That bloody office done, they gathered up
The ashes of the dead, and coffer'd them
Apart; the teeth with them, which unconsumed
Among the ashes lay, a single lock
Shorn from the corpse, and his lip-emerald,
Now held to be the Spirit's flawless heart,
In better worlds. The Priest then held on high
The little ark which shrined his last remains,
And call'd upon the people; - Aztecas,
This was your King, the bountiful, the brave,
Coanocotzin! Men of Aztlan, hold
His memory holy! learn from him to love
Your country and your Gods; for them to live
Like him, like him to die. So from yon Heaven,
Where in the Spring of Light his Spirit bathes,
Often shall he descend; hover above

On evening clouds, or plumed with rainbow wings,
Sip honey from the flowers, and warble joy.
Honor his memory! emulate his worth!
So saying, in the temple-tower he laid
The relics of the King.

These duties done,

The living claim their care. His birth, his deeds,
The general love, the general voice, have mark'd
Yuhidthiton for King. Bareheaded, bare
Of foot, of limb, scarfed only round the loins,
The Chieftain to Mexitli's temple moved,
And knelt before the God. Tezozomoc
King over Aztlan there anointed him,
And over him, from hallowed cedar-branch,
Sprinkled the holy water. Then the Priest
In a black garment robed him, figured white
With skulls and bones, a garb to emblem war,
Slaughter, and ruin, his imperial tasks.
Next in his hand the Priest a censer placed;
And while he knelt, directing to the God
The steaming incense, thus address'd the King:
Chosen by the people, by the Gods approved,
Swear to protect thy subjects, to maintain
The worship of thy fathers, to observe
Their laws, to make the Sun pursue his course,
The clouds descend in rain, the rivers hold
Their wonted channels, and the fruits of earth
To ripen in their season; Swear, O King!
And prosper, as thou holdest good thine oath.
He raised his voice, and swore. Then on his brow
Tezozomoc the crown of Aztlan placed;
And in the robe of emblem'd royalty,
Preceded by the golden wands of state,
Yuhidthiton went forth, anointed King.

XX.

THE DEATH OF COATEL.

WHEN now the multitude beheld their King,
In gratulations of reiterate joy

They shout his name, and bid him lead them on
To vengeance. But to answer that appeal
Tezozomoc advanced.-Oh! go not forth,
Cried the Chief Paba, till the land be purged
From her offence! No God will lead ye on,
While there is guilt in Aztlan. Let the Priests

Who from the ruined city have escaped, And all who in her temples have perform'd The ennobling service of her injured Gods, Gather together now.

He spake; the train Assembled, priests and matrons, youths and maids. Servants of Heaven! aloud the Arch-Priest began, The Gods had favor'd Aztlan; bound for death The White King lay: our countrymen were strong In battle, and the conquest had been ours, I speak not from myself, but as the Powers, Whose voice on earth I am, impel the truth,The conquest had been ours; but treason lurk'd In Aztlan, treason and foul sacrilege; And therefore were her children in the hour Of need abandon'd; therefore were her youth Cut down, her altars therefore overthrown. The White King, whom ye saw upon the Stone Of Sacrifice, and whom ye held in bonds, Stood in the foremost fight and slew your Lord. Not by a God, O Aztecas, enlarged Broke he his bondage! by a mortal hand, An impious, sacrilegious, traitorous hand, Your city was betray'd, your King was slain, Your shrines polluted. The insulted Power, He who is terrible, beheld the deed; And now he calls for vengeance.

Stern he spake,

And from Mexitli's altar bade the Priest
Bring forth the sacred water. In his hand
He took the vase, and held it up, and cried,
Accurs'd be he who did this deed! Accurs'd
The father who begat him, and the breast
At which he fed ! Death be his portion now,
Eternal infamy his lot on earth,

His doom eternal horrors! Let his name,
From sire to son, be in the people's mouth,
Through every generation! Let a curse
Of deep, and pious, and effectual hate,
Forever follow the detested name;
And every curse inflict upon his soul
A stab of mortal anguish.

The laden bisons winding down the way,
The multitude who now with joy forsook
Their desolated dwellings; and their talk
Was of the days of sorrow, when they groan'd
Beneath the intolerable yoke, till sent
By the Great Spirit o'er the pathless deep
Prince Madoc the Deliverer came to save.
As thus they communed, came a woman up,
Seeking Lincoya; 'twas Aculhua's slave,
The nurse of Coatel. Her wretched eye,
Her pale and livid countenance, foretold
Some tale of misery, and his life-blood ebb'd
In ominous fear. But when he heard her words
Of death, he seized the lance, and raised his arm
To strike the blow of comfort.

The old man

Caught his uplifted hand— O'erhasty boy, Quoth he, regain her yet, if she was dear! Seek thy beloved in the Land of Souls,

The miserable youth
Turned at his words a hesitating eye.

I knew a prisoner,- -so the old man pursued,
Or hoping to beguile the youth's despair
With tales that suited the despair of youth,
Or credulous himself of what he told,—
I knew a prisoner once who welcomed death
With merriment, and songs, and joy of heart,
Because, he said, the friends whom he loved best
Were gone before him to the Land of Souls;
Nor would they, to resume their mortal state,
Even when the Keeper of the Land allowed,
Forsake its pleasures; therefore he rejoiced
To die and join them there. I question'd him
How of these hidden things unknowable
So certainly he spake. The man replied,
One of our nation lost the maid he loved,
Nor would he bear his sorrow,- being one
Into whose heart fear never found a way,-
But to the Country of the Dead pursued
Her spirit. Many toils he underwent,
And many dangers gallantly surpass'd,
Till to the Country of the Dead he came.
Gently the Guardian of the Land received
The living suppliant; listen'd to his prayer,
And gave him back the Spirit of the Maid.
But from that happy country, from the songs
Of joyance, from the splendor-sparkling dance,
Unwillingly compell'd, the Maiden's Soul
Loathed to return; and he was warn'd to guard
The subtle captive well and warily,
Till, in her mortal tenement relodged,
Earthly delights might win her to remain
A sojourner on earth. Such lessoning
The Ruler of the Souls departed gave;

And mindful of his charge, the adventurer brought
His subtle captive home. There underneath
The shelder of a hut, his friends had watch'd
The Maiden's corpse, secured it from the sun,
And fann'd away the insect swarms of heaven.
A busy hand marr'd all the enterprise ;
Curious to see the Spirit, he unloosed

The knotted bag which held her, and she fled.

Had she put off her boy-habiliments,
Had told Goervyl all the history

Of her sad flight, and easy pardon gain'd

From that sweet heart, for guile which meant

no ill,

And secrecy, in shame too long maintain'd.
With her dear Lady now, at this still hour
Of evening is the seeming page gone forth,
Beside Caermadoc mere. They loitered on,
Along the windings of its grassy shore,
In such free interchange of inward thought
As the calm hour invited; or at times,
Willingly silent, listening to the bird
Whose one repeated melancholy note,
By oft repeating melancholy made,
Solicited the ear; or gladlier now
Hearkening that cheerful one, who knoweth all
The songs of all the winged choristers,
And in one sequence of melodious sounds
Pours all their music. But a wilder strain
At fits came o'er the water; rising now,
Now with a dying fall, in sink and swell
More exquisitely sweet than ever art
Of man evoked from instrument of touch,
Or beat, or breath. It was the evening gale,
Which, passing o'er the harp of Caradoc,
Swept all its chords at once, and blended all
Their music into one continuous flow.
The solitary Bard, beside his harp,
Lean'd underneath a tree, whose spreading boughs,
With broken shade that shifted to the breeze,
Play'd on the waving waters. Overhead
There was the leafy murmur, at his foot
The lake's perpetual ripple; and from far,
Borne on the modulating gale, was heard
The roaring of the mountain cataract —
A blind man would have loved the lovely spot.

Forgot its cunning, that the wind should be
Thine harper?-Come! one strain for Britain's

sake;

And let the theme be Woman! - He replied,
But if the strain offend, O Lady fair,

Blame thou the theme, not me! - Then to the harp He sung, Three things a wise man will not trust,

The Wind, the Sunshine of an April day,
And Woman's plighted faith. I have beheld
The Weathercock upon the steeple-point
Steady from morn till eve; and I have seen
The bees go forth upon an April morn,
Secure the sunshine will not end in showers;
But when was Woman true?

False Bard! thereat,
With smile of playful anger, she exclaim'd,
False Bard! and slanderous song! Were such
thy thoughts

Of woman, when thy youthful lays were heard
In Heilyn's hall? -But at that name his heart
Leap'd, and his cheek with sudden flush was fired;
In Heilyn's hall, quoth he, I learn'd the song.
There was a Maid, who dwelt among the hills
Of Arvon, and to one of humbler birth

Had pledged her troth- -nor rashly, nor beguiled;

They had been playmates in their infancy,
And she in all his thoughts had borne a part,
And all his joys. The Moon and all the Stars
Witness'd their mutual vows; and for her sake
The song was framed; for, in the face of day,
She broke them. But her name? Goervyl ask'd;
Quoth he, The poet loved her still too well,
To couple it with shame.

--

O fate unjust

Of womankind! she cried; our virtues bloom,
Like violets, in shade and solitude,
While evil eyes hunt all our failings out
For evil tongues to bruit abroad in jest,
And song of obloquy! I knew a Maid,
And she, too, dwelt in Arvon, and she too,
Loved one of lowly birth, who ill repaid
Her spotless faith; for he to ill reports,
And tales of falsehood cunningly devised,
Lent a light ear, and to his rival left

The loathing Maid. The wedding-day arrived;
The harpers and the gleemen, far and near,
Came to the wedding-feast; the wedding-guests
Were come, the altar dress'd, the bridemaids met,
The father, and the bridegroom, and the priest,
Wait for the bride. But she the while did off
Her bridal robes, and clipp'd her golden locks,
And put on boy's attire, through wood and wild
To seek her own true love; and over sea,
Forsaking all for him, she followed him,-
Nor hoping nor deserving fate so fair;

And at his side she stood, and heard him wrong
Her faith with slanderous tales; and his dull eye,
As it had learn'd his heart's forgetfulness,
Knows not the trembling one, who even now
Yearns to forgive him all!

He turn'd; he knew The blue-eyed Maid, who fell upon his breast.

XXIV.

THE EMBASSY.

HARK! from the towers of Aztlan how the shouts
Of clamorous joy re-ring! the rocks and hills
Take up the joyful sound, and o'er the lake
Roll their slow echoes.-Thou art beautiful,
Queen of the Valley! thou art beautiful!
Thy walls, like silver, sparkle to the sun;
Melodious wave thy groves; thy garden-sweets
Enrich the pleasant air; upon the lake
Lie the long shadows of thy towers; and high
In heaven thy temple-pyramids arise,
Upon whose summit now, far visible
Against the clear blue sky, the Cross of Christ
Proclaims unto the nations round the news
Of thy redemption. Thou art beautiful,
Aztlan! O City of the Cymbric Prince!
Long mayst thou flourish in thy beauty, long
Prosper beneath the righteous conqueror,
Who conquers to redeem! Long years of peace
And happiness await thy Lord and thee,
Queen of the Valley!

The last of all my family am I;
Yet sure, though last, the happiest, and by Heaven
Favored abundantly above them all.

Dear Friend, and Brother dear! enough for me
Beneath the shadow of thy shield to dwell,
And see my people, by thy fostering care,
Made worthy of their fortune. Graciously
Hath the Beloved One appointed all,
Educing good from ill, himself being good.
Then to the royal palace of the Kings
Of Aztlan, Madoc led Erillyab,
There where her sires had held their ruder reign,
To pass the happy remnant of her years,
Honor'd and loved by all.

Now had the Prince
Provided for defence, disposing all
As though a ready enemy approach'd.
But from Patamba yet no army moved:
Four Heralds only, by the King despatch'd,
Drew nigh the town. The Hoamen, as they came,
Knew the green mantle of their privilege,
The symbols which they bore, an arrow-point
Depress'd, a shield, a net, which, from the arm