So saying he turned away, rejoiced at heart
To know himself alike by lake or land
Prepared to meet their power. The fateful day
Draws on; by night the Aztecas embark.
At day-break from Patamba they set forth,
From every creek and inlet of the lake,
All moving toward Aztlan; safely thus
Weening to reach the plain before her walls,
And fresh for battle. Shine thou forth, O Sun!
Shine fairly forth upon the scene so fair!
Their thousand boats, and the ten thousand oars
From whose broad bowls the waters fall and flash,
And twice ten thousand feathered helms, and shields,
Glittering with gold and scarlet plumery.
Onward they come with song and swelling horn;
While, louder than all voice and instrument,
The dash of their ten thousand oars, from shore
To shore and hill to hill, re-echoing rolls,
In undistinguishable peals of sound
And endless echo. On the other side
Advance the British barks; the freshening breeze
Fills the broad sail; around the rushing keel
The waters sing, while proudly they sail on
Lords of the water. Shine thou forth, O Sun!
upon their hour of victory!
Onward the Cymry speed. The Aztecas,
Though wondering at that unexpected sight,
Bravely made on to meet them, seized their bows,
And showered, like rain, upon the pavaised barks,
The rattling shafts. Strong blows the auspicious gale;
Madoc, the Lord of Ocean, leads the way;
He holds the helm; the galley where he guides
Flies on, and full upon the first canoe
Drives shattering; midway its long length it struck,
And o'er the wreck with unimpeded force
Gaze in inactive terror. They behold
Their splintered vessels floating all around,
Their warriors struggling in the lake, with arms
Experienced in the battle vainly now.
Dismayed they drop their bows, and cast away
Their unavailing spears, and take to flight,
Before the Masters of the Elements,
Who rode the waters and who made the winds
Wing them to vengeance! Forward now they bend, And backward then, with strenuous strain of arm, Press the broad paddle... Hope of victory
Was none, nor of defence, nor of revenge,
To sweeten death. Toward the shore they speed,
Toward the shore they lift their longing eyes :..
O fools, to meet on their own element
The Sons of Ocean!.. Could they but aland
Set foot, the strife were equal, or to die
Less dreadful. But, as if with wings of wind,
On fly the British barks!.. the favouring breeze
Blows strong;.. far, far behind their roaring keels
Lies the long line of foam; the helm directs
Their force; they move, as with the limbs of life,
Obedient to the will that governs them.
Where'er they pass, the crashing shock is heard,
The dash of broken waters, and the cry
Of sinking multitudes. Here one plies fast
The practised limbs of youth, but o'er his head
The galley drives; one follows a canoe
With skill availing only to prolong
Suffering; another, as with wiser aim
He swims across, to meet his coming friends,
Stunned by the hasty and unheeding oar,
Sinks senseless to the depths. Lo! yonder boat
Graspt by the thronging strugglers; its light length
Yields to the overbearing weight, and all
Share the same ruin. Here, another shows
Crueller contest, where the crew hack off
The hands that hang for life upon its side,
Lest altogether perish; then in vain
The voice of friend or kinsman prays for
Imperious self controuls all other thoughts;
And still they deal around unnatural wounds,
When the strong bark of Britain over all
Sails in the path of death... God of the Lake,
Tlaloc! and thou, O Aiauh, green-robed Queen!
How many a wretch, in dying agonies,
Invoked ye in the misery of that day!
Long after, on the tainted lake, the dead Weltered; there, perched upon his floating prey, The vulture fed in daylight; and the wolves, Assembled at their banquet round its banks, Disturbed the midnight with their howl of joy.
The Close of the Centurp.
THERE was mourning in Patamba; the north wind
Blew o'er the lake, and drifted to the shore
The floating wreck and bodies of the dead.
Then on the shore the mother might be seen,
Seeking her child; the father to the tomb,
With limbs too weak for that unhappy weight
Bearing the bloated body of his son;
The wife, who, in expectant agony,
Watched the black carcase on the coming wave.
every brow terror was legible;
Anguish in every eye. There was not one,
Who in the general ruin did not share
Peculiar grief, and in his country's loss
Lament some dear one dead. Along the lake
The frequent funeral-piles, for many a day,
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