The Aztecas, with happy fortune, forth;
Yet could not now Yuhidthiton inspire
His host with hope: he, not the less, that day,
True to his old renown, and in the hour
Of rout and ruin with collected mind,
Sounded his signals shrill, and in the voice
Of loud reproach and anger, and brave shame,
Call'd on the people... But when nought avail'd,
Seizing the standard from the timid hand
Which held it in dismay, alone he turn'd,
For honourable death resolved, and praise
That would not die. Thereat the braver chiefs
Rallied, anew their signals rung around,
And Aztlan, seeing how we spared her flight,
Took heart, and roll'd the tide of battle back.
But when Cadwallon from the chieftain's grasp
Had cut the standard-staff away, and stunn'd
And stretch'd him at his mercy on the field;
Then fled the enemy in utter rout,
Broken and quell'd at heart. One chief alone
Bestrode the body of Yuhidthiton;
Bareheaded did young Malinal bestride
His brother's body, wiping from his brow
With the shield-hand the blinding blood away,
And dealing franticly with broken sword
Obstinate wrath, the last resisting foe.
Him, in his own despite, we seized and saved.
Then in the moment of our victory,
We purified our hands from blood, and knelt,
And pour'd to heaven the grateful prayer of praise,
And raised the choral psalm. Triumphant thus
To the hills we went our way; the mountaineers With joy, and dissonant song, and antic dance; The captives sullenly, deeming that they went To meet the certain death of sacrifice,
Yet stern and undismay'd. We bade them know Ours was a law of mercy and of love;
We heal'd their wounds, and set the prisoners free.
Bear ye, quoth I, my bidding to your King;
Say to him, Did the Stranger speak to thee
The words of truth, and hath he proved his power?
Thus saith the Lord of Ocean, in the name
Of God, Almighty, Universal God,
Thy Judge and mine, whose battles I have fought,
Whose bidding I obey, whose will I speak;
Shed thou no more in impious sacrifice
The life of man; restore unto the grave
The dead Tepollomi; set this people free,
And peace shall be between us.
Came messengers from Aztlan, in reply.
Coanocotzin with sore malady
Hath, by the Gods, been stricken: will the Lord
Of Ocean visit his sick bed?.. He told
Of wrath, and as he said, the vengeance came :
Let him bring healing now,
AGAIN, and now with better hope, I sought
The city of the King: there went with me
Iolo, old Iolo, he who knows
The virtue of all herbs of mount or vale,
Or greenwood shade, or quiet brooklet's bed;
Whatever lore of science, or of song,
Sages and Bards of old have handed down.
Aztlan that day pour'd forth her swarming sons,
To wait my coming. Will he ask his God
To stay the hand of anger? was the cry,
The general cry, and will he save the King?
Coanocotzin too had nurst that thought,
And the strong hope upheld him he put forth
His hand, and raised a quick and anxious eye, . .
Is it not peace and mercy? . . thou art come
To pardon and to save!
I answer'd him,
That power, O King of Aztlan, is not mine!
Such help as human cunning can bestow,
Such human help I bring; but health and life
Are in the hand of God, who at his will
Gives or withdraws; and what he wills is best.
Then old Iolo took his arm, and felt
The symptom, and he bade him have good hope, For life was strong within him. So it proved
The drugs of subtle virtue did their work;
They quell'd the venom of the malady,
And from the frame expell'd it, . . that a sleep
Fell on the King, a sweet and natural sleep,
And from its healing he awoke refresh'd
Though weak, and joyful as a man who felt
The peril past away.
Of concord, and how best to knit the bonds
Of lasting friendship. When we won this land,
Coanocotzin said, these fertile vales
Were not, as now, with fruitful groves embower'd,
Nor rich with towns and populous villages,
Abounding, as thou seest, with life and joy:
Our fathers found bleak heath, and desert moor,
Wild woodland, and savannahs wide and waste,
Rude country of rude dwellers. From our arms
They to the mountain fastnesses retired,
And long with obstinate and harassing war
Provoked us, hoping not for victory,
Yet mad for vengeance: till Tepollomi
Fell by my father's hand; and with their King, The strength and flower of all their youth cut off, All in one desolating day, they took
The yoke upon their necks. What wouldest thou That to these Hoamen I should now concede? Lord of the Ocean, speak!
Quoth I. I come not from my native isle
Το wage the war of conquest, and cast out
Your people from the land which time and toil
Have rightly made their own. The land is wide:
There is enough for all. So they be freed
From that accursed tribute, and ye shed
The life of man no more in sacrifice,
In the most holy name of God I say,
Let there be peace between us !
Thou hast won
Their liberty, the King replied: henceforth,
Free as they are, if they provoke the war,
Reluctantly will Aztlan raise her arm.
Be thou the peace-preserver. To what else
Thou say'st, instructed by calamity,
I lend a humble ear; but to destroy
The worship of my fathers, or abate
Or change one point, lies not within the reach
And scope of kingly power. Speak thou hereon
With those whom we hold holy, with the sons
Of the Temple, they who commune with the Gods;
Awe them, for they awe me. So we resolved
That when the bones of King Tepollomi
Had had their funeral honours, they and I
Should by the green-lake side, before the King,
And in the presence of the people, hold
Then to the mountain-huts,
The bearer of good tidings, I return’d
Leading the honourable train who bore
The relics of the King; not parch'd and black,
As I had seen the unnatural corpse stand up,
In ghastly mockery of the attitude
And act of life;.. his bones had now been blanch'd With decent reverence. Soon the mountaineers
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