The son of Llaian. A cold air comes out;It chills him, and his feet recoil;-in vain His feet recoil;-in vain he turns to fly, Affrighted at the sudden gloom that spreads Around ;-the den is closed, and he is left In solitude and darkness,-left to die!
THAT morn from Aztlan Coatel had gone, In search of flowers amid the woods and crags, To deck the shrine, of Coatlantona; Such flowers as in the solitary wilds
Hiding their modest beauty, made their worth More valued for its rareness. T was to her A grateful task; not only for she fled Those cruel rites, to which nor reverent use Nor frequent custom could familiarize Her gentle heart, and teach it to put off All womanly feeling;-but that from all eyes Escaped, and all obtrusive fellowship, She, in that solitude, might send her soul To where Lincoya with the Strangers dwelt. She, from the summit of the woodland heights, Gazed on the lake below. The sound of song And instrument, in soften'd harmony, Had reach'd her where she stray'd; and she beheld The pomp, and listen'd to the floating sounds, A moment, with delight: but then a fear Came on her, for she knew with what design The Tyger and Ocellopan had sought The dwellings of the Cymry-Now the boats Drew nearer, and she knew the Stranger's child. She watch'd them land below; she saw them wind The ascent-and now from that abhorred cave The stone is roll'd away,—and now the child From light and life is cavern'd. Coatel Thought of his mother then, of all the ills Her fear would augur, and how worse than all Which even a mother's maddening fear could feign, His dreadful fate. She thought of this, and bow'd Her face upon her knees, and closed her eyes, Shuddering. Suddenly in the brake beside, A rustling startled her, and from the shrubs, A vulture rose.
She moved toward the spot, Led by an idle impulse, as it seem'd, To view from whence the carrion bird had fled. The bushes overhung a narrow chasm Which pierced the hill: upon its mossy sides Shade-loving herbs and flowers luxuriant grew: And jutting crags made easy the descent.
A little way descending, Coatel
A dangerous hope. The Vulture from that chasm Had fled, perchance accustom'd in the cave To seek his banquet, and by living feet Alarm'd:-there was an entrance then below; And were it possible that she could save The Stranger's child,-Oh what a joy it were To tell Lincoya that!
It was a thought Which made her heart with terror and delight Throb audibly. From crag to crag she past Descending, and beheld a narrow cave Enter the hill. A little way the light
Fell, but its feeble glimmering she herself Obstructed half, as stooping in she went.
The arch grew loftier, and the increasing gloom Filled her with more affright; and now she paused; For at a sudden and abrupt descent
She stood, and feared its unseen depth; her heart Failed, and she back had hastened; but the cry Reached her again, the near and certain cry
Of that most pitiable innocent.
Again adown the dark descent she looked, Straining her eyes; by this the strengthened sight Had grown adapted to the gloom around, And her dilated pupils now received
Dim sense of objects near. Something below, White, in the darkness lay: it marked the depth. Still Coatel stood dubious; but she heard The wailing of the child, and his loud sobs;- Then, clinging to the rock, with fearful hands, Her feet explored below, and twice she felt Firm footing, ere her fearful hold relaxed. The sound she made, along the hollow rock Ran echoing. Hoel heard it, and he came Groping along the side. A dim, dim light Broke on the darkness of his sepulchre; .
A human form drew near him ;-he sprang on, Screaming with joy, and clung to Coatel, And cried, O take me from this dismal place! She answered not; she understood him not; But clasped the little victim to her breast, And shed delightful tears.
But from that den Of darkness and of horror, Coatel Durst not convey the child, though in her heart There was a female tenderness which yearned, Even with maternal love, to cherish him. She hushed his clamours, fearful lest the sound Might reach some other ear; she kissed away The tears that streamed adown his little cheeks; She gave him food which in the morn she brought, For her own wants from Aztlan. Some few words Of Britain's ancient language she had learnt From her Lincoya, in those happy days
Of peace, when Aztlan was the Stranger's friend : Aptly she learnt, what willingly he taught,
Stoop'd for the flowers, and heard, or thought she heard, Terms of endearment, and the parting words
WHO comes to Aztlan, bounding like a deer Along the plain?—The herald of success; For lo! his locks are braided, and his loins Cinctured with white; and see, he lifts the shield, And brandishes the sword. The populace Flock round, impatient for the tale of joy, And follow to the palace in his path. Joy! joy! the Tiger hath achieved his quest! They bring a captive home!-Triumphantly Coanocotzin and his Chiefs go forth
To greet the youth triumphant, and receive The victim whom the gracious gods have given, Sure omen and first fruits of victory. A woman leads the train, young, beautiful,- More beautiful for that translucent joy
Flushing her cheek, and sparkling in her eye;- Her hair is twined with festal flowers, her robe With flowing wreaths adorned; she holds a child, He, too, bedecked and garlanded with flowers, And, lifting him, with agile force of arm, In graceful action, to harmonious step Accordant, leads the dance. It is the wife Of Tlalala, who, with his child, goes forth To meet her hero husband.
The Tiger comes! and ere the shouts and sounds of gratulation cease, his followers bear The captive Prince. At that so welcome sight Loud rose the glad acclaim; nor knew they yet That he who there lay patient in his bonds, Expecting the inevitable lot,
Was Madoc. Patient in his bonds he lay, Exhausted with vain efforts, desperate now, And silently resigned. But when the King Approached the prisoner, and beheld his face, And knew the Chief of Strangers, at that sound Electric joy shot through the multitude, And, like the raging of the hurricane,
Their thundering transports pealed. A deeper joy, A nobler triumph kindled Tlalala,
As, limb by limb, his eye surveyed the Prince, With a calm fierceness. And by this the Priests Approached their victim, clad in vestments white Of sacrifice, which from the shoulders fell, As from the breast unbending, broad and straight Leaving their black arms bare. The blood-red robe, The turquoise pendant from his down-drawn lip, The crown of glossy plumage, whose green hue Vied with his emerald ear-drops, marked their Chief, Tezozomoc: his thin and ghastly cheek,
Which, save the temple serpents, 47 when he brought Their human banquet,―never living eye Rejoiced to see, became more ghastly now,
As, in Mexitli's name, upon the Prince
He laid his murtherous hand. But as he spake, Updarted Tlalala his eagle glance
Away! away! he shall not perish so!
The warrior cried-Not tamely, by the knife, Nor on the jasper-stone, his blood shall flow! The Gods of Aztlan love a Warrior Priest! I am their Priest to-day!
Ran through the train; nor waited he to hear Denial thence; but on the multitude Aloud he called-When first our fathers seized This land, there was a savage Chief who stopt Their progress. He had gained the rank he bore, By long probation: stripes, which laid his flesh All bleeding bare, had forced not one complaint; Not, when the working bowels might be seen, One movement: hand-bound, he had been confined Where myriad insects on his nakedness Infixed their venomous anger, and no start, No shudder, shook his frame : 48 last, in a net Suspended, he had felt the agony
Of fire, which to his bones and marrow pierced, And breathed the suffocating smoke which filled His lungs with fire, without a groan, a breath, A look betokening sense; so gallantly Had he subdued his nature. This brave man Met Aztlan in the war, and put her Chiefs To shame. Our Elders have not yet forgot How from the slaughtered brother of their King He stript the skin, and formed of it a drum, Whose sound affrighted armies.49 With this man My father coped in battle; here he led him, An offering to the God; and, man to man, He slew him here in fight. I was a child, father's shield;
Just old enough to lift my
But I remember, on that glorious day, When from the sacred combat he returned, His red hands reeking with the hot heart's blood, How in his arms he took me, and besought The God whom he had served, to bless his boy, And make me like my father. Men of Aztlan! Mexitli heard his prayer!-Here I have brought The Stranger-Chief, the noblest sacrifice That ever graced the altar of the God; Let then his death be noble! so my boy Shall, in the day of battle, think of me; And as I followed my brave father's steps, Pursue my path of glory.
Ere the Priest Could frame denial, had the Monarch's look Bespake assent.-Refuse not this, he cried, O servant of the Gods! He hath not here His arms to save him; and the Tiger's strength Yields to no mortal might. Then for his sword He called, and bade Yuhidthiton address The Stranger-Chief.
The Gods of Aztlan triumph, and thy blood Must wet their altars. Prince, thou shalt not die The coward's death; but, sworded, and in fight, Fall as becomes the valiant. Should thine arm Subdue in battle six successive foes,
| Life, liberty, and glory, will repay The noble conquest. 50 Madoc, hope not this! Strong are the brave of Aztlan!
Then they loosed The Ocean Chieftain's bonds; they rent away llis garments; and, with songs and shouts of joy, They led him to the Stone of Sacrifice.
Round was that Stone of blood! the half-raised arm Of one of manly growth, who stood below, Might rest upon its height; the circle small, An active boy might almost bound across. Nor needed, for the combat, ampler space; For in the centre was the prisoner's foot Fast fettered down. Thus fettered Madoc stood. He held a buckler, light and small, of cane O'erlaid with beaten gold; his sword the King, Honouring a noble enemy, had given, A weapon tried in war,—to Madoc's grasp Strange and unwieldy: 't was a broad strong staff, Set thick with transverse stones, on either side Keen-edged as Syrian steel. But when he felt The weapon, Madoc called to mind his deeds Done on the Saxon in his father's land,
And hope arose within him. Nor though now Naked he stood, did fear, for that, assail His steady heart; for often had he seen His gallant countrymen, with naked breasts, Rush on their iron-coated enemy, 51
Arrayed himself for battle.
A gipion, quilted close of gossampine; O'er that a jointed mail of plates of gold, Bespotted like the tyger's speckled pride, To speak his rank; it clad his arms half-way, Half-way his thighs; but cuishes had he none, Nor gauntlets, nor feet-armour. On his helm There yawned the semblance of a tiger's head, The long white teeth extended, as for prey; Proud crest, to blazon his proud title forth. And now toward the fatal stage, equipped For war, he went; when, from the press behind, A warrior's voice was heard, and clad in arms, And shaking in his angry grasp the sword, Ocellopan rushed on, and called aloud On Tlalala, and claimed the holy fight. The Tiger, heedless of his clamour, sprung Upon the stone, and turned him to the war. Fierce leaping forward came Oceilopan, And bounded up the ascent, and seized his arm :- Why wouldst thou rob me of a deed like this? Equal our peril in the enterprise,
Equal our merit;-thou wouldst reap alone The guerdon! Never shall my children lift Their little hands at thee, and say, Lo! there The Chief who slew the White King!-Tlalala, Trust to the lot, or turn on me, and prove, By the best chance to which the brave appeal, Who best deserves this glory!
Stung by wrath, The Tiger answered not; he raised his sword, And they had rushed to battle; but the Priests Came hastening up, and by their common Gods, And by their common country, bade them cease Their impious strife, and let the lot decide From whom Mexitli should that day receive Ilis noble victim. Both unsatisfied,
But both obedient, heard. Two equal shafts, As outwardly they seemed, the Paba brought;
His mantle hid their points; and Tlalala Drew forth the broken stave. A bitter smile Darkened his check, as angrily he cast To earth the hostile lot.-Shedder of Blood, Thine is the first adventure! he exclaimed; But thou mayest perish here!-and in his heart, The Tiger hoped Ocellopan might fall,
As sullenly retiring from the stage,
He mingled with the crowd.
In battle, on the Stone of Sacrifice, Prince Madoc and the Life-Destroyer stood. This clad in arms complete, free to advance In quick assault, or shun the threatened blow, Wielding his wonted sword; the other, stript, Save of that fragile shield, of all defence; His weapon strange and cumbrous; and pinned down, Disabled from all onset, all retreat.
With looks of greedy joy, Ocellopan
Surveyed his foe, and wondered to behold The breast so broad, the bare and brawny limbs, Of matchless strength. The eye of Madoc, too, Dwelt on his foe; his countenance was calm, Something more pale than wonted; like a man Prepared to meet his death. The Azteca Fiercely began the fight; now here, now there, Aright, aleft, above, below, he wheeled The rapid sword: still Madoc's rapid eye Pursued the motion, and his ready shield, In prompt interposition, caught the blow, Or turned its edge aside. Nor did the Prince Yet aim the sword to wound, but held it forth, Another shield, to save him, till his hand, Familiar with its weight and shape uncouth, Might wield it well to vengeance. Thus he stood, Baffling the impatient enemy, who now Waxed wrathful, thus to waste in idle strokes, Reiterate so oft his bootless strength.
And now yet more exasperate he grew; For, from the eager multitude, was heard,
Amid the din of undistinguished sounds,
The Tiger's murmured name, as though they thought. Had he been on the stone, ere this, be sure, The Gods had tasted of their sacrifice, Now all too long delayed. Then fiercelier, And yet more rapidly, he drove the sword; But still the wary Prince or met its fall,
And broke the force, or bent him from the blow; And now retiring, and advancing now,
As one free foot permitted, still provoked, And baffled still the savage; and sometimes, With cautious strength did Madoc aim attack, Mastering each moment now with abler sway The acquainted sword. But, though as yet unharmed In life or limb, more perilous the strife Grew momently; for, with repeated strokes, Battered and broken now, the shield hung loose; And shouts of triumph from the multitude Arose, as, piece-meal, they beheld it fall, And saw the Prince exposed.
That welcome sight, Those welcome sounds, inspired Ocellopan; He felt each limb new-strung. Impatient now Of conquest long delayed, with wilder rage Ile drives the weapon; Madoc's lifted sword
Received its edge, and shivered with the blow. A shriek of transport burst from all around; For lo! the White King, shieldless, weaponless, Naked before his foe! That savage foe, Dallying with the delight of victory, Drew back a moment to enjoy the sight, Then yelled in triumph, and sprang on to give The consummating blow. Madoc beheld The coming death; he darted up his hand Instinctively to save, and caught the wrist In its mid fall, and drove with desperate force The splintered truncheon of his broken sword Full in the enemy's face. Beneath his eye It broke its way, and where the nasal nerves Branch in fine fibrils o'er their mazy seat, Burst through, and slanting upward in the brain Buried its jagged point.
Stood at his fall astonished, at escape Unhoped, and strange success. The multitude Beheld, and they were silent, and they stood Gazing in terror. But far other thoughts Rose in the Tiger's heart; it was a joy To Tlalala; and forth he sprung, and up The Stone of Sacrifice, and called aloud
To bring the Prince another sword and shield, For his last strife. Then in that interval, Upon Ocellopan he fixed his eyes, Contemplating the dead, as though thereby To kindle in his heart a fiercer thirst For vengeance. Nor to Madoc was the sting Of anger wanting, when, in Tlalala, He knew the captive whom his mercy freed, The man whose ambush had that day destroyed Young Hoel and himself;-for, sure, he deemed Young Hoel was with God, and he himself At his death-day arrived. And now he graspt A second sword, and held again the shield; And from the Stone of Blood Ocellopan Was borne away; and, fresh in arms, and fierce With all that makes a savage thirst for war, Hope, vengeance, courage, superstitious hate, A second foe came on. By this the Prince Could wield his weapon well; and dreading now Lest, in protracted combat, he should stand Again defenceless, he put forth his strength, As oft assailing as assailed, and watched So well the Tiger's motions, and received The Tiger's blows so warily, and aimed His own so fierce and fast, that in the crowd Doubt and alarm prevailed. Flanquel grew Pale at her husband's danger; and she clasped The infant to her breast, whom late she held On high, to see his victory. The throng Of the beholders silently looked on; And in their silence might at times be heard An indrawn breath of terror; and the Priests Angrily murmured, that in evil hour, Coanocotzin had indulged the pride Of vaunting valour, and from certain death Reprieved the foe.
But now a murmur rose Amid the multitude; and they who stood So thickly thronged, and with such eager eyes Late watched the fight, hastily now broke up, And with disordered speed and sudden arms,
Ran to the city gates. More eager now, Conscious of what had chanced, fought Tlalala; And hope invigorated Madoc's heart; For well he weened Cadwallon was at hand, Leading his gallant friends. Aright he weened; At hand Cadwallon was! His gallant friends Came from the mountains with impetuous speed, To save or to revenge. Nor long endured The combat now: the Priests ascend the stone, And bid the Tiger hasten to defend
His country and his Gods; and, hand and foot, Binding the captive Prince, they bear him thence And lay him in the temple. Then his heart Resigned itself to death, and Madoc thought Of Llaian and Goervyl; and he felt That death was dreadful. But not so the King Permitted; but not so had Heaven decreed; For noble was the King of Aztlan's heart, And pure his tongue from falsehood: he had said, That by the warrior's death should Madoc die; Nor dared the Pabas violently break The irrevocable word. There Madoc lay In solitude; the distant battle reached His ear; inactive and in bonds he lay, Expecting the dread issue, and almost Wished for the perils of the fight again.
Nor unprepared Cadwallon found the sons Of Aztlan, nor defenceless were her walls; But when the Britons' distant march was seen, A ready army issued from her gates, And dight themselves to battle: these the King Coanocotzin had, with timely care,
And provident for danger, thus arrayed. Forth issuing from the gates, they met the foe, And with the sound of sonorous instruments, And with their shouts and screams and yells, drove back The Britons' fainter war-cry, 52 as the swell
Of ocean, flowing onward, up its course Forces the river-stream. Their darts and stones
Fell like the rain-drops of the summer-shower,
So fast; and on the helmet and the shield, On the strong corselet and the netted mail, So innocent they fell. But not in vain The bowmen of Deheubarth sent, that day, Their iron bolts abroad; those winged deaths Descended on the naked multitude,
And through the chieftain's quilted gossampine, Through feathery breastplate and effulgent gold, They reached the life.
But soon no interval For archer's art was left, nor scope for flight Of stone from whirling sling: both hosts, alike Impatient for the proof of war, press on; The Aztecas, to shun the arrowy storm, The Cymry, to release their Lord, or heap Aztlan in ruins, for his monument.
Spear against spear, and shield to shield, and breast To breast they met; equal in force of limb And strength of heart, in resolute resolve, And stubborn effort of determined wrath:
The few, advantaged by their iron mail; The weaklier armed, of near retreat assured And succour close at hand, in tenfold troops Their foemen overnumbering. And of all That mighty multitude, did every man Of either host, alike inspired by all That stings to will and strengthens to perform, Then put forth all his power; for well they knew Aztlan that day must triumph or must fall. Then sword and mace on helin and buckler rang, And hurtling javelins whirred along the sky. Nor when they hurled the javelin, did the sons Of Aztlan, prodigal of weapons, loose The lance, to serve them for no second stroke; A line of ample measure still retained
The missile shaft; 53 and when its blow was spent, Swiftly the dexterous spearman coiled the string, And sped again the artificer of death. Rattling, like summer hailstones, they descend, But from the Britons' iron panoply, Baffled and blunted, fell; nor more availed The stony falchion there, whose broken edge Inflicts no second wound; nor profited, On the strong buckler or the crested helm, The knotty club; though fast, in blinding showers, Those javelins fly, those heavy weapons fall With stunning weight. Meantime, with wonted strength The men of Gwyneth through their fenceless foes Those lances thrust, whose terrors had so oft Affrayed the Saxons, and whose home-driven points So oft had pierced the Normen's knightly arms. Little did then his pomp of plumes bestead The Azteca, or glittering pride of gold, Against the tempered sword; little his casque, Gay with its feathery coronal, or drest In graven terrors, when the Briton's hand
Drove in through helm and head the spiked mace;
Or swung its iron weights with shattering sway,
Your brethren who have fallen! already they Have joined the company of blessed souls; Already they, with song and harmony, And in the dance of beauty, are gone forth, To follow down his western path of light Yon Sun, the Prince of Glory, from the world Retiring, to the palace of his rest.
Oh, happy they, who for their country's cause, And for their Gods, shall die the brave man's death! Them will their country consecrate with praise! Them will the Gods reward!-They heard the Priests, Intoxicate, and from the gate swarmed out, Tumultuous to the fight of martyrdom. But when Cadwallon every moment saw The enemies increase, and with what rage Of drunken valour to the fight they rushed, He, against that impetuous attack,
As best he could, providing, formed the troops Of Britain into one collected mass:
Three equal sides it offered to the foe, Close and compact; no multitude could break The condensed strength: its narrow point prest on, Entering the throng's resistance, like a wedge, Still from behind impelled. So thought the Chief Likeliest the gates of Aztlan might be gained, And Hoel and the Prince preserved, if yet They were among mankind. Nor could the force Of hostile thousands break that strength condensed, Against whose iron sides the stream of war Rolled unavailing, as the ocean waves, Which idly round some insulated rock
Foam furious, warning with their silvery smoke The mariner far off. Nor could the point Of that compacted body, though it bore Right on the foe, and with united force Pressed on to enter, through the multitude Win now its difficult way; as where the sea Pours through some strait its violent waters, swoln,
Which, where they fell, destroyed. Beneath those arms By inland fresh, vainly the oarmen there
The men of Aztlan sunk; and whoso dropt Dead or disabled, him his comrades bore
Away with instant caution, lest the sight
Of those whom they had slaughtered might inspire The foe with hope and courage. Fast they fell, And fast were resupplied, man after man Succeeding to the death. Nor in the town Did now the sight of their slain countrymen, Momently carried in and piled in heaps,
Create one thought of fear. Hark! through the streets Of Aztlan, how from house to house, and tower
To tower, reiterate, Paynalton's 54 name
Calls all her sons to battle! at whose name
All must go forth, and follow to the field
The Leader of the Armies of the Gods, Whom, in his unseen power, Mexitli now Sends out to lead his people. They, in crowds, Throng for their weapons to the House of Arms, 55 Reneath their guardian Deity preserved, Through years of peace; and there the Pabas stood Within the temple-court, and dealt around The ablution of the Stone of Sacrifice, 56 Bidding them, with the holy beverage, Imbibe diviner valour, strength of arm Not to be wearied, hope of victory,
And certain faith of endless joy in Heaven, Their sure reward.-Oh! happy, cried the Priests,
With all their weight and strength essay to drive Their galley through the pass, the stress and strain Availing scarce to stem the impetuous stream.
And hark! above the deafening din of fight Another shout, heard like the thunder-peal Amid the war of winds! Lincoya comes, Leading the mountain-dwellers. From the shock Aztlan recoiled. And now a second troop Of Britons to the town advanced, for war Impatient and revenge. Cadwallon these, With tidings of their gallant Prince enthralled, Had summoned from the ships. That dreadful tale Roused them to fury. Not a man was left
To guard the fleet; for who could have endured That idle duty? who could have endured The long, inactive, miserable hours, And hope and expectation and the rage Of maddening anguish? Ririd led them on; In whom a brother's love had called not up More spirit-stirring pain, than trembled now In every British heart; so dear to all Was Madoc. On they came; and Aztlan then Had fled appalled; but in that dangerous hour Her faith preserved her. From the gate her Priests Rushed desperate out, and to the foremost rank Forced their wild way, and fought with martyr zeal.
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