Hostile at heart, as well we knew they were,
These were lip-lavish of their friendship now,
And courted confidence, while our tried friend
Yuhidthiton, estranged, a seldom guest,
Sullen and joyless, seem'd to bear at heart Something that rankled there. These things were strange;
The omens too had ceased; . we heard no more Of twilight voices, nor the unholy cloud
Steam'd from the morning incense. Why was this?
Young Malinal had from the hour of peace
Been our in-dweller, studious to attain
Our language and our arts. To him I told
My doubts, assured of his true love and truth;
For he had learnt to understand and feel
Our holy faith, and tended like a son
Cynetha's drooping age, and shared with me
His dying benediction. He, thus long
Intent on better things, had been estranged
From Aztlan and her councils; but at this
He judged it for her welfare and for ours,
Now to resume his rank; . . belike his voice
Might yet be heard, or, if the worst befel,
His timely warning save us from the snare.
But in their secret councils Malinal
No longer bore a part: the Chiefs and King
Yielding blind reverence to the Pabas now,
Deluded or dismay'd. He sent to say
Some treachery was design'd, and bade me charge
His brother with the crime. On that same day,
Lincoya came from Aztlan; he had found
Coätal labouring with a wretchedness
She did not seek to hide; and when the youth
Reveal'd his fear, he saw her tawny cheek
Whiten, and round his neck she clung and wept.
She told him something dreadful was at hand,
She knew not what: That, in the dead of night,
Coänocotzin at Mexitli's shrine
Had stood with all his nobles; human blood
Had then been offer'd up, and secret vows
Vow'd with mysterious horror: That but late,
When to her father of the days to come
She spake, and of Lincoya and her lot
Among the strangers, he had frown'd, and strove
Beneath dissembled anger to conceal
Visible grief. She knew not what to fear,
But something dreadful surely was at hand,
And she was wretched.
When I heard these things,
Yuhidthiton and the Priest Helhua
Were in our dwellings. Them I call'd apart. .
There should be peace between us I began;
Why is it otherwise?
Is there not peace, Cadwallon? Seek we not
More frequent and more friendly intercourse,
Even we, the servants of our Country-Gods,
Whose worship ye have changed, and for whose sake
We were and would have been your enemies?
But as those Gods have otherwise ordain'd,
Do we obey. Why therefore is this doubt?
The Power who led us hither, I replied,
Over the world of waters, who hath saved,
And who will save his people, warns me now.
Then on Yuhidthiton I fix'd my eye.
Danger is near! I cried; I know it near!
It comes from Aztlan.
His disorder'd cheek,
And the forced and steady boldness of his eye,
Which in defiance met the look it fear'd,
Confess'd the crime. I saw his inward shame;
Yet with a pride like angry innocence
Did he make answer, I am in your hands,
And you believe me treacherous ! . . Kill me now!
Not so, Yuhidthiton! not so! quoth I;
You were the Strangers' friend, and yet again
That wisdom may return. We are not changed; .
Lovers of peace, we know, when danger comes,
To make the evil on the guilty head
Fall heavily and sure! With our good arms,
And our good cause, and that Almighty One,
We are enough, had we no other aid,
We of Caermadoc here, to put to shame
Aztlan, with all her strength and all her wiles.
But even now is Madoc on the seas;
He leads our brethren here; and should he find
That Aztlan hath been false, . . oh! hope not then,
By force or fraud, to baffle or elude
Inevitable vengeance! While ye may,
Look to your choice; for we are friends or foes,
Even to your own desert.
The astonish'd men, whose unprovided minds
Fail'd them; nor did they aim at answer more,
But homeward went their way. Nor knew I then,
For this was but a thing of yesterday, ..
How near the help I boasted. Now I trust,
Thy coming shall discomfit all their wiles.
Not yet at rest, my Sister! quoth the Prince,
As at her dwelling-door he saw the Maid
Sit gazing on that lovely moonlight scene:..
To bed, Goervyl. Dearest, what hast thou
To keep thee wakeful here at this late hour,
When even I shall bid a truce to thought,
And lay me down in peace?.. Good night, Goervyl
Dear sister mine, my own dear mother's child!
She rose, and bending on with lifted arms, Met the fond kiss, obedient then withdrew. Yet could not he so lightly as he ween'd Lay wakeful thoughts aside; for he foresaw Long strife and hard adventure to achieve, And forms of danger vague disturb'd his dreams.
Early at morn the colonists arose;
Some pitch the tent-pole, and pin down the lines
That stretch the o'er-awning canvass; to the wood
Others with saw and axe and bill for stakes
And undergrowth to weave the wicker walls;
These to the ships, with whom Cadwallon sends
The Elk and Bison, broken to the yoke.
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