THE MIGRATION OF THE AZTECAS.
THE storm hath ceased; but still the lava-tides
Roll down the mountain-side in streams of fire;
Down to the lake they roll, and yet roll on,
All burning, through the waters. Heaven above
Glows round the burning mount, and fiery clouds
Scour through the black and starless firmament.
Far off, the Eagle, in her mountain-nest,
Lies watching in alarm, with steady eye,
The midnight radiance.
But the storm hath ceased;
The earth is still; . . and lo! while yet the dawn
Is struggling through the eastern cloud, the barks
Of Madoc on the lake!
On yonder crag, all dripping from the flood
Who hath escaped its force? He lies along,
Now near exhaust with self-preserving toil,
And still his eye dwells on the spreading waves,
Where late the multitudes of Aztlan stood,
Collected in their strength. It is the King
Of Aztlan, who, extended on the rock,
Looks vainly for his people. He beholds
The barks of Madoc plying to preserve
The strugglers;.. but how few! upon the crags
Which verge the northern shore, upon the heights
Eastward, how few have refuged! Then the King
Almost repented him of life preserved,
And wished the waves had whelmed him, or the sword
Fallen on him, ere this ill, this wretchedness,
This desolation. Spirit-troubled thus,
He call'd to mind how, from the first, his heart
Inclined to peace, and how reluctantly,
Obedient to the Pabas and their Gods,
Had he to this unhappy war been driven.
All now was ended: it remain'd to yield,
To obey the inevitable will of Heaven,
From Aztlan to depart. As thus he mused,
A Bird, upon a bough which overhung
The rock, as though in echo to his thought,
Cried out,.. Depart! depart! for so the note,
Articulately in his native tongue,
Spake to the Azteca. The King look'd up;
The hour, the horrors round him, had impress'd
Feelings and fears well fitted to receive
All superstition; and the voice which cried,
Depart! depart! seem'd like the voice of fate.
He thought, perhaps Coanocotzin's soul,
Descending from his blissful halls in the hour
Of evil thus to comfort and advise,
Lo! toward the rock, Oaring with feeble arms his difficult way, A warrior struggles: he hath reach'd the rock, Hath graspt it, but his strength, exhausted, fails To lift him from the depth. The King descends Timely in aid; he holds the feeble one By his long locks, and on the safety-place
Lands him. He, panting, from his clotted hair
Shook the thick waters, from his forehead wiped
The blinding drops; on his preserver's face
Then look'd, and knew the King.
Then Tlalala Fell on his neck, and groan'd. They laid them down In silence, for their hearts were full of woe.
The sun came forth, it shone upon the rock; They felt the kindly beams; their strengthen'd blood Flow'd with a freer action. They arose,
And look'd around, if aught of hope might meet Their prospect. On the lake the galleys plied Their toil successfully, ever to the shore
Bearing their rescued charge: the eastern heights,
Rightward and leftward of the fiery mount,
Were throng'd with fugitives, whose growing crowds
Speckled the ascent. Then Tlalala took hope,
And his young heart, reviving, re-assumed
Its wonted vigour. Let us to the heights,
He cried ;.. all is not lost, Yuhidthiton !
When they behold thy countenance, the sight
Will cheer them in their woe, and they will bless
The Gods of Aztlan.
To the heights they went;
And when the remnant of the people saw
Yuhidthiton preserved, such comfort then
They felt, as utter wretchedness can feel,
That only gives grief utterance, only speaks
In groans and recollections of the past
He look'd around; a multitude was there,..
But where the strength of Aztlan ? where her hosts? Her marshall'd myriads where, whom yester Sun
Had seen in arms array'd, in spirit high,
Mighty in youth and courage?.. What were these,
This remnant of the people? Women most,
Who from Patamba when the shock began
Ran with their infants; widow'd now, yet each
Among the few who from the lake escaped,
Wandering, with eager eyes and wretched hope.
The King beheld and groan'd; against a tree
He leant, and bow'd his head, subdued of soul.
Meantime, amid the crowd, doth Tlalala
Seek for his wife and boy. In vain he seeks
Ilanquel there; in vain for her he asks;
A troubled look, a melancholy eye,
A silent motion of the hopeless head,
These answer him. But Tlalala represt
His anguish, and he call'd upon the King;..
Yuhidthiton! thou seest thy people left;
Their fate must be determined; they are here
Houseless, and wanting food.
The King look'd up, . It is determined, Tlalala! the Gods
Have crush'd us. Who can stand against their wrath?
Have we not life and strength? the Tyger cried. Disperse these women to the towns which stand Beyond the ruinous waters; against them
The White Men will not war. Ourselves are few,
Too few to root the invaders from our land,
Or meet them with the hope of equal fight;
Yet may we shelter in the woods, and share
The Lion's liberty; and man by man
Destroy them, till they shall not dare to walk
Beyond their city walls, to sow their fields,
Or bring the harvest in. We may steal forth
In the dark midnight, go and burn and kill,
Till all their dreams shall be of fire and death,
Their sleep be fear and misery.
Stretch'd forth his hand, and pointed to the lake
Where Madoc's galleys still to those who clung
To the tree-tops for life, or faintly still
Were floating on the waters, gave their aid...
O think not, Tlalala, that ever more
Will I against those noble enemies
Raise my right hand in war, lest righteous Heaven
Should blast the impious hand and thankless heart!
The Gods are leagued with them; the Elements
Banded against us! For our overthrow
Were yonder mountain-springs of fire ordain'd;
For our destruction the earth-thunders loosed,
And the everlasting boundaries of the lake
Gave way, that these destroying floods might roll
Over the brave of Aztlan ! . . We must leave
The country which our fathers won in arms;
We must depart.
Fresh on their hearing, when the Bird above,
Flapping his heavy wings, repeats the sound,
Depart depart!.. Ye hear! the King exclaim'd;
It is an omen sent to me from Heaven;
I heard it late in solitude, the voice
Of fate... It is Coanocotzin's soul,
Who counsels our departure... And the Bird
Still flew around, and in his wheeling flight
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