It was a face whose settled sullenness
No gentle feeling ever had disturb'd;
Which, when he probed a victim's living breast,
Retained its hard composure.

Such was he
Who took the son of Llaian, heeding not
His cries, and screams, and arms in suppliant guise
Stretch'd out to all around, and strugglings vain.
He to the Temple of the Water-God
Convey'd his victim. By the threshold, there
The ministering Virgins stood, a comely band
Of high-born damsels, to the temple rites
By pious parents vow'd. Gladly to them
The little Hoel leap'd; their gentle looks
No fear excited; and he gazed around,
Pleased and surprised, unconscious to what end
These things were tending. O'er the rush-strown
floor

They to the azure Idol led the boy,

Now not reluctant, and they raised the hymn.

God of the Waters! at whose will the streams
Flow in their wonted channel, and diffuse
Their plenty round, the blood and life of earth;
At whose command they swell, and o'er their
banks

Burst with resistless ruin, making vain
The toils and hopes of man,- behold this child!
O strong to bless, and mighty to destroy,
Tlaloc! behold thy victim! so mayst thou
Restrain the peaceful streams within their banks,
And bless the labors of the husbandman.

God of the Mountains! at whose will the clouds Cluster around the heights; who sendest them To shed their fertilizing showers, and raise The drooping herb, and o'er the thirsty vale

;

Now from the rush-strown temple they depart.
They place their smiling victim in a car,
Upon whose sides of pearly shell there play'd,
Shading and shifting still, the rainbow light.
On virgin shoulders is he borne aloft,
With dance before, and song and music round
And thus they seek, in festival array,
The water-side. There lies the sacred bark,
All gay with gold, and garlanded with flowers:
The virgins with the joyous boy embark;
Ten boatmen urge them on; the Priests behind
Follow, and all the long solemnity.

The lake is overspread with boats; the sun
Shines on the gilded prows, the feathery crowns,
The sparkling waves. Green islets float along,
Where high-born damsels, under jasmine bowers,
Raise the sweet voice, to which the echoing oars,
In modulated motion, rise and fall.
The moving multitude along the shore
Flows like a stream; bright shines the unclouded
sky;

Heaven, earth, and waters wear one face of joy.
Young Hoel with delight beholds the pomp;
His heart throbs joyfully; and if he thinks
Upon his mother now, 'tis but to think
How beautiful a tale for her glad ear
He hath when he returns. Meantime the maids
Weave garlands for his head, and raise the song.

Amid the central darkness of the earth,

speaks;

Whose bow of anger shoots the lightning shafts,
To blast the works of man;-behold this child!
O strong to bless, and mighty to destroy,
Tlaloc! behold thy victim! so mayst thou
Lay by the fiery arrows of thy rage,
And bid the genial rains and dews descend.

O thou, Companion of the powerful God, Companion and Beloved!- when he treads The mountain-top, whose breath diffuses round The sweets of summer; when he rides the waves, Whose presence is the sunshine and the calm,— Aiauh, O green-robed Goddess, see this child! Behold thy victim! so mayst thou appease The sterner mind of Tlaloc when he frowns, And Aztlan flourish in thy fostering smile. Young Spirits! ye whom Aztlan's piety Hath given to Tlaloc, to enjoy with him, For aye, the cool delights of Tlalocan, Young Spirits of the happy; who have left Your Heaven to-day, unseen assistants here, Behold your comrade! see the chosen child, Who through the lonely cave of death must pass, Like you, to join you in eternal joy.

Dead to all objects of eye, ear, or sense,
In the long horrors of one endless night,
With endless being curs'd. For thee the bowers
Of Tlalocan have blossom'd with new sweets;
For thee have its immortal trees matured
The fruits of Heaven; thy comrades even now
Wait thee, impatient, in their fields of bliss;
The God will welcome thee, his chosen child,
And Aiauh love thee with a mother's love.
Child of the Stranger, dreary thy way!
Darkness and Famine through the cave of Death
Must guide thee. Happy thou, when on that night
The morning of the eternal day shall dawn.

So as they sung young Hoel's song of death, With rapid strength the boatmen plied their oars, And through the water swift they glided on; And now to shore they drew. The stately bank Rose with the majesty of woods o'erhung, And rocks, or peering through the forest shade, Or rising from the lake, and with their bulk Glassing its dark, deep waters. Half way up, A cavern pierced the rock; no human foot Had trod its depths, nor ever sunbeam reach'd Its long recesses and mysterious gloom;

To Tlaloc it was hallowed; and the stone,
Which closed its entrance, never was removed,
Save when the yearly festival return'd,
And in its womb a child was sepulchred,
The living victim. Up the winding path,
That to the entrance of the cavern led,
With many a painful step the train ascend:
But many a time, upon that long ascent,
Young Hoel would have paused, with weariness
Exhausted now. They urge him on,-poor child!
They urge him on ! Where is Cadwallon's aid?
Where is the sword of Ririd? where the arm
Of Madoc now? -Oh! better had he lived,
Unknowing and unknown, on Arvon's plain,
And trod upon his noble father's grave,

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 see 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
[heard,
Stoop'd for the flowers, and heard, or thought she
A feeble sound below. She raised her head,
And anxiously she listen'd for the sound,
Not without fear. Feebly again, and like

reach'd

The cavern now, and from its mouth the Priests
Roll the huge portal. Thitherward they force
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!

XIII. COATEL.

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. 'Twas 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 Tiger 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 actual fate. She thought of this, and bow'd
Her face upon her knees, and closed her eyes,

Perhaps it was the voice of that poor child,
By the slow pain of hunger doom'd to die.
She shudder'd at the thought, and breathed a groan
Of unavailing pity; - but the sound
Came nearer, and her trembling heart conceived
A dangerous hope. The Vulture from that chasm
Had fled, perchance accustomed 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
Fill'd her with more affright; and now she paused;
For at a sudden and abrupt descent

She stood, and fear'd its unseen depth; her heart
Fail'd, and she back had hasten'd; but the cry
Reach'd her again, the near and certain cry
Of that most pitiable innocent.

Again adown the dark descent she look'd,
Straining her eyes; by this the strengthen'd 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 mark'd 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 relax'd.
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, Oh, take me from this dismal place!
She answer'd not; she understood him not;
But clasp'd the little victim to her breast,
And shed delightful tears.

But from that den
Of darkness and of horror, Coatel

But when she arose,

And would have climb'd the ascent, the affrighted boy

Fast held her, and his tears interpreted

The prayer to leave him not. Again she kiss'd
His tears away; again of soon return
Assured and soothed him; till reluctantly
And weeping, but in silence, he unloosed
His grasp; and up the difficult ascent
Coatel climb'd, and to the light of day
Returning, with her flowers she hasten'd home.

XIV.

THE STONE OF SACRIFICE.
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 adorn'd; she holds a child,
He, too, bedeck'd 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.

And behold,

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, hopeless now,
And silently resign'd. But when the King
Approach'd 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 peal'd. A deeper joy,
A nobler triumph, kindled Tlalala,

As, limb by limb, his eye survey'd the Prince,
With a calm fierceness. And, by this, the Priests
Approach'd 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 pendent from his down-drawn lip,
The crown of glossy plumage, whose green hue
Vied with his emerald ear-drops, mark'd their
Chief,

Tezozomoc: his thin and ghastly cheek, Which save the temple serpents, 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,
Up darted 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!

A murmuring

Ran through the train; nor waited he to hear
Denial thence; but on the multitude
Aloud he call'd: - When first our fathers seized
This land, there was a savage chief who stopp'd
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 con-
fined

Where myriad insects on his nakedness
Infix'd their venomous anger, and no start,
No shudder, shook his frame; 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 fill'd
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 stripp'd the skin, and formed of it a drum,
Whose sound affrighted armies. 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,
Just old enough to lift my father's shield;