Let prove the ample realm we won in arms :
And I their leader am not of the sons
Of the feeble! As he spake, he reach'd a mace,
The trunk and knotted root of some young tree,
Such as old Albion and his monster-brood
From the oak-forest for their weapons pluck'd,
When father Brute and Corineus set foot
On the White Island first. Lo this, quoth he,
My club! and he threw back his robe; and this
The arm that wields it!.. 'T was my father's once:
Erillyab's husband, King Tepollomi,
He felt its weight... Did I not show thee him?
He lights me at my evening banquet. There,
In very deed, the dead Tepollomi
Stood up against the wall, by devilish art
Preserv'd; and from his black and shrivell❜d hand The steady lamp hung down.
At that abomination; I exclaim'd
Thou art of noble nature, and full fain
Would I in friendship plight my hand with thine; But till that body in the grave be laid,
Till thy polluted altars be made pure,
There is no peace between us. May my God,
Who, though thou know'st him not, is also thine,
And after death will be thy dreadful Judge,
May it please Him to visit thee, and shed
His mercy on thy soul! ... But if thy heart
Be harden'd to the proof, come when thou wilt!
I know thy power, and thou shalt then know mine.
Now then to meet the war! Erillyab's call
Roused all her people to revenge their wrongs;
And at Lincoya's voice, the mountain tribes
Arose and broke their bondage. I meantime
Took counsel with Cadwallon and his sire,
And told them of the numbers we must meet,
And what advantage from the mountain-straits
I thought, as in the Saxon wars, to win.
Thou saw'st their weapons then Cadwallon said;
Are they like these rude works of ignorance,
Bone-headed shafts, and spears of wood, and shields
Strong only for such strife?
With wiser enemies, and abler arm'd.
What for the sword they wielded was a staff
Set thick with stones athwart; you would have deem'd
The uncouth shape was cumbrous; but a hand
Expert, and practised to its use, could drive
The sharpen'd flints with deadly impulse down.
Their mail, if mail it may be call'd, was woven
Of vegetable down, like finest flax,
Bleach'd to the whiteness of the new-fallen snow To every bend and motion flexible,
Light as a warrior's summer-garb in peace;
Yet, in that lightest, softest, habergeon
Harmless the sharp stone arrow-head would hang.
Others, of higher office, were array'd
In feathery breast-plates of more gorgeous hue
Than the gay plumage of the mountain-cock,
Or pheasant's glittering pride. But what were these,
Or what the thin gold hauberk, when opposed
To arms like ours in battle? What the mail
Of wood fire-harden'd, or the wooden helm,
Against the iron arrows of the South,
Against our northern spears, or battle-axe,
Or good sword, wielded by a British hand?
Then, quoth Cadwallon, at the wooden helm, Of these weak arms the weakest, let the sword Hew, and the spear be thrust. The mountaineers, So long inured to crouch beneath their yoke, We will not trust in battle; from the heights They with their arrows may annoy the foe; And when our closer strife has won the fray, Then let them loose for havoc.
Exclaim'd the blind old man, thou counsellest ill!
Blood will have blood, revenge beget revenge,
Evil must come of evil. We shall win,
Certes, a cheap and easy victory
In the first field; their arrows from our arms
Will fall, and on the hauberk and the helm
The flint-edge blunt and break; while through their
Naked, or vainly fenced, the griding steel
Shall sheer its mortal way. But what are we
Against a nation? Other hosts will rise
In endless warfare, with perpetual fights
Dwindling our all-too-few; or multitudes
Will wear and weary us, till we sink subdued
By the very toil of conquest. Ye are strong;
But he who puts his trust in mortal strength
Leans on a broken reed. First prove your power;
Be in the battle terrible, but spare
The fallen, and follow not the flying foe:
Then may ye win a nobler victory,
So dealing with the captives as to fill
Their hearts with wonder, gratitude, and awe,
That love shall mingle with their fear, and fear
'Stablish the love, else wavering. Let them see,
That as more pure and gentle is your faith,
Yourselves are gentler, purer. Ye shall be
As gods among them, if ye thus obey
God's precepts.
Soon the mountain tribes, in arms
Rose at Lincoya's call: a numerous host,
More than in numbers, in the memory
Of long oppression, and revengeful hope,
A formidable foe. I station'd them
Where at the entrance of the rocky straights,
Secure themselves, their arrows might command
The coming army. On the plain below
We took our stand, between the mountain-base
And the green margin of the waters. Soon
Their long array came on. Oh what a pomp
And pride and pageantry of war was there!
Not half so gaudied, for their May-day mirth,
All wreathed and ribanded, our youths and maids,
As these stern Aztecas in war attire!
The golden glitterance, and the feather-mail,
More gay than glittering gold; and round the helm
A coronal of high upstanding plumes
Green as the spring grass in a sunny shower;
Or scarlet bright, as in the wintry wood
The cluster'd holly; or of purple tint, ..
Whereto shall that be liken'd? to what gem
Indiadem'd, . . what flower, . . what insect's wing?
With war-songs and wild music they came on,
We the while kneeling, raised with one accord
The hymn of supplication.
And now the embattled armies stood: a band
Of priests, all sable-garmented, advanced;
They piled a heap of sedge before our host,
And warn'd us, Sons of Ocean! from the land
Of Aztlan, while ye may, depart in peace!
Before the fire shall be extinguish'd, hence!
Or, even as yon dry sedge amid the flame,
ye
shall be consumed. . . The arid heap
They kindled, and the rapid flame ran up,
And blazed, and died away. Then from his bow,
With steady hand, their chosen archer loosed
The Arrow of the Omen. To its mark
The shaft of divination fled; it smote
Cadwallon's plated breast; the brittle point
Rebounded. He, contemptuous of their faith,
Stoopt for the shaft, and while with zealous speed
To the rescue they rushed onward, snapping it
Asunder, toss'd the fragments back in scorn.
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