Through tracts all desolate, for days and days, League after league, one green and fertile mead, That fed a thousand herds.

A different scene

Rose on our view, of mount on mountain piled,
Which when I see again in memory,
The giant Cader Idris by their bulk

Is dwarfed, and Snowdon with its eagle haunts
Shrinks, and seems dwindled like a Saxon hill.

Here with Cadwallon and a chosen band,
I left the ships. Lincoya guided us
A toilsome way among the heights; at dusk
We reached the village skirts; he bade us halt,
And raised his voice; the elders of the land
Came forth, and led us to an ample hut,
Which in the centre of their dwelling stood,
The Stranger's House. 34 They eyed us wondering,
Yet not for wonder ceased they to observe
Their hospitable rites; from hut to hut

They spread the tale that strangers were arrived,
Fatigued and hungry and athirst; anon,
Each from his means supplying us, came food
And beverage such as cheers the weary man.

VI.

Erillyab.

Ar morning their high-priest Ayayaca
Came with our guide: the venerable man
With reverential awe accosted us,

For we,
he weened, were children of a race
Mightier than they, and wiser, and by heaven
Beloved and favoured more: 35 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
Obeyed Erillyab. She too in her mind
Those recollections cherished, and such thoughts,
As, though no hope allayed their bitterness,
Gave to her eye a spirit, and a strength
And pride to features, which perchance had borne,
Had they been fashioned to a happier fate,
Meaning more gentle and more womanly,
Yet not more worthy of esteem and love.
She sate upon the threshold of her hut;
For in the palace where her sires had reigned
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, 36 and his monument.
There had his quiver mouldered, his stone axe

She let the tresses of her widowhood
Grow wild, she could have given to guests like us
A worthier welcome. Soon a man approached,
Hooded with sable, his half-naked limbs
Smeared black; the people at his sight drew round,
The women wailed and wept, the children turned
And hid their faces on their mothers' knees.
He to the Queen addrest his speech, then looked
Around the children, and laid hands on two,
Of different sexes but of age alike,

Some six years each, who at his touch shrieked out;
But then Lincoya rose, and to my feet

Led them, and told me that the conquerors claimed
These innocents for tribute; that the Priest
Would lay them on the altar of his god,
Tear out their little hearts in sacrifice,
Yea with more cursed wickedness himself
Feast on their flesh!--I shuddered, and my hand
Instinctively unsheathed the holy sword.

He with most passionate and eloquent signs,
Eye-speaking earnestness and quivering lips,
Besought me to preserve himself, and those

Who now fell suppliant round me,-youths aud maids,
Grey-headed men, and mothers with their babes.

I caught the little victims up, I kissed

Their innocent cheeks, I raised my eyes to heaven,
I called 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.
Beaven heard the vow; the suppliant multitude
Saw what was stirring in my soul; 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 listened; now she rose and to the Priest
Addressed 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,
fler eye became more animate, her voice
Rose to the height of feeling; on her son
She called, 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 called his father's spirit to look on
And bless them to his vengeance.

She welcomed 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

Who in their folly dared defy the power

Of Aztlan.

When the king of Aztlan heard

The unlooked-for tale, ere yet he roused his strength,
Or pitying our rash valour, or belike
Curious to see the man so bravely rash,

From early morning till the midnoon hour
We travelled in the mountains; then a plain
Opened 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 groves embowered, 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 burnished white, which shone
Like silver in the sunshine. 37 I beheld
The imperial city, her far-circling walls,
Her garden groves and stately palaces,

Her temples mountain size, her thousand roofs;
And when I saw her might and majesty

My mind misgave me then.

We reached the shore: A floating islet 38 waited for me there, The beautiful work of man. I set my foot Upon green-growing herbs and flowers, and sate Embowered 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 lines
Of marshalled multitudes who thronged the way,
We reached the palace court. Four priests were there;
Each held a burning censer in his hand, 39
And strewed the precious gum as I drew nigh,
And held the steaming fragrance forth to me,
Honouring me like a god. They led me in,
Where on his throne the royal Azteca
Coanocotzin sate. 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. T was a huge square hill, 40
Or rather like a rock it seemed, hewn out
And squared by patient labour. 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
Toiled unremitting at the willing work
From morn till eve, all the long summer day.

The ascent was lengthened 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 reached 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, 4 ten Cities hear
Its voice, 42 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 stirred my blood;
For on the summit where we stood, four Towers
Were piled with human skulls, 43 and all around
Long files of human heads were strung to parch
And whiten in the sun. What then I felt
Was more than natural courage-'t was a trust
In more than mortal strength-a faith in God,-
Yea, inspiration from him! I exclaimed,
Not though ten Cities ten times told obeyed
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-colour 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 reached 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 travelled 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 conquer thee!

And thinkest thou our Gods are feeble? cried
The king of Aztlan; dost thou deem 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
Conquered and caged and fettered at their feet.
That they who serve them are no coward race
Let prove the ample realm they 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 plucked,
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!-T was 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. 44 There,
In very deed, the dead Tepollomi

Stood up against the wall, by devilish art
Preserved; and from his black and shrivelled hand
The steady lamp hung down.

My spirit rose

At that abomination; I exclaimed,
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 knowest him not, is also thine,
And after death, will be thy dreadful Judge,
May it please him to visit thee, and shed
Bis mercy on thy soul!-But if thy heart

Be hardened to the proof, come when thou wilt!

I know thy power, and thou shalt then know mine.

VII.

The Battle.

Now then to meet the war! Erillyab's call
Roused all her people to revenge their wrongs;
And, at Lincoya's voice, the mountain tribes
Arose and broke their bondage. I, meantime,
Took council with Cadwallon and his sire,
And told them of the numbers we must meet,
And what advantage from the mountain straits
I thought, as in the Saxon wars, to win.
Thou sawest their weapons then, Cadwallon said;
Are they like these rude works of ignorance,
Bone-headed shafts, and spears of wood, and shields
Strong only for such strife?

We had to cope
With wiser enemies, and abler armed.
What for the sword they wielded was a staff

Set thick with stones across; you would have judged

The uncouth shape was cumbrous; but a hand
Expert, and practised to its use, could drive
Its heavy edge with deadly impulse down.
Their mail, if mail it may be called, was woven

Of vegetable down, like finest flax,

peace;

Bleached to the whiteness of the new-fallen snow;
To every bend and motion flexible,
Light as the warrior's summer-garb in
Yet, in that lightest, softest, habergeon,
Harmless the sharp stone arrow-head would hang.
Others, of higher office, were arrayed

In feathery breast-plates of more gorgeous hue
Than the gay plumage of the mountain-cock,
Than the pheasant's glittering pride. But what were these,
Or what the thin gold hauberk, when opposed
To arms like ours in battle? What the mail
Of wood fire-hardened, or the wooden helm,
Against the iron arrows of the South,
Against our northern spears, or battle-axe,
Or good sword, wielded by a British hand?

Then, quoth Cadwallon, at the wooden helm
Of these weak arms the weakest, let the sword
Hew, and the spear be thrust. The mountaineers,
So long inured to crouch beneath their yoke,
We will not trust in battle; from the heights
They, with their arrows, may annoy the foe;
And, when our closer strife has won the fray,
Then let them loose for havoc.

O, my son!
Exclaimed the blind old man, thou counsellest ill!
Blood will have blood, revenge beget revenge,
Evil must come of evil. We shall win,
Certes, a cheap and easy victory

In the first field; their arrows from our arms
Will fall, and on the hauberk and the helm
The stone-edge blunt and break; while through their
limbs,

Naked, or vainly fenced, the griding steel
Shall sheer its mortal way. But what are we
Against a nation? Other hosts will rise
In endless warfare, with perpetual fights
Dwindling our all-too-few; or multitudes
Will wear and weary us, till we sink subdued
By the very toil of conquest. Ye are strong;
But he who puts his trust in mortal strength
Leans on a broken reed! First prove your power;

Be in the battle terrible, but spare

The fallen, and follow not the flying foe;

Then may ye win a nobler victory,

So dealing with the captives as to fill
Their hearts with wonder, gratitude, and awe,
That love shall mingle with their fear, and fear
Stablish the love, else wavering. Let them see,
That as more pure and gentle is your faith,
Yourselves are gentler, purer. Ye shall be
As gods among them, if y ye thus obey
God's precepts.

Soon the mountain-tribes, in arms,
Rose at Lincoya's call: a numerous host,
More than in numbers, in the memory
Of long oppression, and revengeful hope,
A formidable foe. I stationed them
Where, at the entrance of the rocky straits,
Secure themselves, their arrows might command
The coming army. On the plain below

And blazed, and died away. Then from his bow,
With steady hand, their chosen archer loosed
The Arrow of the Omen.47 To its mark
The shaft of divination fled; it smote
Cadwallon's plated breast; the brittle point
Rebounded. He, contemptuous of their faith,
Stoopt for the shaft, and while with zealous speed
To the rescue they rushed onward, snapping it
Asunder, cast the fragments back in scorn.
Fierce was their onset; never in the field
Encountered I with braver enemies.

Nor marvel ye, nor think it to their shame,
If soon they staggered, and gave way, and fled,
So many from so few; they saw their darts
Recoil, their lances shiver, and their swords
Fall ineffectual, blunted with the blow.
Think ye no shame of Aztlan that they fled,
When the bowmen of Deheubarth plied so well
Their shafts with fatal aim; through the thin gold,
Or feather-mail, while Gwyneth's deep-driven spears48
Pierced to the bone and vitals; when they saw
The falchion, flashing late so lightning-like,
Quenched in their own life-blood. Our mountaineers
Showered from the heights, meantime, an arrowy storm,
Themselves secure; and we who bore the brunt
Of battle, iron meu, impassable,

Stood in our strength unbroken. Marvel not
If then the brave felt fear, already impressed
That day by ominous thoughts, to fear akin;
For so it chanced, high heaven ordaining so,
The king, who should have led his people forth,
At the army head as they began their march,
Was with sore sickness stricken; and the stroke
Came like the act and arm of very God,
So suddenly, and in that point of time.

A gallant man was he, who, in his stead,
That day commanded Aztian; his long hair,

Tufted with many a cotton lock, proclaimed
Of princely prowess many a feat achieved,
In many a field of fame. Oft had he led
The Aztecas, with happy fortune, forth;
Yet could not now Yuhidthiton inspire
His host with hope: he, not the less, that day,
True to his old renown, and in the hour
Of rout and ruin with collected mind,
Sounded his signals shrill, and in the voice
Of loud reproach and anger, and brave shame,
Called on the people.-But when nought availed,
Seizing the standard from the timid hand
Which held it in dismay, alone he turned,
For honourable death resolved, and praise
That would not die. Thereat the braver chiefs
Rallied, anew their signals rung around,
And Aztlan, seeing how we spared her flight,
Took heart, and rolled the tide of battle back.
But when Cadwallon from the chieftain's grasp
Had cut the standard staff away, and stunned
And stretched him at his mercy on the field;
Then fled the enemy in utter rout,
Broken and quelled at heart. One chief alone
Bestrode the body of Yuhidthiton;
Bareheaded did young Malinal bestride
His brother's body, wiping from his brow
With the shield-hand the blinding blood away,
And dealing franticly, with broken sword,
Obstinate wrath, the last resisting foe.
Him, in his own despite, we seized and saved.
Then, in the moment of our victory,

We purified our hands from blood, and knelt,
And poured to heaven the grateful prayer of praise,
And raised the choral psalm. Triumphant thus
To the hills we went our way; the mountaineers
With joy, and dissonant song, and antic dance;
The captives sullenly, deeming that they went
To meet the certain death of sacrifice,

Yet stern and undismayed. We bade them know,
Ours was a law of mercy and of love;

We healed their wounds, and set the prisoners free.
Bear ye, quoth I, my bidding to your king;

Say to him, Did the Stranger speak to thee
The words of truth, and hath he proved his power?
Thus saith the Lord of Ocean, in the name
Of God, Almighty, Universal God,

Thy Judge and mine, whose battles I have fought,
Whose bidding I obey, whose will I speak;
Shed thou no more, in impious sacrifice,
The life of man; restore into the grave
The dead Tepollomi; set this people free,
And peace shall be between us.

On the morrow
Came messengers from Aztlan, in reply.
Coanocotzin with sore malady
Hath, by the Gods, been stricken: will the Lord
Of Ocean visit his sick-bed?-He told

Of wrath, and as he said, the vengeance came:
Let him bring healing now, and stablish peace.

VIII.

The Peace.

AGAIN, and now with better hope, I sought The city of the King: there went with me

Iolo, old Iolo, he who knows

The virtue of all herbs of mount or vale,
Or greenwood shade, or quiet brooklet's bed;
Whatever lore of science, or of song,

Sages and Bards of old have handed down.

Aztlan that day poured forth her swarming sons,
To wait my coming. Will he ask his God
To stay the hand of anger? was the cry,
The general cry,-and will he save the King?
Coanocotzin too had nurst that thought,

And the strong hope upheld him he put forth
His hand, and raised a quick and anxious eye,—
Is it not peace and mercy?-thou art come
To pardon and to save!

I answered him,
That power, O king of Aztlan, is not mine!
Such help as human cunning can bestow,
Such human help I bring; but health and life
Are in the hand of God, who at his will
Gives or withdraws; and what he wills is best.
Then old lolo took his arm, and felt

The symptom, and he bade him have good hope,
For life was strong within him. So it proved;
The drugs of subtle virtue did their work;
They quelled the venom of the malady,
And from the frame expelled it,—that a sleep
Fell on the king, a sweet and natural sleep,
And from its healing he awoke refreshed,
Though weak, and joyful like a man who felt
The peril past away.

Ere long we spake

Of concord, and how best to knit the bonds
Of lasting friendship. When we won this land,
Coanocotzin said, these fertile vales

Were not, as now, with fruitful groves embowered,
Nor rich with towns and populous villages,
Abounding, as thou seest, with life and joy:
Our fathers found bleak heath, and desert moor,
Wide woodland, and savannahs wide and waste,
Rude country of rude dwellers. From our arms

They to the mountain fastnesses retired,
And long with obstinate and harassing war
Provoked us, hoping not for victory,

Yet mad for vengeance: till Tepollomi

Fell by my father's hand; and with their king,
The strength and flower of all their youth cut off,
All in one desolating day, they took

The yoke upon their necks. What wouldest thou
That to these Hoamen I should now concede?
Lord of the Ocean, speak!

Let them be free!
Quoth I. I come not from my native isle
To wage the war of conquest, and cast out
Your people from the land which time and toil
Have rightly made their own. The world is wide:
There is enough for all. So they be freed
From that accursed tribute, and ye shed

The life of man no more in sacrifice,

In the most holy name of God I say,
Let there be peace between us!

Thou hast won

Their liberty, the King replied: henceforth,
Free as they are, if they provoke the war,
Reluctantly will Aztlan raise her arm.
Be thou the peace-preserver. To what else
Thou sayest, instructed by calamity,

I lend a humble ear; but to destroy
The worship of my fathers, or abate

Or change one point, lies not within the reach
And scope of kingly power. Speak thou hereon
With those whom we hold holy, with the sons
Of the Temple, they who commune with the Gods;
Awe them, for they awe me. So we resolved
That when the bones of King Tepollomi
Had had their funeral honours, they and I
Should by the green lake-side, before the King,
And in the presence of the people, hold

A solemn talk.

Then to the mountain huts,
The bearer of good tidings, I returned,
Leading the honourable train who bore
The relics of the King; not parched and black,
As I had seen the unnatural corpse stand up,
In ghastly mockery of the attitude

And act of life;-his bones had now been blanched
With decent reverence. Soon the mountaineers
Saw the white deer-skin shroud ;49 the rumour spread,
They gathered round, and followed in our train.
Before Erillyab's hut the bearers laid
Their burthen down. She, calm of countenance,
And with dry eye, albeit her hand the while
Shook like an agueish limb, unrolled the shroud.
The multitude stood gazing silently,

The young and old alike all awed and hushed
Under the holy feeling,-and the hush
Was awful; that huge multitude so still,

That we could hear distinct the mountain stream
Roll down its rocky channel far away.
And this was all; sole ceremony this,

The sight of death and silence,-till at length,
In the ready grave his bones were laid to rest.
'T was in her hut and home, yea, underneath
The marriage bed, the bed of widowhood,
Her husband's grave was dug;50 ou softest fur
The bones were laid,51 with fur were covered o'er,
Then heapt with bark and boughs, and, last of all,
Earth was to earth trod down.

And now the day
Appointed for our talk of peace was come.
On the green margin of the lake we met,
Elders, and Priests, and Chiefs; the multitude
Around the circle of the council stood.
Then, in the midst, Coanocotzin rose,
And thus the King began; Pabas,52 and Chiefs
Of Aztlan, hither ye are come to learn
The law of peace. The Lord of Ocean saith,
The Tribes whom he hath gathered underneath
The wings of his protection, shall be free;
And, in the name of his great God, he saith,
That ye shall never shed in sacrifice
The blood of man. Are ye content? that so
We may together here, in happy hour,
Dury the sword!

Hereat a Paba rose,

And answered for his brethren:-He hath won
The Hoamen's freedom, that their blood no more
Shall on our altars flow; for this the Lord
Of Ocean fought, and Aztlan yielded it
In battle: but if we forego the rites
Of our forefathers, if we wrong the Gods,
Who give us timely sun and timely showers,
Their wrath will be upon us; they will shut