to the limits of his course! Let every man in darkness veil his wife,
Veil every maiden's face; let every child
Be hid in darkness, there to weep and pray, That they may see again the birth of light! They heard, and every husband veiled his wife In darkness; every maiden's face was veiled: The children were in darkness led to pray, That they might see the birth of light once more.
On the south shore, and level with the lake, Patamba stood; westward were seen the walls Of Aztlan rising on a gentle slope; Southward the plain extended far and wide; To the east the mountain-boundary began, And there the sacred mountain reared its head, Above the neighbouring heights, its lofty peal Was visible far off. In the vale below, Along the level borders of the lake, The assembled Aztecas, with wistful eye, Gaze on the sacred summit, hoping there Soon to behold the fire of sacrifice Arise, sure omen of continued light. The Pabas to the sacred peak begin Their way, and as they go, with ancient songs Hymn the departing Sun.
O, Light of Life, Yet once again arise! yet once again
Commence thy course of glory! Time hath seen Four generations of mankind destroyed, When the four Suns expired; Oh, let not thou, Human thyself of yore, the human race Languish and die in darkness!
Had perished; for the mighty Whirlwinds rose, And swept it, with the dust of the shattered world, Into the great abyss. The eternal Gods Built a new World, and to a Hero race Assigned it for their goodly dwelling-place; And shedding on the bones of the destroyed A quickening dew, from them, as from a seed, Made a new race of humankind spring up, The menials of the Heroes born of Heaven. But in the firmament no orb of day
Performed its course; Nature was blind; the fount Of light had ceased to flow; the eye of Heaven Was quenched in darkness. In the sad obscure, The earth-possessors to their parent Gods Prayed for another Sun, their bidding heard, And, in obedience, raised a flaming pile. Hopeful they circled it, when from above The voice of the Invisible proclaimed, That he who bravely plunged amid the fire Should live again in Heaven, and there shine forth The Sun of the young World. The Hero race Grew pale, and from the fiery trial shrunk. Thou, O Nahuaztin, thou, O mortal born,
Heardest thy heart was strong, the flames received Their victim, and the humbled Heroes saw The orient sky, with smiles of rosy joy, Welcome the coming of the new-born God. O, human once, now let not humankind Languish, and die in darkness!
Then didst thou pause to see the Hero race Perish. In vain, with impious arms, they strove Against thy will; in vain against thine orb They shot their shafts; the arrows of their pride Fell on themselves; they perished, to thy praise. So perish still thine impious enemies,
O Lord of Day! But to the race devout, Who offer up their morning sacrifice, Honouring thy godhead, and with morning hymns, And with the joy of music and of dance, Welcome thy glad uprise,-to them, O Sun, Still let the fountain-streams of splendour flow! Still smile on them propitious, thou whose smile Is light and life and joyance! Once again, Parent of Being, Prince of Glory, rise! Begin thy course of beauty once again!
Such was their ancient song, as up the height Slowly they wound their way. The multitude Beneath repeat the strain; with fearful eyes They watch the spreading glories of the west; And when at length the hastening orb hath sunk Below the plain, such sinking at the heart They feel, as he who hopeless of return From his dear home departs. Still on the light, The last green light that lingers in the west, Their looks are fastened, till the clouds of night Roll on, and close in darkness the whole heaven. Then ceased their songs; then o'er the crowded vale No voice of man is heard. Silent and still
They stood, all turned toward the east, in hope There on the holy mountain to behold The sacred fire, and know that once again The Sun begins his stated round of years.
The Moon arose; she shone upon the lake, Which lay one smooth expanse of silver light; She shone upon the hills and rocks, and cast Upon their hollows and their hidden glens
A blacker depth of shade. Who then looked round, Beholding all that mighty multitude,
Felt yet severer awe; so solemnly still
The thronging thousands stood. The breeze was heard That rustled in the reeds; the little wave, Which rippled to the shore and left no foam, Sent its low murmurs far.
Meantime the Priests Have stretched their victim on the mountain-top; A miserable man: his breast is bare,
Bare for the death that waits him; but no hand May there inflict the blow of mercy. Piled On his bare breast, the cedar boughs are laid; On his bare breast, dry sedge and odorous gums Laid ready to receive the sacred spark, And blaze, to herald the ascending Sun, Upon his living altar. Round the wretch The inhuman ministers of rites accurst Stand, and expect the signal when to strike, The seed of fire. Their Chief, Tezozomoc, Apart from all, upon the pinnacle
Of that high mountain, eastward turns his For now the hour draws nigh, and speedily He looks to see the first faint dawn of day Break through the orient sky.
The multitude await the happy sign. Long hath the midnight past, and every hour, Yea every moment, to their torturing fears Seemed lengthened out, insufferably long. Silent they stood, and breathless in suspense. The breeze had fallen; no stirring breath of wind Rustled the reeds. Oppressive, motionless, It was a labour and a pain to breathe
The close, hot, heavy air.-Hark! from the woods The howl of their wild tenants! and the birds,- The day-birds, in blind darkness fluttering,
Fearful to rest, uttering portentous cries!
Anon, the sound of distant thunders came;
On yonder crag, all dripping from the lake, Who hath escaped its depths? He lies along, Now near exhaust with self-preserving toil, And still his eye dwells on the spreading waves, Where late the multitudes of Aztlan stood, Collected in their strength. It is the King Of Aztlan, who, extended on the rock, Looks vainly for his people. He beholds The barks of Madoc plying to preserve The strugglers!--but how few! upon the crags Which verge the northern shore, upon the heights Eastward, how few have refuged! Then the King Almost repented him of life preserved,
And wished the waves had whelmed him, or the sword Fallen on him, ere this ill, this wretchedness, This desolation. Spirit-troubled thus,
He called to mind how, from the first, his heart Inclined to peace, and how reluctantly, Obedient to the Pabas and their Gods, Had he to this unhappy war been driven. All now was ended: it remained to yield, To obey the inevitable will of Heaven, From Aztlan to depart. As thus he mused, A bird, upon a bough which overhung The rock, as though in echo to his thought,
They peal beneath their feet. Earth shakes and yawns, Cried out,-Depart! depart! for so the note,
And lo! upon the sacred mountain's top, The light-the mighty flame! A cataract Of fire bursts upward from the mountain-head,— High,-high,—it shoots! the liquid fire boils out; It streams,-it torrents down! Tezozomoc Beholds the judgment: wretched,-wretched man! On the upmost pinnacle he stands, and sees The lava floods beneath him: and his hour Is come. The fiery shower, descending, heaps Red ashes round; they fall like drifted snows, And bury and consume the accursed Priest.
The Tempest is abroad. Fierce from the North The wind uptears the lake, whose lowest depths Rock, while convulsions shake the solid earth. Where is Patamba? where the multitudes
Articulately in his native tongue,
Spake to the Azteca.72 The King looked up. The hour, the horrors round him, had impressed Feelings and fears well fitted to receive All superstition; and the voice which cried, Depart! depart! seemed like the voice of fate. He thought, perhaps Coanocotzin's soul, Descending from his blissful halls in the hour Of evil thus to comfort and advise, Hovered above him.
Lo! toward the rock, Oaring with feeble arms his difficult way, A struggler hastens he hath reached the rock, Hath graspt it, but his strength, exhausted, fails To lift him from the depth. The King descends Timely in aid; he holds the feeble one
By his long locks, and on the safety-place Lands him. He, panting, from his clotted hair Shook the thick waters, from his forehead wiped The blinding drops; on his preserver's face Then looked, and knew the King. Then Tlalala Feil on his neck, and groaned. They laid them down In silence, for their hearts were full of woe. The sun came forth, and shone upon the rock; They felt the kindly beams; their strengthened blood Flowed with a freer action. They arose, And looked around, if aught of hope might meet Their prospect. On the lake the galleys plied Their toil successfully, ever to the shore Bearing their rescued charge: the eastern heights, Rightward and leftward of the fiery mount, Were thronged with fugitives, whose growing crowds Speckled the ascent. Then Tlalala took hope, And his young heart, reviving, re-assumed
Its wonted vigour. Let us to the heights, He cried;-all is not lost! Yuhidthiton! When they behold thy countenance, the sight Will cheer them in their woe, and they will bless The Gods of Aztlan.
To the heights they went And when the remnant of the people saw Yuhidthiton preserved, such comfort then They felt, as utter wretchedness can feel, That only gives grief utterance, only speaks In groans and recollections of the past. He looked around; a multitude was there,- But where the strength of Aztlan? where her hosts? Her marshalled myriads where, whom yester Sun Had seen in arms arrayed, in spirit high, Mighty in youth and courage?-What were these, This remnant of the people? Women most, Who from Patamba when the shock began Ran with their infants; widowed now, yet each Among the few who from the lake escaped, Wandering, with eager eyes and wretched hope. The King behield and groaned; against a tree He leant, and bowed his head, subdued of soul.
Meantime, amid the crowd, doth Tlalala Seek for his wife and boy. In vain he seeks Ilanquel there; in vain for her he asks: A troubled look, a melancholy eye, A silent motion of the hopeless head, These answer him. But Tlalala represt His anguish, and he called upon the King,- Yuhidthiton! thou seest thy people left; Their fate must be determined; they are here Houseless, and wanting food.
The King looked up,-- It is determined, Tlalala! the Gods Have crushed us. Who can stand against their wrath? Have we not life and strength? the Tiger cried. Disperse these women to the towns which stand Beyond the ruinous waters; against them
The White Men will not war. Ourselves are few, Too few to root the invaders from our land, Or meet them with the hope of equal fight: Yet may we shelter in the woods, and share The Lion's liberty; and man by man Destroy them, till they shall not dare to walk Beyond their city walls, to sow their fields, Or bring the harvest in. We may steal forth
In the dark midnight, go and burn and kill, Till all their dreams shall be of fire and death, Their sleep be fear and misery. Then the King
Stretched forth his hand, and pointed to the lake Where Madoc's galleys still to those who clung To the tree-tops for life, or faintly still Were floating on the waters, gave their aid.— O think not, Tlalala, that ever more Will I against those noble enemies
Raise my right hand in war, lest righteous Heaven Should blast the impious hand and thankless heart! The Gods are leagued with them; the Elements Banded against us! for our overthrow Were yonder mountain-springs of fire ordained For our destruction the earth-thunders loosed, And the everlasting boundaries of the lake Gave way, that these destroying floods might roll Over the brave of Aztlan!-We must leave The country which our fathers won in arms; We must depart.
The word yet vibrated Fresh on their hearing, when the Bird above, Flapping his heavy wings, repeats the sound, Depart! depart!-Ye hear! the King exclaimed; It is an omen sent to me from Heaven;
I heard it late in solitude, the voice Of fate. It is Coanocotzin's soul, Who counsels our departure.—And the Bird Still flew around, and in his wheeling flight Pronounced the articulate note. The people heard
In faith, and Tlalala made no reply; But dark his brow, and gloomy was his frown.
Then spake the King, and called a messenger, And bade him speed to Aztlan.-Seek the Lord Of Ocean; tell him that Yuhidthiton Yields to the will of Heaven, and leaves the land His fathers won in war. Only one boon, In memory of our former friendship, ask, The Ashes of my Fathers,-if indeed The conqueror have not cast them to the winds!
The herald went his way, circuitous, Along the mountains,-for the flooded vale Barred the near passage: but before his feet Could traverse half their track, the fugitives Beheld canoes from Aztlan, to the foot Of that protecting eminence, whereon They had their stand, draw nigh. The doubtful sight Disturbed them, lest perchance with hostile strength They came upon their weakness. Wrongful fear:- For now Cadwallon, from his bark, unarmed, Set foot ashore, and for Yuhidthiton Enquired, if yet he lived. The King receives His former friend.-From Madoc come I here, The Briton said: Raiment and food he sends, And peace; so shall this visitation prove A blessing, if it knit the bonds of peace, And make us as one people.
We bow before their will! To them we yield; you, their favourites, we resign the land Our fathers conquered. Never more may Fate, In your days or your children's, to the end
Of time, afflict it thus!
The Heralds of his pleasure.-Go ye forth
Whom wisely fear and feebleness deter
To tempt strange paths, through swamp and wilderness And hostile tribes, for these Yuhidthiton Asks thy protection. Under thy mild sway, They will remember me without regret, Yet not without affection.-They shall be My people, Madoc answered.-And the rites
Throughout the land: North, south, and east, and west, Of holiness transmitted from their sires,
He bade a pile be raised upon the top Of that high eminence, to all the winds Exposed. They raised the pile, and left it free To all the winds of Heaven; Yuhidthiton Alone approached it, and applied the torch. The day was calm, and o'er the flaming pile The wavy smoke hung lingering, like a mist That in the morning tracks the valley-stream. Swell over swell it rose, erect above, Ou all sides spreading like a stately palm, So moveless were the winds. Upward it rolled, Still upward, when a stream of upper air, Crossed it, and bent its top, and drove it on, Straight over Aztlan. An acclaiming shout Welcomed the will of Heaven; for lo, the smoke Fast travelling on, while not a breath of air Is felt below. Ye see the appointed course! Exclaimed the King. Proclaim it where ye go! On the third morning we begin our march.
Soon o'er the lake a winged galley sped, Wafting the Ocean Prince. He bore, preserved, When Aztlan's bloody temples were cast down, The Ashes of the Dead. The King received The relics, and his heart was full; his eye Dwelt on his father's urn. At length he said, One more request, O Madoc!-If the lake Should ever to its ancient bounds return, Shrined in the highest of Patamba's towers Coanocotzin rests.-But wherefore this? Thou wilt respect the ashes of the King.
Then said the Prince, Abide not here, O King, Thus open to the changeful elements; But till the day of your departure come, Sojourn with me.-Madoc, that must not be! Yuhidthiton replied. Shall I behold A stranger dwelling in my father's house? Shall I become a guest, where I was wont To give the guest his welcome?-lle pursued, After short pause of speech,-For our old men, And helpless babes and women; for all those
Pursued the King,-will these be suffered them?— Blood must not flow, the Christian Prince replied; No Priest must dwell among us; that hath been The cause of all this misery!-Enough, Yuhidthiton replied; I ask no more. It is not for the conquered to impose Their law upon the conqueror.
Then he turned, And lifted up his voice, and called upon The people:-All whom fear or feebleness Withhold from following my adventurous path, Prince Madoc will receive. No blood must flow, No Paba dwell among them. Take upon ye, Ye who are weak of body or of heart, The strangers' easy yoke: beneath their sway Ye will remember me without regret.
Soon take your choice, and speedily depart, Lest ye impede the adventurers.-As he spake Tears flowed, and groans were heard. The line was drawn,
Which whoso would accept the Strangers' yoke Should pass. A multitude o'erpast the line; But all the youth of Aztlan crowded round Yuhidthiton, their own beloved King.
So two days long, with unremitting toil, The barks of Britain to the adventurers Bore due supply; and to new habitants The city of the Cymry spread her gates; And in the vale around, and on the heights, Their numerous tents were pitched. Meantime the tale Of ruin went abroad, and how the Gods Had driven her sons from Aztlan. To the King, Companions of his venturous enterprise, The bold repaired; the timid and the weak, All whom, averse from perilous wanderings, A gentler nature had disposed to peace, Beneath the Strangers' easy rule remained. Now the third morning came. At break of day The mountain echoes to the busy sound Of multitudes. Before the moving tribe The Pabas bear, enclosed from public sight, Mexitli; and the ashes of the Kings Follow the Chair of God.73 Yuhidthiton Then leads the marshalled ranks, and by his side, Silent and thoughtfully, went Tlalala.
At the north gate of Aztlan, Malinal, Borne in a litter, waited their approach; And now alighting, as the train drew nigh, Propt by a friendly arm, with feeble step Advanced to meet the King. Yuhidthiton, With eye severe and darkening countenance, Met his advance. I did not think, quoth he, Thou wouldst have ventured this! and liefer far Should I have borne away with me the thought That Malinal had shunned his brother's sight, Because their common blood yet raised in him
A sense of his own shame!-Comest thou to show Those wounds, the marks of thine unnatural war Against thy country? or to boast the meed Of thy dishonour? that thou tarriëst here, Sharing the bounty of the Conqueror, While, with the remnant of his countrymen, Saving the Gods of Aztlan and the name, Thy brother and thy King goes forth to seek His fortune!
Calm and low the youth replied, Ill dost thou judge of me, Yuhidthiton! And foully, O my brother, wrong the heart
Thou better shouldst have known! Howbeit, I come Prepared for grief. These honourable wounds Were gained when, singly, at Caermadoc, I Opposed the ruffian Hoamen; and even now, Thus feeble as thou seest me, come I thence, For this farewell. Brother,-Yuhidthiton,- By the true love which thou didst bear my youth, Which ever, with a love as true, my heart Hath answered,-by the memory of that hour When at our mother's funeral pile we stood, Go not away in wrath, but call to mind
What thou hast ever known me! Side by side We fought against the Strangers, side by side We fell; together in the counsel-hall We counselled peace, together in the field Of the assembly pledged the word of peace. When plots of secret slaughter were devised, I raised my voice alone, alone I kept My plighted faith, alone I prophesied The judgment of just Heaven; for this I bore Reproach and shame and wrongful banishment, In the action self-approved, and justified By this unhappy issue!
As he spake, Did natural feeling strive within the King, And thoughts of other days, and brotherly love, And inward consciousness that had he too Stood forth, obedient to his better mind, Nor weakly yielded to the wily priests, Wilfully blind, perchance even now in peace The kingdom of his fathers had preserved Her name and empire.-Malinal, he cried Thy brother's heart is sore; in better times I may with kindlier thoughts remember thee, And honour thy true virtue. Now fare well!
So saying, to his heart he held the youth, Then turned away. But then cried Tlalala, Farewell, Yuhidthiton! the Tiger cried; For I too will not leave my native land,- Thou who wert King of Aztlan! go thy way, And be it prosperous. Through the gate thou seest Yon tree that overhangs my father's house; My father lies beneath it. Call to mind Sometimes that tree; for at its foot in peace Shall Tlalala be laid, who will not live Survivor of his country.
Thus he cried, And through the gate, regardless of the King, Turned to his native door. Yuhidthiton Followed, and Madoc; but in vain their words Essayed to move the Tiger's steady heart; When from the door a tottering boy came forth And clung around his knees with joyful cries,
And called him father. At the joyful sound Out ran Ilanquel; and the astonished man Beheld his wife and boy, whom sure he deemed Whelmed in the floods; but them the British barks, Returning homeward from their merciful quest, Found floating on the waters-For a while, Abandoned by all desperate thoughts he stood: Soon he collected, and to Madoc turned, And said, O Prince, this woman and her boy I leave to thee. As thou hast ever found In me a fearless unrelenting foe,
Fighting with ceaseless zeal my country's cause, Respect them!-Nay, Ilanquel! hast thou yet To learn with what unshakeable resolve My soul maintains its purposes! I leave thee To a brave foe's protection.-Lay me, Madoc, Here, in my father's s grave.
His mantle off, and veiled Ilanquel's face ;- Woman, thou canst not look upon the Sun, Who sets to rise no more!-That done, he placed Ulis javelin-hilt against the ground; the point He fitted to his heart; and, holding firm The shaft, fell forward, still with steady hand Guiding the death-blow on.
So in the land Madoc was left sole Lord; and far away Yuhidthiton led forth the Aztecas, To spread in other lands Mexitli's name,74 And rear a mightier empire, and set up Again their foul idolatry; till Heaven, Making blind Zeal and Bloody Avarice Its ministers of vengeance, sent among them The heroic Spaniard's unrelenting sword.
A Nao, despregando as velas
Ja se aproveita do vento;
E de evidente alegria
Os Portuguezes ja cheios. Sobre o conves estam todos; Na terra se vam revendo
Igrejas, Palacios, Quintas, De que tem conhecimento, Daqui, dalli apontando Vam ledamente co dedo. Todos fallando demostram
Seus jubilos manifestos; Mas o Vieira occupado Vai de hum notavel silencio. Sen excessivo alvoroço Tumultuante, que dentro No peito sente, lhe causa De sobresalto os effeitos. Quanto mais elle chegando Vai ao suspirado termo, Mais se lhe augmenta o gostoso Susto no doce projecto.
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