Complete Poetical Works of Robert Southey
Page 79
Your prayer to that Beloved One who sees
The secrets of all hearts; and set ye up
This, the memorial of his chosen Son,
And Her who, blessed among women, fed
The Appointed at Her breast, and by His cross
Endur’d intenser anguish, therefore sharing
His glory now, with sunbeams rob’d, the Moon
Her footstool, and a wreath of stars her crown.
Hoamen, ye deem us children of a race
Mightier than ye, and wiser, and by heaven
Beloved and favour’d more. From this pure law
Hath all proceeded, — wisdom, power, whate’er
Here elevates the soul, and makes it ripe
For higher powers and more exalted bliss.
Share then our law, and be with us, on earth,
Partakers of these blessings, and in Heaven
Co-heritors with us of endless joy.
Ere yet one breath or motion had disturb’d
The reverential hush, Erillyab rose.
My people, said the Queen, their God is best
And mightiest. Him to whom we offer’d up
Blood of our blood, and of our flesh the flesh,
Vainly we deemed divine; no spirit he
Of good or evil, by the conquering arm
Of Madoc mortal proved. What then remains,
But that the blessing proffer’d thus in love,
In love we take? — Deliverer; Teacher, Friend,
First in the fellowship of faith I claim
The initiatory rite.
I also, cried
The venerable Priest Ayayaca,
Old as I am, I also, like a child,
Would learn this wisdom yet before I die.
The Elders rose, and answered, We and all!
And from the congregated tribe burst forth
One universal shout: — Great is the God
Of Madoc, — worthy to be serv’d is He!
Then to the mountain rivulet, which roll’d
Like amber over its dark bed of rock,
Did Madoc lead Erillyab, in the name
Of Jesus, to his Christian family,
Accepted now. On her and on her son,
The Elders and the People, Llorien
Sprinkled the sanctifying waters. Day
Was scarcely two hours old when he began
His work, and when he ceas’d, the sun had past
The heights of noon. Ye saw that blessed work,
Sons of the Cymry, Cadog, Deiniol,
Padarn, and Teilo! ye whose sainted names
Your monumental temples still record;
Thou, David, still rever’d, who in the vale,
Where, by old Hatterill’s wintry torrents swoln,
Rude Hodney rolls his raging stream, didst choose
Thy hermit home; and ye who by the sword
Of the fierce Saxon, when the bloodier Monk
Urged on the work of murder, for your faith
And freedom fell, — Martyrs and Saints, ye saw
This triumph of the Cymry and the Cross,
And struck your golden harps to hymns of joy.
IX.
As now the rites were ended, Caradoc
Came from the ships, leading an Azteca
Guarded and bound. Prince Madoc, said the Bard,
Lo! the first captive of our arms I bring.
Alone, beside the river I had stray’d,
When, from his lurking-place, the savage hurl’d
A javelin. At the rustle of the reeds,
From whence the blow was aim’d, I turn’d in time,
And heard it whizz beside me. Well it was,
That from the ships they saw and succour’d me;
For, subtle as a serpent in my grasp,
He seem’d all joint and flexure; nor had I
Armour to ward, nor weapon to offend,
To battle all unus’d and unprepar’d;
But I too, here upon this barbarous land,
Like Elmur and like Arohan of old,
Must lift the ruddy spear.
This is no day
For vengeance, answered Madoc, else his deed
Had met no mercy. Freely let him go!
Perchance the tidings of our triumph here
May yet reclaim his country. — Azteca,
Go, let your Pabas know that we have crush’d
Their complots here; beneath our righteous sword
The Priest and his false Deity have fallen;
The idols been consum’d, and, in their stead,
The emblems of our holy faith set up,
Whereof the Hoamen have this day been made
Partakers. Say to Aztlan, when she too,
Will make her temples clean, and put away
Her foul abominations, and accept
The Christian Cross, that Madoc then accords
Forgiveness for the past, and peace to come.
This better part let her, of her free will
And wisdom, choose in time.
Till Madoc spake,
The captive reckless of his peril stood,
Gazing with resolute and careless eye,
As one in whom the lot of life or death
Moved neither fear nor feeling; but that eye
Now sparkling with defiance, — Seek ye peace?
He cried; O weak and woman-hearted man!
Already wouldst thou lay the sword to rest?
Not with the burial of the sword this strife
Must end; for never doth the Tree of Peace
Strike root and flourish, till the strong man’s hand
Upon his enemy’s grave hath planted it.
Come ye to Aztlan then in quest of peace?
Ye feeble souls, if that be what ye seek
Fly hence! our Aztlan suffers on her soil
No living stranger.
Do thy bidding, Chief!
Calmly Cadwallon answered. To her choice
Let Aztlan look, lest what she now reject
In insolence of strength, she take upon her
In sorrow, and in suffering, and in shame,
By strong compulsion, penitent too late.
Thou hast beheld our ships with gallant men
Freighted, a numerous force; — and for our arms, —
Surely thy nation hath acquir’d of them
Disastrous knowledge.
Curse upon your arms!
Exclaimed the Savage. — Is there one among you
Dare lay that cowardly advantage by,
And meet me, man to man, in honest strife?
That I might grapple with him, weaponless,
On yonder rock, breast against breast, fair force
Of limb and breath and blood; — till one or both,
Dashed down the shattering precipice, should feed
The mountain-eagle! — Give me, I beseech you,
That joy!
As wisely, said Cynetha’s son,
Thy foe might challenge thee, and bid thee let
Thy strong right hand hang idle in the fray,
That so his weakness with thy strength might cope
In equal battle! — Not in wrongful war,
The tyrants of our weaker brethren,
Wield we these dreadful arms; — but when assail’d
By fraud and force, when called upon to aid
The feeble and oppressed, shall we not
Then put our terrors forth, and thunder-strike
The guilty?
Silently the Savage heard;
Joy brighten’d in his eyes, as they unloos’d
His bonds; he stretch’d his arms at length, to feel
His liberty; and, like a greyhound then
Slipt from the leash, he bounded o’er the hills.
What was from early morning till noon day
The steady travel of a well-girt man,
He, with fleet feet and unfatiguable,
In three short hours hat
h traversed; in the lake
He dash’d, now shooting forth his pointed arms,
Arrow-like darting on; recumbent now,
Forces, with springing feet, his easier way;
Then with new speed, as freshen’d by repose,
Again he breasts the water. On the shore
Of Aztlan now he stands, and breathes at will,
And wrings his dripping locks; then through the gate
Pursued his way.
Green garlands deck the gate;
Gay are the temples with green boughs affix’d;
The door-posts and the lintels hung with wreaths;
The fire of sacrifice, with flames bedimm’d,
Burns in the sunlight, pale; the victims wait
Around, impatient of their death delay’d.
The Priest, before Tezcalipoca’s shrine,
Watches the maize-strewn threshold, to announce
The footsteps of the God; for this the day,
When to his favour’d city he vouchsafes
His annual presence, and, with unseen feet,
Imprints the maize-strewn threshold; follow’d soon
By all whose altars with eternal fires
Aztlan illum’d, and fed with human blood; —
Mexitli, woman-born, who from the womb,
Child of no mortal sire, leaped terrible,
The arm’d avenger of his mother’s fame;
And he whose will the subject winds obey,
Quetzalcoatl, and Tlaloc, Water-God,
And all the host of Deities, whose power
Requites with bounty Aztlan’s pious zeal,
Health and rich increase giving to her sons,
And withering in the war her enemies.
So taught the Priests; and therefore were the gates
Green-garlanded, the temples green with boughs,
The door-posts and the lintels hung with wreaths;
And yonder victims, ranged around the fire,
Are destined, with the steam of sacrifice,
To greet their dreadful coming.
With the train.
Of Warrior-Chiefs Coanacotzin stood,
That, when the Priest proclaim’d the enter’d God,
His lips before the present Deity
Might pour effectual prayer. The assembled Chiefs
Saw Tlalala approach, more welcome now,
As one whose absence from the appointed rites
Had waken’d fear and wonder. — Think not ye,
The youth exclaimed, careless impiety
Could this day lead me wandering. I went forth
To dip my javelin in the Strangers’ blood, —
A sacrifice, methought, our Gods had lov’d
To scent, and sooner hastened to enjoy.
I fail’d, and fell a prisoner; but their fear
Released me, — coward fear, or idiot hope,
That, like Yuhidthiton, I might become
Their friend, and merit chastisement from Heaven,
Pleading the Strangers’ cause. They bade me go,
And proffer peace. — Chiefs, were it possible
That tongue of mine could win you to that shame,
Out would I pluck the member, though my soul
Followed its bloody roots. The Stranger finds
No peace in Aztlan but the peace of death!
’Tis bravely said! Yuhidthiton replied,
And fairly may’st thou boast, young Tlalala;
For thou art brave in battle. Yet ‘twere well
If that same fearless tongue were taught to check
Its boyish license now. No law forbade
Our friendship with the Stranger, when my voice
Pleaded for proffered peace; that fault I shar’d
In common with the King, and with the Chiefs,
The Pabas, and the People, none foreseeing
Danger or guilt: but, when at length the Gods
Made evident their wrath in prodigies,
I yielded to their manifested will
My prompt obedience. — Bravely hast thou said,
And brave thou art, young Tyger of the War!
But thou hast dealt with other enemies
Than these impenetrable men, — with foesÊ
Whose conquer’d Gods lie idle in their chains,
And with tame weakness brook captivity.
When thou hast met the strangers in the fight,
And in the doings of that fight outdone
Yuhidthiton, revile him then for one
Slow to defend his country and his faith;
Till then, with reverence, as beseems thy youth,
Respect thou his full fame!
I wrong it not!
I wrong it not! cried the young Azteca;
But truly, as I hope to equal it,
Honor thy well-earned glory. — But this peace! —
Renounce it! — say that it shall never be! —
Never, as long as there are Gods in Heaven,
Or men in Aztlan!
That, the King replied,
The Gods themselves have answer’d. Never yet
By holier ardour were our countrymen
Possess’d: peace-offerings of repentance fill
The temple courts; from every voice ascends
The contrite prayer; daily the victim’s heart
Sends its propitiatory steam to Heaven;
And, if the aid divine may be procur’d
By the most dread solemnities of faith,
And rigour of severest penitence,
Soon shall the present influence strengthen us,
And Aztlan be triumphant.
While they spake,
The ceaseless sound of song and instrument
Rung through the air, now rising like the voice
Of angry ocean, now subsiding soft
As when the breeze of evening dies away.
The horn, and shrill-ton’d pipe, and drum, that gave
Its music to the hand, and hollowe’d wood,
Drum-like, whose thunders, ever and anon
Commingling with the sea-shell’s spiral roar,
Clos’d the full harmony. And now the eve
Past on, and, through the twilight visible,
The frequent fire-flies’ brightening beauties shone.
Anxious and often now the Priest survey’d
The maize-strewn threshold; for the wonted hour
Was come, and yet no footstep of the God!
More radiant now the fire of sacrifice,
Fed to full fury, blaz’d; and its red smoke
Imparted to the darker atmosphere
Such obscure light, as, o’er Vesuvio seen,
Or pillar’d upon Etna’s mountain head,
Makes darkness dreadful. In the captives’ cheeks
Then might a livid paleness have been seen,
And wilder terror in their ghastly eyes,
Expecting momently the pang of death.
Soon in the multitude a doubt arose,
Which none durst mention, lest his neighbour’s fears,
Divulged, should strengthen his: - the hour was past,
And yet no foot had mark’d the sprinkled maize.
X.
Now every moment gave their doubts new force,
And every wondering eye disclos’d the fear
Which on the tongue was trembling, when to the King,
Emaciate like some bare anatomy,
And deadly pale, Tezozomoc was led
By two supporting Priests. Ten painful months,
Immured amid the forest had he dwelt,
In abstinence and solitary prayer
Passing his nights and days: thus did the Gods.
From their High Priest exact, when they enforced,
By danger or distress, the penance due
For public sins; and he had dwelt ten months,
Praying and fasting, and in solitude,
Till now might every bone of
his lean limbs
Be told, and in his starv’d and bony face
The living eye appear’d unnatural, —
A ghostly sight.
In breathless eagerness
The multitude drew round as he began, —
O King, the Gods of Aztlan are not come;
They will not come before the Strangers’ blood
Smoke on their altars: but they have beheld
My days of prayer, and nights of watchfulness,
And fasts austere, and bloody disciplines,
And have reveal’d their pleasure. Who is here
Who to the White King’s dwelling-place dare go,
And execute their will?
Scarce had he said,
When Tlalala exclaimed, I am the man.
Hear then! Tezozomoc replied. — Ye know
That self-denial and long penance purge
The film and foulness of mortality,
For more immediate intercourse with Heaven
Preparing the pure spirit; and all eyes
May witness that with no relaxing zeal
I have performed my duty. Much I fear’d
For Aztlan’s sins, and oft, in bitterness,
Have groan’d and bled for her iniquity;
But chiefly for this solemn day the fear
Was strong upon me, lest her Deities,
Estrang’d, should turn away, and we be left
A spiritless and God-abandon’d race,
A warning to the earth. Ten weary months
Have the raw maize and running water been
My only food; but not a grain of maize
Hath stayed the gnawing appetite, nor drop
Of water cool’d my parch’d and painful tongue,
Since yester morn arose. Fasting I pray’d,
And, praying, gash’d myself; and all night long
I watched and wept, and supplicated Heaven,
Till the weak flesh, its life-blood almost drain’d,
Sunk with the long austerity: a dread
Of death came over me; a deathy chill
Ran through my veins, and loosen’d every limb;
Dim grew mine eyes; and I could feel my heart,
Dying away within me, intermit
Its slow and feeble throbs, then suddenly
Start, as it seemed exerting all its force
In one last effort. On the ground I fell,
I know not if entranced, or dead indeed,
But without motion, hearing, sight, or sense,