![[ocr errors][merged small]](https://books.google.co.jp/books/content?id=9i4AAAAAYAAJ&hl=ja&output=html_text&pg=PA382&img=1&zoom=3&q=%22in+our+castle+of+Southampton,+the+5th+day+of+the+month+of+August.%22&cds=1&sig=ACfU3U0a_mJhWIjsJQYCD7NmD_x-O9QdeA&edge=0&edge=stretch&ci=88,143,445,95)
So saying, to the Oracle he turn'd,
Awaiting there the silence which implied
Peaceful assent. Against the eastern wall,
Fronting the narrow portal's winding way,
An Image stood. a cloak of fur disguised
The rude proportion of its uncouth limbs;
The skull of some old seer of days of old
Topp'd it, and with a visor this was mask'd,
Honoring the oracular Spirit, who at times
There took his resting-place. Ayayaca
Repeated, Brethren, is it well with ye?
And raised the visor. But he started back,
Appall'd and shuddering; for a moony light
Lay in its eyeless sockets, and there came
From its immovable and bony jaws
A long, deep groan, thrice utter'd, and thrice felt
In every heart of all the hearers round.
The good old Priest stood tottering, like a man
Stricken with palsy; and he gazed with eyes
Of asking horror round, as if he look'd
For counsel in that fear. But Neolin
Sprung boldly to the Oracle, and cried,
Speak, Spirit! tell us of our sin, and teach
The atonement! A sepulchral voice replied,
Ye have for other Gods forsaken us,
And we abandon you! - and crash with that,
The Image fell.
A loud and hideous shriek,
As of a demon, Neolin set up;
So wild a yell, that, even in that hour,
It brought fresh terror to the startled ear.
While yet they sat, pale and irresolute,
Helhua the Azteca came in. He bore
A shield and arrow, -symbols these of war,
Yet now beheld with hope, so great relief
They felt his human presence.
Curb thou thy traitorous tongue! The reign is mine;
I hold it from my father, he from his;
Age before age, beyond the memory
Of man it hath been thus. My father fell
In battle for his people, and his sons
Fell by his side; they perish'd, but their names
Are with the names we love, their happy souls
Pursue in fields of bliss the shadowy deer;
The spirit of that noble blood which ran
From their death-wounds, is in the ruddy clouds
Which go before the Sun, when he comes forth
In glory. Last of that illustrious race
Was I, Erillyab. Ye remember well,
Elders, that day when I assembled here
The people, and demanded at their choice
The worthiest, to perpetuate our old line
Of Kings and Warriors. To the wind he spread
His black and blood-red banner. Even now,
I hear his war-drum's tripled sound, that call'd
The youth to battle; even now behold
The hope which lit his dark and fiery eye,
And kindled with a sunnier glow his cheek,
As he from yonder war-pole, in his pride,
Took the death-doers down. - Lo, here the bones
Of King Tepollomi! - my husband's bones! —
There should be some among ye who beheld,
When, all with arrows quill'd, and clothed with
blood
As with a purple garment, he sustain'd
The unequal conflict, till the Aztecas
Took him at vantage, and their monarch's club Let loose his struggling soul. Look, Hoamen, here,
See through how wide a wound his spirit fled!
Twenty long years of mournful widowhood
Have past away; so long have I maintain'd
The little empire left us, loving well
My people, and by them as well beloved.
Say, Hoamen, am I still your Queen?
At once Hoamen, hear me! The whole assembly rose with one acclaim, — The messenger began; Erillyab, hear, Still, O Erillyab, O Beloved, rule Priests, Elders, People! but hear chiefly thou, Thy own beloved people! Prince Amalahta, as of these by birth, So now of years mature, the rightful Lord! Shall it be peace or war?- thus Aztlan saith; She, in her anger, from the land will root The Children of the Sea; but viewing you In mercy, to your former vassalage Invites ye, and remits the tribute lives, And for rebellion claimeth no revenge.
Oh, praise your Gods! cried Neolin, and hail This day-spring of new hope! Aztlan remits The tribute lives, — what more could Madoc give? She claimeth no revenge, and if she claimed, He could not save. O Hoamen, bless your Gods;
Appease them! Thou, Prince Amalahta, speak, And seize the mercy.
In act of speech; but then Erillyab rose, —
Who gives thee, Boy, this Elder's privilege?
The Queen exclaim'd; and thou, Priest Neolin,
But the Gods! Cried Amalahta,- but the Oracle! The Oracle quoth she; what hath it said That forty years of suffering hath not taught This wretched people? — They abandon us?So let them go! Where were they at that hour, When, like a blasting night-wind in the spring, The multitudes of Aztlan came upon us? Where were they when my father went to war? Where were they when thy father's stiffen'd corpse, Even after death a slave, held up the lamp To light his conqueror's revels?—Think not, Boy, To palter with me thus! A fire may tremble Within the sockets of a skull, and groans May issue from a dead man's fleshless jaws, And images may fall, and yet no God Be there! If it had walk'd abroad with life, That had indeed been something!
Then she turn'd Her voice toward the people. - Ye have heard This Priest of Aztlan, whose insidious tongue
Bids ye desert the Children of the Sea,
And vow again your former vassalage.
Speaks Aztlan of the former? O my people,
I, too, could tell ye of the former days,
When yonder plain was ours, with all its woods,
And waters, and savannahs!—of those days,
When, following where her husband's stronger
Had open'd the light glebe, the willing wife
Dropp'd in the yellow maize; erelong to bear
Its increase to the general store, and toss
Her flowing tresses in the dance of joy.
And I could tell ye how those summer stores
Were hoarded for the invader's winter feasts;
And how the widows clipp'd those flowing locks
To strew them, not upon their husband's
grave,
Their husbands had no graves! - but on the rocks
And mountains in their flight. And even these
rocks
And mountains could not save us! Year by year
Our babes, like firstlings of the flock, were cull'd
To be the banquet of these Aztecas!
This very wretch, who tells us of the past,
Hath chosen them for the butchery! - Oh, I thank
you
For this brave anger!-In your name I take
The war-gift!
Gods of Aztlan, Helhua cried,
As to Erillyab's ready hand he gave
The deadly symbol, in your name I give
The war-gift! Ye have thirsted over-long;
Take now your fill of blood! - He turn'd away,
And Queen Erillyab bade the tribe fulfil
Their customary rites.
Bore its own dead, and to the general grave,
With melancholy song and sob of woe,
The slow procession moves. The general grave
Was delved within a deep and shady dell,
Fronting a cavern in the rock,― the scene
Of many a bloody rite, ere Madoc came,-
A temple, as they deem'd, by Nature made,
Where the Snake-Idol stood. On fur and cloth
Of woven grass, they lay their burdens down,
Within the ample pit; their offerings range
Beside, and piously a portion take
Of that cold earth, to which forever now
And glanced his forky tongue. Who then had
The man, with what triumphant fearlessness,
Arms, thighs, and neck, and body, wreathed and
ring'd
In those tremendous folds, he stood secure,
Play'd with the reptile's jaws, and call'd for food,
Food for the present God! - who then had seen
The fiendish joy which fired his countenance,
Might well have ween'd that he had summoned up
The dreadful monster from its native Hell,
By devilish power, himself a Fiend inflesh'd.
Blood for the God! he cried; Lincoya's blood!
Friend of the Serpent's foe. - Lincoya's blood!
Cried Amalahta, and the people turn'd
Their eyes to seek the victim, as if each
Sought his own safety in that sacrifice.
Alone Erillyab raised her voice, confused,
But not confounded; she alone exclaim'd,
Madoc shall answer this! Unheard her voice
By the bewilder'd people, by the Priest
Unheeded; and Lincoya sure had fallen
The victim of their fear, had he been found
In that wild hour; but when his watchful eye
Beheld the Serpent from his den come forth,
He fled to bear the tidings. - Neolin
Repeats the accursed call, Food for the God!
Ayayaca, his unbelieving Priest!
At once all eager eyes were fix'd on him,
But he came forward calmly at the call;
Lo! here am I quoth he; and from his head
Plucking the thin gray hairs, he dealt them round-
Countrymen, kinsmen, brethren, children, take
These in remembrance of me! there will be
No relic of your aged Priest but this.
From manhood to old age, full threescore years,
Have I been your true servant: fit it is
That I, who witness'd Aztlan's first assault,
Should perish her last victim!—and he moved
Towards the death. But then Erillyab
Seized him, and by the garment drew him back!·
By the Great Spirit, but he shall not die!
The Queen exclaim'd; nor shalt thou triumph thus,
Liar and traitor! Hoamen, to your homes!
Madoc shall answer this!
They heard, and inobedient; to obey
Consign'd, they leave their fathers, dust to dust; Fearing, yet fearful to remain. Anon,
Sad relic that, and wise remembrancer.
The Queen repeats her bidding, To your homes,
My people! But when Neolin perceived
But as with bark and resinous boughs they pile The growing stir and motion of the crowd,
The sepulchre, suddenly Neolin
Sprung up aloft, and shriek'd, as one who treads
Upon a viper in his heedless path.
The God! the very God! he cried, and howl'd
One long, shrill, piercing, modulated cry;
Whereat from that dark temple issued forth
A Serpent, huge and hideous. On he came,
Straight to the sound, and curl'd around the Priest
His mighty folds innocuous, overtopping
His human height, and arching down his head,
Sought in the hands of Neolin for food;
As from the outward ring they moved away,
He utter'd a new cry, and disentangling
The passive reptile's folds, rush'd out among them,
With outstretch'd hands, like one possess'd, to seize
His victim. Then they fled; for who could tell
On whom the madman, in that hellish fit,
Might cast the lot? An eight-years' boy he seized,
And held him by the leg, and, whirling him
In ritual dance, till breath and sense were gone,
Set up the death-song of the sacrifice.
Amalahta, and what others rooted love
Then questing, rear'd, and stretch'd, and waved Of evil leagued with him, accomplices
In treason, join'd the death-song and the dance
Some, too, there were, believing what they fear'd, | Your Queen, and me, your friend; the solemn faith Who yielded to their old idolatry,
And mingled in the worship. Round and round The accursed minister of murder whirl'd
His senseless victim; they, too, round and round
In maddening motion, and with maddening cries
Revolving, whirl'd and wheel'd. At length, when
now,
According to old rites, he should have dash'd
On the stone Idol's head the wretch's brains,
Neolin stopp'd, and once again began
The long, shrill, piercing, modulated cry.
The Serpent knew the call, and, rolling on,
Wave above wave, his rising length, advanced
His open jaws: then, with the expected prey,
Glides to the dark recesses of his den.
MEANTIME Erillyab's messenger had girt
His loins, and, like a roebuck, o'er the hills
He sped. He met Cadwallon and the Prince
In arms, so quickly Madoc had obey'd
Lincoya's call; at noon he heard the call;
And still the sun was riding high in heaven,
When up the valley where the Hoamen dwelt
He led his twenty spears. O welcome, friend
And brother! cried the Queen. Even as thou
saidst,
So hath it proved; and those accursed schemes
Of treachery, which that wretched boy reveal'd
Under the influence of thy potent drink,
Have ripen'd to effect. From what a snare
The timely warning saved me! for, be sure,
What I had seen I else should have believed,
In utter fear confounded. The Great Spirit,
Who taught thee to foresee the evil thing,
Will give thee power to quell it.
On they went
Toward the dell, where now the Idolaters
Had built their dedicated fire, and still
With feast, and fits of song, and violent dance,
Pursued their rites. When Neolin perceived
The Prince approach, fearlessly he came forth,
And raised his arm, and cried, Strangers, away!
Away, profane! hence to your mother-land!
Hence to your waters; for the God is here; -
He came for blood, and he shall have his fill!
Impious, away!
Seize him exclaim'd the Prince;
Nor had he time for motion nor for flight,
So instantly was that command obey'd.
Hoamen, said Madoc, hear me !-I came here
Stranger alike to Aztlan and to you;
I found ye an oppress'd and wretched race,
Groaning beneath your chains; at your request,
For your deliverance, I unsheathed the sword,
Redeem'd ye from your bondage, and preserved
Your children from the slaughter. With those foes
Whose burden ye for forty years endured,
This traitor hath conspired, against yourselves,
Which in the face of yonder sun we pledged,
Each to the other, this perfidious man
Hath broken, and hath stain'd his hands this day
With innocent blood. Life must atone for life;
Ere I destroy the Serpent, whom his wiles
Have train'd so well, last victim, he shall glut
The monster's maw.
Strike, man! quoth Neolin.
This is my consummation! the reward
Of my true faith! the best that I could ask,
The best the God could give: - to rest in him,
Body with body be incorporate,
Soul into soul absorb'd, and I and He
One life, inseparable, for evermore.
Strike; I am weary of this mortal part;
Unite me to the God!
He spake; the assembled people, at his words,
With rising awe gazed on the miscreant;
Madoc himself, when now he would have given
The sign for death, in admiration paused;
Such power hath fortitude. And he perceived
The auspicious moment, and set up his cry.
Forth, from the dark recesses of the cave,
The Serpent came: the Hoamen at the sight
Shouted, and they who held the Priest, appall'd,
Relax'd their hold. On came the mighty Snake,
And twined, in many a wreath, round Neolin,
Darting aright, aleft, his sinuous neck,
With searching eye, and lifted jaw, and tongue
Quivering, and hiss as of a heavy shower
Upon the summer woods. The Britons stood
Astounded at the powerful reptile's bulk,
And that strange sight. His girth was as of man,
But easily could he have overtopp'd
Goliath's helmed head, or that huge King
Of Basan, hugest of the Anakim ·
What then was human strength, if once involved
Within those dreadful coils?- The multitude
Fell prone, and worshipp'd; pale Erillyab grew,
And turn'd upon the Prince a doubtful eye;
The Britons too were pale, albeit they held
Their spears protended; and they also look'd
On Madoc, who the while stood silently
Contemplating how wiseliest he might cope
With that surpassing strength.
But Neolin, Well hoping now success, when he had awed The general feeling thus, exclaim'd aloudBlood for the God! give him the Stranger's blood! Avenge him on his foes! And then, perchance, Terror had urged them to some desperate deed, Had Madoc ponder'd more, or paused in act One moment. From the sacrificial flames He snatch'd a firebrand, and with fire and sword, Rush'd at the monster; back the monster drew His head upraised recoiling, and the Prince Smote Neolin; all circled as he was, And clipp'd in his false Deity's embrace, Smote he the accursed Priest; the avenging sword Fell on his neck; through flesh and bone it drove Deep in the chest: the wretched criminal Totter'd, and those huge rings a moment held His bloody corpse upright, while Madoc struck
The Serpent: twice he struck him, and the sword | But at their bright and blazing light effray'd,
Glanced from the impenetrable scales; nor more
Avail'd its thrust, though driven by that strong arm;
For on the unyielding skin the temper'd blade
Bent. He sprung upward then, and in the eyes
Of the huge monster flashed the fiery brand.
Impatient of the smoke and burning, back
The reptile wreathed, and from his loosening clasp
Dropp'd the dead Neolin, and turn'd, and fled
To his dark den.
The Hoamen, at that sight,
Raised a loud wonder-cry, with one accord,
Great is the Son of Ocean, and his God
Is mightiest! But Erillyab silently
Approach'd the great Deliverer; her whole frame
Trembled with strong emotion, and she took
His hand, and gazed a moment earnestly,
Having no power of speech, till with a gush
Of tears her utterance came, and she exclaim'd,
Blessed art thou, my brother! for the power
Of God is in thee! - and she would have kissed
His hand in adoration; but he cried,
God is indeed with us, and in his name
Will we complete the work! - then to the cave
Advanced, and call'd for fire. Bring fire! quoth he;
By his own element this spawn of hell
Shall perish! and he enter'd, to explore
The cavern depths. Cadwallon follow'd him,
Bearing in either hand a flaming brand;
For sword or spear avail'd not.
Far in the hill,
Cave within cave, the ample grotto pierced,
Three chambers in the rock. Fit vestibule
The first to that wild temple, long and low,
Shut out the outward day. The second vault
Had its own daylight from a central chasm
High in the hollow; here the Image stood,
Their rude idolatry, -a sculptured snake,
If term of art may such misshapen form
Beseem,- around a human figure coil'd,
And all begrimed with blood. The inmost cell
Dark; and far up within its blackest depth
They saw the Serpent's still small eye of fire.
Not if they thinn'd the forest for their pile,
Could they, with flame or suffocating smoke,
Destroy him there; for through the open roof
The clouds would pass away. They paused not
long;
Drive him beneath the chasm, Cadwallon cried,
And hem him in with fire, and from above
We crush him.
Forth they went, and climb'd the hill
With all their people. Their united strength
Loosen'd the rocks, and ranged them round the
brink,
Impending. With Cadwallon on the height
Ten Britons wait; ten with the Prince descend,
And with a firebrand each in either hand,
Enter the outer cave. Madoc advanced,
And at the entrance of the inner den,
He took his stand alone. A bow he bore,
And arrows round whose heads dry tow was twined,
In pine-gum dipp'd; he kindled these, and shot
The fiery shafts. Upon the scaly skin,
As on a rock, the bone-tipp'd arrows fell,
Out rush'd the reptile. Madoc from his path
Retired against the side, and call'd his men,
And in they came, and circled round the Snake;
And shaking all their flames, as with a wheel
Of fire, they ring'd him in. From side to side
The monster turns! - where'er he turns, the flame
Flares in his nostrils and his blinking eyes;
Nor aught against the dreaded element
Did that brute force avail, which could have crush'd
Milo's young limbs, or Theban Hercules,
Or old Manoah's mightier son, ere yet
Shorn of his strength. They press him now, and
Give back, here urging, and here yielding way,
Till right beneath the chasm they centre him.
At once the crags are loosed, and down they fall
Thundering. They fell like thunder, but the crash
Of scale and bone was heard. In agony
The Serpent writhed beneath the blow; in vain,
From under the incumbent load essay'd
To drag his mangled folds. One heavier stone
Fasten'd and flatten'd him; yet still, with tail
Ten cubits long, he lash'd the air, and foined
From side to side, and raised his raging head
Above the height of man, though half his length
Lay mutilate. Who then had felt the force
Of that wild fury, little had to him
Buckler or corselet profited, or mail,
Or might of human arm. The Britons shrunk
Beyond its arc of motion; but the Prince
Took a long spear, and springing on the stone
Which fix'd the monster down, provoked his rage.
Uplifts the Snake his head retorted, high
He lifts it over Madoc, then darts down
To seize his prey. The Prince, with foot advanced,
Inclines his body back, and points the spear
With sure and certain aim, then drives it up,
Into his open jaws; two cubits deep
It pierced, the monster forcing on the wound.
He closed his teeth for anguish, and bit short
The ashen hilt. But not the rage which now
Clangs all his scales, can from its seat dislodge
The barbed shaft; nor those contortions wild,
Nor those convulsive shudderings, nor the throes
Which shake his inmost entrails, as with the air
In suffocating gulps the monster now
Inhales his own life-blood. The Prince descends;
He lifts another lance; and now the Snake,
Gasping, as if exhausted, on the ground
Reclines his head one moment. Madoc seized
That moment, planted in his eye the spear,
Then setting foot upon his neck, drove down
Through bone, and brain, and throat, and to the
earth
Infixed the mortal weapon. Yet once more
The Snake essay'd to rise; his dying strength
Fail'd him, nor longer did those mighty folds
Obey the moving impulse, crush'd and scotch'd;
In every ring, through all his mangled length,
The shrinking muscles quiver'd, then collapsed
In death.
Cadwallon and his comrades now
Enter the den; they roll away the crag
Which held him down, pluck out the mortal spear,
Then drag him forth to day; the force conjoin'd
Of all the Britons difficultly drag
His lifeless bulk. But when the Hoamen saw
That form portentous trailing in its gore,
The jaws, which, in the morning, they had seen
Purpled with human blood, now in their own
Blackening, - aknee they fell before the Prince,
And in adoring admiration raised
Their hands with one accord, and all in fear
Worshipped the mighty Deicide. But he,
Recoiling from those sinful honors, cried,
Drag out the Idol now, and heap the fire,
That all may be consumed!
Forth with they heap'd
The sacrificial fire, and on the pile
The Serpent, and the Image, and the corpse
Of Neolin were laid; with prompt supply
They feed the raging flames, hour after hour,
Till now the black and nauseous smoke is spent,
And mingled with the ruins of the pile,
The undistinguishable ashes lay.
Go! cried Prince Madoc, cast them in the stream,
And scatter them upon the winds, that so
No relic of this foul idolatry
Pollute the land. To-morrow meet me here,
Hoamen, and I will purify yon den
Of your abominations. Come ye here
With humble hearts; for ye, too, in the sight
Of the Great Spirit, the Beloved One,
![[blocks in formation]](https://books.google.co.jp/books/content?id=9i4AAAAAYAAJ&hl=ja&output=html_text&pg=PA386&img=1&zoom=3&q=%22in+our+castle+of+Southampton,+the+5th+day+of+the+month+of+August.%22&cds=1&sig=ACfU3U0eIFLZz2DBz_Hme-5QNoILg6SyfA&edge=0&edge=stretch&ci=513,142,417,251)
Hath ceased to flow; the side-wound streaming still;
And open still those eyes, from which the look
Not yet hath pass'd away, that went to Heaven,
When, in that hour, the Son of Man exclaim'd,
Forgive them, for they know not what they do!
And now arrived before the cave, the train
Halt to the assembled elders, where they sat
Ranged in half circle, Madoc then advanced,
And raised, as if in act to speak, his hand.
Thereat was every human sound suppress'd;
And every quicken'd ear and eager eye
Were centred on his lips.
The Prince began, Hoamen, friends, brethren, - friends we have been
And brethren shall be, ere the day go down,
Must be made pure, and cleansed from your I come not here propounding doubtful things
And take upon yourselves his holy law.
THE CONVERSION OF THE HOAMEN.
How beautiful, O Sun, is thine uprise,
And on how fair a scene! Before the Cave
The Elders of the Hoamen wait the will
Of their Deliverer; ranged without their ring
The tribe look on, thronging the narrow vale,
And what of gradual rise the shelving combe
Displayed, or steeper eminence of wood,
Broken with crags and sunny slope of green,
And grassy platform. With the Elders sat
The Queen and Prince, their rank's prerogative,
Excluded else for sex unfit, and youth
For counsel immature. Before the arch,
To that rude fane, rude portal, stands the Cross,
By Madoc's hand victorious planted there.
And lo, Prince Madoc comes! no longer mail'd
In arms of mortal might; the spear and sword,
The hauberk and the helmet laid aside,
Gorget and gauntlet, greaves and shield,
In peaceful tunic clad, and mantle long;
His hyacinthine locks now shadowing
That face, which late, with iron overbrow'd,
Struck from within the aventayle such awe
And terror to the heart. Bareheaded he,
Following the servant of the altar, leads
For counsel, and deliberate resolve
Of searching thought; but with authority
From Heaven, to give the law, and to enforce
Obedience. Ye shall worship God alone,
The One Eternal. That Beloved One
Ye shall not serve with offer'd fruits, or smoke
Of sacrificial fire, or blood, or life;
Far other sacrifice he claims,—a soul
Resign'd, a will subdued, a heart made clean
From all offence. Not for your lots on earth,
Menial or mighty, slave or highly-born,
For cunning in the chase, or strength in war,
Shall ye be judged hereafter;- - as ye keep
The law of love, as ye shall tame your wrath,
Forego revenge, forgive your enemies,
Do good to them that wrong ye, ye will find
Your bliss or bale. This law came down from
Lo, ye behold Him there by whom it came;
The Spirit was in Him, and for the sins
Of man He suffered thus, and by His death
Must all mankind be blest. Not knowing Him,
Ye wander'd on in error; knowing now,
And not obeying, what was error once
Is guilt and wilful wrong. If ever more
Ye bow to your false deities the knee;
he If ever more ye worship them with feast,
Or sacrifice, or dance; whoso offends
Shall from among the people be cut off,
Like a corrupted member, lest he taint
The whole with death. With what appointed
Your homage must be paid, ye shall be taught; Your children in the way that they shall go
|