Pass, while the shouting multitude endure
A shuddering admiration.

On such sports,

Their feelings centered in the joy of sight,
The multitude stood gazing, when a man,
Breathless, and with broad eyes, came running on,
His pale lips trembling, and his bloodless cheek
Like one who meets a lion in his path.

The fire! the fire! the temple! he exclaimed;
Mexitli!.. They, astonished at his words,
Hasten toward the wonder, .. and behold!
The inner fane is sheeted white with fire.
Dumb with affright they stood; the enquiring King
Looked to Tezozomoc; the Priest replied,

I go! the Gods protect me!.. and therewith
He entered boldly in the house of flame.
But instant bounding with inebriate joy,

He issues forth... The God! the God! he cries.
Joy!.. joy!.. the God!.. the visible hand of Heaven!
Repressing then his transport, . . Ye all know
How that in Aztlan Madoc's impious hand
Destroyed Mexitli's Image;.. it is here,
Unbroken and the same!.. Toward the gate
They press; they see the Giant Idol there,

The serpent girding him, his neck with hearts
Beaded, and in his hand the club,.. even such
As oft in Aztlan, on his azure throne,

They had adored the God, they see him now,
Unbroken and the same!.. Again the Priest
Entered; again a second joy inspired

To frenzy all around; . . for forth he came,
Shouting with new delight,.. for in his hand
The banner of the nation he upheld,

That banner to their fathers sent from Heaven,
By them abandoned to the conqueror.

He motioned silence, and the crowd were still.
People of Aztlan! he began, when first

Your fathers from their native land went forth,
In search of better seats, this banner came
From Heaven. The Famine and the Pestilence
Had been among them; in their hearts the spring
Of courage was dried up: with midnight fires
Radiate, by midnight thunders heralded,

This banner came from Heaven; and with it came
Health, valour, victory. Aztecas! again

The God restores the blessing. To the God

Move now in solemn dance of grateful joy;

Exalt for him the song.

They formed the dance, They raised the hymn, and sung Mexitli's praise. Glory to thee, the Great, the Terrible, Mexitli, guardian God!.. From whence art thou, O Son of Mystery? From whence art thou, Whose sire thy mother knew not? She at eve Walked in the temple court, and saw from Heaven A plume descend, as bright and beautiful, As if some spirit had embodied there The rainbow hues, or dipt it in the light Of setting suns. To her it floated down ; She placed it in her bosom, to bedeck. The altar of the God; she sought it there; Amazed she found it not; amazed she felt Another life infused... From whence art thou, O Son of Mystery? From whence art thou, Whose sire thy mother knew not?

Grief was hers,

Wonder and grief, for life was in her womb,

And her stern children with revengeful eyes

Beheld their mother's shame. She saw their frowns,

She knew their plots of blood. Where shall she look
For succour, when her sons conspire her death?
Where hope for comfort, when her daughter whets
The impious knife of murder?.. From her womb
The voice of comfort came, the timely aid;
Already at her breast the blow was aim'd,
When forth Mexitli leapt, and in his hand
The angry spear, to punish and to save.
Glory to thee, the Great, the Terrible,
Mexitli, guardian God!

Arise and save,

Mexitli, save thy people! Dreadful one,

Arise, redeem thy city, and revenge!

An impious, an impenetrable foe,

Hath blackened thine own altars, with the blood
Of thine own priests; hath dashed thine Image down.
In vain did valour's naked breast oppose

Their mighty arms; in vain the feeble sword
On their impenetrable mail was driven.

Not against thee, Avenger, shall those arms
Avail, nor that impenetrable mail

Resist the fiery arrows of thy wrath.

Arise, go forth in anger, and destroy!

XXII.

The Death of Lincopa.

AZTLAN, meantime, presents a hideous scene
Of slaughter. The hot sunbeam, in her streets,
Parched the bloodpools; the slain were heaped in hills;
The victors, stretched in every little shade,
With unhelmed heads, reclining on their shields,
Slept the deep sleep of weariness. Ere long,
To needful labour rising, from the gates
They drag the dead; and with united toil,
They dig upon the plain the general grave,
The grave of thousands, deep and wide and long.
Ten such they delved, and o'er the multitudes
Who levelled with the plain the deep-dug pits,
Ten monumental hills they heaped on high.
Next, horror heightening joy, they overthrew
The skull-built towers, the files of human heads,
And earth to earth consigned them. To the flames
They cast the idols, and upon the wind