Is in the dwellings of her enemy;
Where all his hope in banishment hath been
To intercede for her, and heal her wounds,
And mitigate her righteous punishment.
Sternly and sullenly his brother heard; Yet hearken'd he as one whose heart perforce Supprest its instinct, and there might be seen A sorrow in his silent stubbornness. And now his ministers on either hand A water-vessel fill, and heap dry sedge And straw before his face, and fire the pile. He, looking upward, spread his arms and cried, Hear me, ye Gods of Aztlan, as we were, And are, and will be yours! Behold your foes! He stoopt, and lifted up one ample urn, Thus let their blood be shed!.. and far away He whirl'd the scattering water. Then again Raised the full vase,.. Thus let their lives be quench'd! And out he pour'd it on the flaming pile.
The steam-cloud, hissing from the extinguish'd heap.
Spread like a mist, and ere it melted off,
Homeward the heralds of the war had turn'd.
THE FESTIVAL OF THE DEAD.
THE Hoamen in their Council-hall are met
To hold the Feast of Souls; seat above seat,
Ranged round the circling theatre they sit.
No light but from the central fire, whose smoke,
Slow passing through the over aperture,
Excludes the day, and fills the conic roof,
And hangs above them like a cloud. Around,
The ghastly bodies of their chiefs are hung,
Shrivell'd and parch'd by heat; the humbler dead
Lie on the floor, white bones, exposed to view,
On deer, or elk-skin laid, or softer fur,
Or web, the work of many a mournful hour;
The loathlier forms of fresh mortality
Swathed, and in decent tenderness conceal'd.
Beside each body pious gifts are laid,
Mantle and belt and feathery coronal,
The bow he used in war, his drinking shell,
His arrows for the chace, the sarbacan,
Through whose long tube the slender shaft, breath driven,
Might pierce the winged game. Husbands and wives, Parents and children, there in death they lie;
The widow'd and the parent and the child
Look on in silence. Not a sound is heard
But of the crackling brand, or mouldering fire,
Or when, amid yon pendant string of shells,
The slow wind wakes a shrill and feeble sound, . .
A sound of sorrow to the mind attuned
Came forward: . . Spirits, is it well with ye?
Is it well, Brethren? said the aged Priest;
ye received your mourning, and the rites Of righteous grief? or round your dwelling-place Still do your shadows roam dissatisfied,
And to the cries of wailing woe return
A voice of lamentation? Teach us now,
If we in aught have fail'd, that I, your Priest,
When I shall join ye soon, as soon I must,
May unimpeded pass the perilous floods,
And in the Country of the Dead, be hail'd
By you, with song and dance and grateful joy.
So saying, to the Oracle he turn'd,
Awaiting there the silence which implied
Peaceful assent. Against the eastern wall,
Fronting the narrow portal's winding way,
An Image stood: a cloak of fur disguised
The rude proportion of its uncouth limbs;
The skull of some old seer of days of old
Topt it, and with a visor this was mask'd,
Honouring the oracular Spirit, who at times
There took his resting place. Ayayaca
Repeated, Brethren, is it well with ye?
And raised the visor. But he started back,
Appall'd and shuddering; for a moony light
Lay in its eyeless sockets, and there came
From its immoveable and boney jaws
A long deep groan, thrice utter'd, and thrice felt
In every heart of all the hearers round.
The good old Priest stood tottering, like a man
Stricken with palsy; and he gazed with eyes
Of asking horror round, as if he look'd
For counsel in that fear. But Neolin
Sprung boldly to the oracle, and cried,
Speak, Spirit! tell us of our sin, and teach
The atonement! A sepulchral voice replied,
Ye have for other Gods forsaken us,
And we abandon you!.. and crash with that,
The Image fell.
A loud and hideous shriek,
As of a demon, Neolin set up;
So wild a yell, that, even in that hour,
It brought fresh terror to the startled ear.
While yet they sate, pale and irresolute,
Helhua the Azteca came in. He bore
A shield and arrow, symbols these of war,
Yet now beheld with hope, so great relief
They felt his human presence.
Hoamen, hear me !
The messenger began; Erillyab hear,
Priests, Elders, People! but hear chiefly thou
Prince Amalahta, as of these by birth,
So now of years mature, the rightful Lord!..
Shall it be peace or war? thus Aztlan saith;
She, in her anger, from the land will root
The Children of the Sea; but viewing you
In mercy, to your former vassalage
Invites ye, and remits the tribute lives,
And for rebellion claimeth no revenge.
Oh praise your Gods! cried Neolin, and hail This day-spring of new hope! Aztlan remits The tribute lives,. what more could Madoc give? She claimeth no revenge, and if she claimed,
He could not save. O Hoamen, bless your Gods; Appease them! Thou, Prince Amalahta, speak, And seize the mercy.
In act of speech; but then Erillyab rose . .
Who gives thee, Boy, this Elder's privilege?
The Queen exclaim'd; . and thou, Priest Neolin,
Curb thou thy traitorous tongue! The reign is mine;
I hold it from my father, he from his;
Age before age, beyond the memory
Of man it hath been thus. My father fell
In battle for his people, and his sons
Fell by his side; they perish'd, but their names
Are with the names we love, their happy souls
Pursue in fields of bliss the shadowy deer;
The spirit of that noble blood which ran
From their death-wounds, is in the ruddy clouds
Which go before the Sun, when he comes forth
In glory. Last of that illustrious race
Was I, Erillyab. Ye remember well,
Elders, that day when I assembled here
The people, and demanded at their choice
The worthiest, to perpetuate our old line
Of Kings and Warriors. . . To the wind he spread
His black and blood-red banner. Even now
I hear his war drum's tripled sound, that call'd
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