They shot their shafts; the arrows of their pride Fell on themselves; they perished, to thy praise. So perish still thine impious enemies,
O Lord of Day! But to the race devout, Who offer up their morning sacrifice,
Honouring thy godhead, and with morning hymns, And with the joy of music and of dance, Welcome thy glad uprise,.. to them, O Sun, Still let the fountain-streams of splendour flow! Still smile on them propitious, thou whose smile Is light and life and joyance! Once again, Parent of Being, Prince of Glory, rise! Begin thy course of beauty once again!
Such was their ancient song, as up the height Slowly they wound their way. The multitude Beneath repeat the strain; with fearful eyes They watch the spreading glories of the west; And when at length the hastening orb hath sunk Below the plain, such sinking at the heart They feel, as he who hopeless of return
From his dear home departs. Still on the light, The last green light that lingers in the west, Their looks are fastened, till the clouds of night
Roll on, and close in darkness the whole heaven.
Then ceased their songs; then o'er the crowded vale No voice of man is heard. Silent and still
They stood, all turned toward the east, in hope There on the holy mountain to behold
The sacred fire, and know that once again The Sun begins his stated round of years.
The Moon arose; she shone upon the lake, Which lay one smooth expanse of silver light; She shone upon the hills and rocks, and cast Upon their hollows and their hidden glens
A blacker depth of shade. Who then looked round, Beholding all that mighty multitude,
Felt yet severer awe; so solemnly still
The thronging thousands stood. The breeze was heard That rustled in the reeds; the little wave,
Which rippled to the shore and left no foam, Sent its low murmurs far.
Have stretched their victim on the mountain-top;
A miserable man; his breast is bare,
Bare for the death that waits him; but no hand
May there inflict the blow of mercy. Piled
On his bare breast, the cedar boughs are laid; On his bare breast dry sedge and odorous gums Laid ready to receive the sacred spark,
And blaze, to herald the ascending Sun, Upon his living altar. Round the wretch The inhuman ministers of rites accurst Stand, and expect the signal when to strike The seed of fire. Their Chief, Tezozomoc, Apart from all, upon the pinnacle
Of that high mountain, eastward turns his eyes; For now the hour draws nigh, and speedily He looks to see the first faint dawn of day Break through the orient sky.
The multitude await the happy sign. Long hath the midnight past, and every hour Yea every moment, to their torturing fears Seemed lengthened out, insufferably long. Silent they stood, and breathless in suspense. The breeze had fallen; no stirring breath of wind Rustled the reeds. Oppressive, motionless,
It was a labour and a pain to breathe
The close, hot, heavy air... Hark! from the woods
The howl of their wild tenants! and the birds, ..
The day-birds, in blind darkness fluttering, Fearful to rest, uttering portentous cries!
Anon, the sound of distant thunders came;
They peal beneath their feet. Earth shakes and yawns, .
And lo! upon the sacred mountain's top,
The light.. the mighty flame! A cataract Of fire bursts upward from the mountain-head,.. High,.. high,.. it shoots! the liquid fire boils out; It streams, it torrents down! Tezozomoc
Beholds the judgement: wretched, . . wretched man! On the upmost pinnacle he stands, and sees The lava floods beneath him: and his hour Is come. The fiery shower, descending, heaps Red ashes round; they fall like drifted snows, And bury and consume the accursed Priest.
The Tempest is abroad. Fierce from the North The wind uptears the lake, whose lowest depths Rock, while convulsions shake the solid earth. Where is Patamba? where the multitudes
Who thronged her level shores? The mighty Lake Hath burst its bounds, and yon wide valley roars, A troubled sea, before the rolling storm.
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 waters!
On yonder crag, all dripping from the lake,
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