II.'

THE TIDINGS.

BUT when the Lord of Ocean from the stir

And tumult was retired, Cadwallon then

Thus render'd his account.

When we had quell'd

The strength of Aztlan, we should have thrown down Her altars, cast her Idols to the fire,

And on the ruins of her fanes accurst

Planted the Cross triumphant.

Vain it is

To sow the seed where noxious weeds and briars

Must choke it in the growth.

Yet I had hope The purer influence of exampled good Might to the saving knowledge of the truth. Lead this bedarken'd race; and when thy ship Fell down the stream to distant Britain bound, All promised well. The strangers' God had proved Mightier in war; and Aztlan could not choose But see, nor seeing could she fail to love, The freedom of his service. Few were now The offerings at her altars, few the youths And virgins to the temple-toils devote.

Therefore the Priests combined to save their craft, And soon the rumour ran of evil signs

And tokens; in the temple had been heard

Wailings and loud lament; the eternal fire

Gave dismally a dim and doubtful flame;

And from the censer, which at morn should steam Sweet odours to the sun, a fetid cloud

Black and portentous rose. And now no Priest
Approach'd our dwelling. Even the friendly Prince
Yuhidthiton was at Caermadoc now

Rarely a guest; and if that tried good-will
Which once he bore us did at times appear,
A sullen gloom and silence like remorse

Followed the imagined crime.

But I the while

Reck'd not the brooding of the storm; for then
My father to the grave was hastening down.
Patiently did the pious man endure,

In faith anticipating blessedness,

Already more than man in those sad hours
When man is meanest. I sate by his side,

And pray'd with him and talk'd with him of death
And life to come. O Madoc! those were hours
Which even in anguish gave my soul a joy :
I think of them in solitude, and feel

The comfort of my faith.

But when that time

Of bitterness was past and I return'd
To daily duties, no suspicious sign
Betoken'd ill; the Priests among us came
As heretofore, and I their intercourse
Encouraged as I could, suspecting nought,
Nor conscious of the subtle-minded men
I dealt with, how inveterate in revenge,
How patient in deceit. Lincoya first

Forewarn'd me of the danger. He, thou know'st,
Had from the death of sacrifice escaped,

And lived a slave among a distant tribe,
When seeing us he felt a hope, that we,

Lords as he deem'd us of the Elements,
Might pity his poor countrymen opprest,

And free them from their bondage. Didst thou hear How from yon bloody altars he was saved?

For in the eternal chain his fate and ours

Were link'd together then.

The Prince replied,

I did but hear a broken tale. Tell on!

Among the Gods of yon unhappy race, Tezcalipoca as the chief they rank, Or with the chief co-equal; Maker he, And Master of created things esteem'd. He sits upon a throne of trophied skulls, Hideous and huge; a shield is on his arm, And with his black right hand he lifts, as though In wrath, the menacing spear. His festival, Of all this wicked nation's wicked rites, With most solemnity and circumstance And pomp of hellish piety, is held. From all whom evil fortune hath subdued To their inhuman thraldom, they select Him whom they judge, for comely countenance And shapely form and all good natural gifts, Worthiest to be the victim; and for this Was young Lincoya chosen, being in truth The flower of all his nation. For twelve months, Their custom is, that this appointed youth

Be as the Idol's living image held.
Garb'd therefore like the Demon Deity,
Whene'er he goes abroad, an antic train
With music and with dance attend his way;
The crowd before him fall and worship him;
And those infernal Priests who guard him then,
To be their victim and their feast at last,
At morning and at evening incense him,

And mock him with knee-reverence. Twenty days
Before the bloody festival arrive,

As 't were to make the wretch in love with life,
Four maids, the loveliest of the land, are given
In spousals. With Lincoya all these rites
Duly were kept; and at the stated time,

Four maids, the loveliest of the land, were his.
Of these was one, whom even at that hour
He learnt to love, so excellently good
Was she; and she loved him and pitied him.
She is the daughter of an aged Priest ;
I oftentimes have seen her; and in truth,
Compared with Britain's maids so beautiful,
Or with the dark-eyed daughters of the South,
She would be lovely still. Her cotton vest
Falls to the knee, and leaves her olive arms
Bare in their beauty; loose, luxuriant, long,
Flow the black tresses of her glossy hair;
Mild is her eye's jet lustre; and her voice!..
A soul which harbour'd evil never breathed
Such winning tones.

Thou know'st how manfully

These tribes, as if insensible to pain,

Welcome their death in battle, or in bonds

Defy their torturers. To Lincoya's mind
Long preparation now had made his fate
Familiar; and, he says, the thought of death
Broke not his sleep, nor mingled with his dreams,
Till Coätel was his. But then it woke ; . .
It hung, . . it prest upon him like a weight
On one who scarce can struggle with the waves;
And when her soul was full of tenderness,
That thought recurring to her, she would rest
Her cheek on his and weep.

The day drew nigh; And now the eve of sacrifice was come... What will not woman, gentle woman, dare, When strong affection stirs her spirit up? . She gather'd herbs, which, like our poppy, bear The seed of sleep, and with the temple-food Mingled their power; herself partook the food, So best to lull suspicion; and the youth, Instructed well, when all were laid asleep, Fled far away.

After our conquering arms

Had freed the Hoamen from their wretched yoke, Lincoya needed but his Coätel

To fill his sum of earthly happiness.

Her to the temple had her father's vow
Awhile devoted, and some moons were still
To pass away, ere yet she might become
A sojourner with us, Lincoya's wife,

When from the Paba's wiles his watchful mind
Foreboded ill. He bade me take good heed,
And fear the sudden kindness of a foe.

I started at his words; . . these artful men,