Through many a branching channel, wide and full,
Rush'd to the main. The gale was strong; and safe,
Amid the uproar of conflicting tides,
Our gallant vessels rode. A stream as broad
And turbid, when it leaves the Land of Hills,
Old Severn rolls; but banks so fair as these
Old Severn views not in his Land of Hills,
Nor even where his turbid waters swell,
And sully the salt sea.
By shores now cover'd with impervious woods,
Now stretching wide and low, a reedy waste,
And now through vales where earth profusely
pour'd
Her treasures, gather'd from the first of days.
Sometimes a savage tribe would welcome us,
By wonder from their lethargy of life
Awaken'd; then again we voyaged on
Through tracts all desolate, for days and days,
League after league, one green and fertile mead,
That fed a thousand herds.
Rose on our view, of mount on mountain piled,
Which when I see again in memory,
Star-gazing Idris's stupendous seat [haunts,
Seems dwarf'd, and Snowdon, with its eagle
Shrinks, and is 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 reach'd 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 dwellings stood, The Stranger's House. They eyed us wondering; Yet not for wonder ceased they to observe Their hospitable rites; from hut to hut The tidings ran 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.
Ar morning their high-priest, Ayayaca,
Came with our guide: the venerable man
With reverential awe accosted us,
For we, he ween'd, were children of a race
Mightier than they, and wiser, and by Heaven
Beloved and favor'd more: 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,
Obey'd Erillyab. She, too, in her mind
Those recollections cherish'd, and such thoughts
As, though no hope allay'd their bitterness,
Gave to her eye a spirit and a strength,
And pride to features which belike had borne,
Had they been fashion'd by a happier fate,
Meaning more gentle and more womanly,
Yet not more worthy of esteem and love.
She sat upon the threshold of her hut;
For in the palace where her sires had reign'd
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, and his monument
There had his quiver moulder'd, his stone-axe
Had there grown green with moss, his bow-string
Sung as it cut the wind.
[there
She welcom'd 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
She let the tresses of her widowhood
[us
Grow wild, she could have given to guests like
A worthier welcome. Soon a man approach'd,
Hooded with sable, his half-naked limbs
Smear'd black: the people at his sight drew round,
The women wail'd and wept, the children turn'd
And hid their faces on their mothers' knees.
He to the Queen address'd his speech, then look'd
Around the children, and laid hands on two,
Of different sexes, but of age alike,
Some six years each, who at his touch shriek'd out.
But then Lincoya rose, and to my feet
Led them, and told me that the conquerors claim'd
These innocents for tribute; that the Priest
Would lay them on the altar of his god,
Pluck out their little hearts in sacrifice,
And with his brotherhood, in impious rites,
Feast on their flesh!— I shudder'd, and my hand
Instinctively unsheathed the avenging sword,
As he with passionate and eloquent signs,
Eye-speaking earnestness, and quivering lips,
Besought me to preserve himself, and those
Who now fell suppliant round me,-youths and
maids,
Gray-headed men, and mothers with their babes.
I caught the little victims up, I kiss'd
Their innocent cheeks, I raised my eyes to neaven,
I call'd 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.
Heaven heard the vow; the suppliant multitude
Saw what was stirring in my heart; 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 listen'd; now she rose, and to the Priest
Address'd her speech. Low was her voice and
As one who spake with effort to subdue
[calm,
Sorrow that struggled still; but while she spake,
Her features kindled to more majesty,
Her eye became more animate, her voice
Rose to the height of feeling; on her son
She call'd, 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 call'd his father's spirit to look on
And bless them to his vengeance.
The tribe stood listening as Erillyab spake;
The very Priest was awed: once he essayed
To answer; his tongue fail'd him, and his lip
Grew pale and fell. He to his countrymen,
Of rage, and shame, and wonder full, return'd,
Bearing no victims, for their shrines accurs'd,
But tidings that the Hoamen had cast off
Their vassalage, roused to desperate revolt
By men in hue, and speech, and garment strange,
Who, in their folly, dared defy the power
Of Aztlan.
When the King of Aztlan heard
The unlook'd-for tale, ere yet he roused his strength,
Or pitying our rash valor, or perhaps
Curious to see the man so bravely rash,
He sent to bid me to his court.
I should have given to him no credulous faith,
But fearlessly Erillyab bade me trust
Her honorable foe. Unarm'd I went,
Lincoya with me to exchange our speech
So as he could, of safety first assured;
For to their devilish idols he had been
A victim doomed, and, from the bloody rites
Flying, been carried captive far away.
From early morning till the midnoon hour We travell'd in the mountains; then a plain Open'd 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 embower'd, 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,
Aloft by human bearers was I borne ;
And through the city gate, and through long lines
Of marshall'd multitudes who throng'd the way,
We reach'd the palace court. Four priests were
there;
Each held a burning censer in his hand,
And strew'd the precious gum as I drew nigh,
And held the steaming fragrance forth to me,
Honoring me like a god. They led me in,
Where, on his throne, the royal Azteca
Coanocotzin sat. 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. 'Twas a huge, square hill,
Or rather like a rock it seemed, hewn out
And squared by patient labor. 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
Toil'd unremitting at the willing work
From morn till eve, all the long suminer day.
The ascent was lengthen'd 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 reach'd 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, ten Cities hear Its voice, 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 stirr'd my blood;
For on the summit where we stood, four Towers
Were piled with human skulls, and all around,
Long files of human heads were strung to parch
And battlements all burnish'd white, which shone And whiten in the sun. What then I felt
Like silver in the sunshine. I beheld
The imperial city, her far-circling walls,
Her garden groves and stately palaces,
Her temple's mountain-size, her thousand roofs;
And when I saw her might and majesty,
My mind misgave me then.
We reach'd the shore;
A floating islet waited for me there,
The beautiful work of man. I set my feet
Upon green-growing herbs and flowers, and sat
Embower'd 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.
Was more than natural courage-'twas a trust
In more than mortal strength -a faith in God —
Yea, inspiration from him!- I exclaimed,
Not though ten Cities ten times told obey'd
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-color 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 reach'd 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 travell'd 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 vanquish thee!
And thinkest thou our Gods are feeble? cried The King of Aztlan; thinkest thou they lack Power to defend their altars, and to keep
May it please Him to visit thee, and shed
His mercy on thy soul!- But if thy heart
Be harden'd to the proof, come when thou wilt!
I know thy power, and thou shalt then know mine.
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 counsel 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 saw'st 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 arm'd.
What for the sword they wielded was a staff
Set thick with stones athwart; you would have
deem'd
The uncouth shape was cumbrous; but a hand
Expert, and practised to its use, could drive
The sharpen'd flints with deadly impulse down.
Their mail, if mail it may be call'd, was woven
Of vegetable down, like finest flax,
The kingdom which they gave us strength to win? Bleach'd to the whiteness of the new-fallen snow,
The Gods of thirty nations have opposed
Their irresistible might, and they lie now
Conquer'd, and caged, and fetter'd at their feet.
That we who serve them are no coward race,
Let prove the ample realm we won in arms: —
And I their leader am not of the sons
Of the feeble! As he spake, he reach'd 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 pluck'd,
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!— 'Twas 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. There,
In very deed, the dead Tepollomi
Stood up against the wall, by devilish art
To every bend and motion flexible,
Light as a warrior's summer-garb in peace;
Yet in that lightest, softest, habergeon
Harmless the sharp stone arrow-head would hang.
Others, of higher office, were array'd
In feathery breastplates of more gorgeous hue
Than the gay plumage of the mountain cock,
Or pheasant's glittering pride. But what were
Or what the thin gold hauberk, when opposed
To arms like ours in battle? What the mail
Of wood fire-harden'd, 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,
Preserv'd; and from his black and shrivell'd hand So long inured to crouch beneath their yoke,
The steady lamp hung down.
My spirit rose
At that abomination; I exclaim'd,
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 know'st him not, is also thine,
And after death will be thy dreadful Judge,
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 havock.
O my son,
Exclaim'd 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 flint-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 ye thus obey
God's precepts.
Rebounded. He, contemptuous of their faith, Stoop'd for the shaft, and while with zealous speed To the rescue they rushed onward, snapping it Asunder, toss'd the fragments back in scorn.
Fierce was their onset; never in the field Encounter'd I with braver enemies. Nor marvel ye, nor think it to their shame, If soon they stagger'd, 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 spears
Pierced to the bone and vitals; when they saw The falchion, flashing late so lightning-like, Quench'd in their own life-blood. Our moun
Shower'd from the heights, meantime, an arrowy storm,
Soon the mountain tribes, in arms, Themselves secure; and we who bore the brunt Of battle, iron men, impassable,
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 station'd them
Where, at the entrance of the rocky straits,
Secure themselves, their arrows might command
The coming army. On the plain below
We took our stand, between the mountain-base
And the green margin of the waters.
Their long array came on. Oh, what a pomp,
And pride, and pageantry of war was there!
Not half so gaudied, for their May-day mirth,
All wreathed and ribanded, our youths and maids,
As these stern Aztecas in war attire!
The golden glitterance, and the feather mail,
More gay than glittering gold; and round the
helm
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And now the embattled armies stood: a band
Of priests, all sable-garmented, advanced;
They piled a heap of sedge before our host,
And warn'd us, Sons of Ocean! from the land
Of Aztlan, while ye may, depart in peace!
Before the fire shall be extinguish'd, hence!
Or, even as yon dry sedge amid the flame,
So
ye shall be consumed. - The arid heap
They kindled, and the rapid flame ran up,
And blazed, and died away. Then from his bow,
With steady hand, their chosen archer loosed
The Arrow of the Omen. To its mark
The shaft of divination fled; it smote
Cadwallon's plated breast; the brittle point
Stood in our strength unbroken. Marvel not
If then the brave felt fear, already impress'd
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 Aztlan; his long hair, Tufted with many a cotton lock, proclaim'd 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, Call'd on the people. — But when nought avail'd, Seizing the standard from the timid hand Which held it in dismay, alone he turn'd, For honorable 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 roll'd the tide of battle back. But when Cadwallon from the chieftain's grasp Had cut the standard-staff away, and stunn'd And stretch'd him at his mercy on the field; Then fled the enemy in utter rout, Broken and quell'd 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 pour'd 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,
They quell'd the venom of the malady,
And from the frame expell'd it, that a sleep
Fell on the King, a sweet and natural sleep,
And from its healing he awoke refresh'd,
Though weak, and joyful as 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 embower'd,
Yet stern and undismay'd. We bade them know Nor rich with towns and populous villages,
Ours was a law of mercy and of love;
We heal'd 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 unto 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.
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 pour'd 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 nursed 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 answer'd 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 Iolo 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;
Abounding, as thou seest, with life and joy :
Our fathers found bleak heath, and desert moor,
Wild 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 land 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!
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 say'st, 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 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 honors, 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 return'd,
Leading the honorable train who bore
The relics of the King; not parch'd 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 blanch'd
With decent reverence. Soon the mountaineers
Saw the white deer-skin shroud; the rumor
spread;
They gather'd round, and followed in our train.
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