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, O 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

Durst not convey the child, though in her heart
There was a female tenderness which yearn'd,
As with maternal love, to cherish him.

She hush'd his clamours, fearful lest the sound
Might reach some other ear; she kiss'd away
The tears that stream'd adown his little cheeks;
She gave him food which in the morn she brought,
For her own wants, from Aztlan. Some few words
Of Britain's ancient language she had learnt
From her Lincoya, in those happy days

Of peace, when Aztlan was the Stranger's friend :
Aptly she learnt, what willingly he taught,
Terms of endearment, and the parting words
Which promised quick return. She to the child
These precious words address'd; and if it chanced
Imperfect knowledge, or some difficult sound
Check'd her heart's utterance, then the gentle tone,
The fond caress, intelligibly spake

Affection's language.

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 hastened 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 Tyger 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 Tyger 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 pendant 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 jaspar-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 stopt
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 confined
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 stript the skin, and formed of it a drum,
Whose sound affrighted armies. With this man
My father coped in battle; here he led him,