Complete Poetical Works of Robert Southey

by Robert Southey

  Flushing her cheek, and sparkling in her eye; —

  Her hair is twin’d with festal flowers, her robe

  With flowing wreaths adorned; she holds a child,

  He, too, bedeck’d and garlanded with flowers,

  And, lifting him, with agile force of arm,

  In graceful action, to harmonious step

  Accordant, leads the dance. It is the wife

  Of Tlalala, who, with his child, goes forth

  To meet her hero-husband.

  And, behold,

  The Tiger comes! and, ere the shouts and sounds

  Of gratulation cease, his followers bear

  The captive Prince. At that so welcome sight,

  Loud rose the glad acclaim; nor knew they yet

  That he who there lay patient in his bonds,

  Expecting the inevitable lot,

  Was Madoc. Patient in his bonds he lay,

  Exhausted with vain efforts, desperate now,

  And silently resign’d. But when the King

  Approached the prisoner, and beheld his face,

  And knew the Chief of Strangers, at that sound

  Electric joy shot through the multitude,

  And, like the raging of the hurricane,

  Their thundering transports peal’d. A deeper joy,

  A nobler triumph, kindled Tlalala,

  As, limb by limb, his eye survey’d the Prince

  With a calm fierceness. And, by this, the Priests

  Approach’d their victim, clad in vestments white

  Of sacrifice, which from the shoulders fell,

  As from the breast, unbending, broad and straight,

  Leaving their black arms bare. The blood-red robe,

  The turkoise pendent from his down-drawn lip,

  The crown of glossy plumage, whose green hue

  Vied with his emerald ear drops, mark’d their Chief,

  Tezozomoc: his thin and ghastly cheek,

  Which, — save the temple serpents, when he brought

  Their human banquet — never living eye

  Rejoiced to see, became more ghastly now,

  As, in Mexitli’s name, upon the Prince

  He laid his murtherous hand. But, as he spake,

  Up darted Tlalala his eagle glance. —

  Away! away! he shall not perish so!

  The warrior cried; — not tamely, by the knife,

  Nor on the jasper-stone, his blood shall flow!

  The Gods of Aztlan love a Warrior-Priest!

  I am their Priest to-day!

  A murmuring

  Ran through the train; nor waited he to hear

  Denial thence, but on the multitude

  Aloud he called: When first our fathers seiz’d

  This land, there was a savage chief who stopt

  Their progress. He had gain’d the rank he bore,

  By long probation: stripes, which laid his flesh

  All bleeding bare, had forced not one complaint;

  Not when the working bowels might be seen,

  One movement; hand-bound, he had been confin’d

  Where myriad insects on his nakedness

  Infix’d their venomous anger, and no start,

  No shudder, shook his frame; last, in a net

  Suspended, he had felt the agony

  Of fire, which to his bones and marrow pierced,

  And breath’d the suffocating smoke which fill’d

  His lungs with fire, without a groan, a breath,

  A look, betokening sense; so gallantly

  Had he subdued his nature. This brave man

  Met Aztlan in the war, and put her Chiefs

  To shame. Our Elders have not yet forgot

  How from the slaughter’d brother of their King

  He stript the skin, and form’d of it a drum,

  Whose sound affrighted armies. With this man

  My father cop’d in battle; here he led him,

  An offering to the God; and, man to man,

  He slew him here in fight. I was a child,

  Just old, enough to lift my father’s shield;

  But I remember, on that glorious day,

  When from the sacred combat he return’d,

  His red hands reeking with the hot heart’s-blood,

  How in his arms he took me, and besought

  The God whom he had serv’d, to bless his boy,

  And make me like my father. Men of Aztlan!

  Mexitli heard his prayer! — here I have brought

  The Stranger-Chief, the noblest sacrifice

  That ever graced the altar of the God;

  Let then, his death be noble! so my boy

  Shall, in the day of battle, think of me,

  And, as I followed my brave father’s steps,

  Pursue my path of glory.

  Ere the Priest

  Could frame denial, had the Monarch’s look

  Bespake assent. — Refuse not this, he cried,

  O servant of the Gods! He hath not here

  His arms to save him; and the Tiger’s strength

  Yields to no mortal might. Then for his sword

  He called, and bade Yuhidthiton address

  The Stranger-Chief.

  Yuhidthiton began:

  The Gods of Aztlan triumph, and thy blood

  Must wet their altars. Prince, thou shalt not die

  The coward’s death, but, sworded and in fight,

  Fall as becomes the valiant. Should thine arms.

  Subdue in battle six successive foes,

  Life, liberty, and glory will repay

  The noble conquest. Madoc, hope not this!

  Strong are the brave of Aztlan!

  Then they loosed

  The Ocean Chieftain’s bonds; they rent away

  His garments; and, with songs and shouts of joy,

  They led him to the Stone of Sacrifice.

  Round was that Stone of blood; the half-rais’d arm

  Of one of manly growth, who stood below,

  Might rest upon its height; the circle small,

  An active boy might almost bound across.

  Nor needed for the combat ampler space;

  For in the centre was the prisoner’s foot

  Fast fetter’d down. Thus fetter’d, Madoc stood.

  He held a buckler, light and small, of cane,

  O’erlaid with beaten gold; his sword, the King,

  Honoring a noble enemy, had given,

  A weapon tried in war, — to Madoc’s grasp

  Strange and unwieldy ’twas a broad, strong staff,

  Set thick with transverse stones, on either side

  Keen-edged as Syrian steel. But, when he felt

  The weapon, Madoc call’d to mind his deeds

  Done on the Saxon in his father’s land,

  And hope arose within him. Nor, though now

  Naked he stood, did fear for that, assail

  His steady heart; for often had he seen

  His gallant countrymen, with naked breasts,

  Rush on their iron-coated enemy,

  And win the conquest.

  Now hath Tlalala

  Arrayed himself for battle. First, he donn’d

  A gipion, quilted close of gossampine;

  O’er that a jointed mail of plates of gold,

  Bespotted like the tiger’s speckled pride,

  To speak his rank; it clad his arms half-way,

  Half-way his thighs; but cuishes had he none,

  Nor gauntlets, nor feet-armour. On his helm

  There yawned the semblance of a tyger’s head,

  The long, white teeth extended, as for prey;

  Proud crest, to blazon his proud title forth.

  And now toward the fatal stage, equipp’d

  For fight, he went; when, from the press behind,

  A warrior’s voice was heard, and clad in arms,

  And shaking in his angry grasp the sword,

  Ocelopan rush’d on, and call’d aloud,

>   On Tlalala, and claim’d the holy fight.

  The Tyger, heedless of his clamor, sprung

  Upon the stone, and turned him to the war.

  Fierce leaping forward came Ocelopan,

  And bounded up the ascent, and seiz’d his arm: —

  Why wouldst thou rob me of a deed like this?

  Equal our peril in the enterprize,

  Equal our merit: — thou wouldst reap alone

  The guerdon! Never shall my children lift

  Their little hands at thee, and say, Lo! there

  The Chief who slew the White King! — Tlalala,

  Trust to the lot, or turn on me, and prove,

  By the best chance to which the brave appeal,

  Who best deserves this glory!

  Stung to wrath,

  The Tyger answered not: he rais’d his sword,

  And they had rush’d to battle; but the Priests

  Came hastening up, and by their common Gods,

  And by their common country, bade them cease

  Their impious strife, and let the lot decide

  From whom Mexitli should that day receive

  His noble victim. Both unsatisfied,

  But both obedient, heard. Two equal shafts,

  As outwardly they seemed, the Paba brought;

  His mantle hid their points; and Tlalala

  Drew forth the broken stave. A bitter smile

  Darken’d his cheek, as angrily he cast

  To earth the hostile lot. — Shedder of Blood,

  Thine is the first adventure! he exclaimed;

  But thou mayst perish here! — and in his heart

  The Tyger hop’d Ocelopan might fall,

  As, sullenly retiring from the stage,

  He mingled with the crowd.

  And now oppos’d

  Prince Madoc and the Life-Destroyer stood.

  This, clad in arms complete, free to advance

  In quick assault or shun the threaten’d blow,

  Wielding his wonted sword; the other, stript,

  Save of that fragile shield, of all defence;

  His weapon strange and cumbrous; and pinn’d down

  Disabled from all onset, all retreat.

  With looks of greedy joy, Ocelopan

  Surveyed his foe, and wonder’d to behold

  The breast so broad, the bare and brawny limbs

  Of matchless strength. The eye of Madoc, too,

  Dwelt on his foe; his countenance was calm,

  Something more pale than wonted, like a man

  Prepar’d to meet his death. The Azteca

  Fiercely began the fight; now here, now there,

  Aright, aleft, above, below, he wheel’d

  The rapid sword: still Madoc’s rapid eye

  Pursued the motion, and his ready shield,

  In prompt interposition, caught the blow,

  Or turn’d its edge aside. Nor did the Prince

  Yet aim the sword to wound, but held it forth,

  Another shield, to save him, till his hand,

  Familiar with its weight and shape uncouth,

  Might wield it well to vengeance. Thus he stood,

  Baffling the impatient enemy, who now

  Wax’d wrathful, thus to waste in idle strokes,

  Reiterate so oft, his bootless strength.

  And now yet more exasperate he grew;

  For from the eager multitude, was heard,

  Amid the din of undistinguished sounds,

  The Tyger’s murmured name, as though they thought,

  Had he been on the stone, ere this, besure,

  The Gods had tasted of their sacrifice,

  Now all too long delay’d. Then fiercelier,

  And yet more rapidly, he drove the sword;

  But still the wary Prince or met its fall,

  And broke the force, or bent him from the blow;

  And now retiring, and advancing now,

  As one free foot permitted, still provok’d,

  And baffled still, the savage; and sometimes

  With cautious strength did Madoc aim attack,

  Mastering each moment now with abler sway

  The acquainted sword. But, though as yet unharm’d

  In life or limb, more perilous the strife

  Grew momently; for, with repeated strokes,

  Battered and broken now, the shield hung loose;

  And shouts of triumph from the multitude

  Arose, as piecemeal they beheld it fall,

  And saw the Prince expos’d.

  That welcome sight,

  Those welcome sounds, inspir’d Ocelopan;

  He felt each limb new-strung. Impatient now

  Of conquest long delay’d, with wilder rage

  He drives the weapon. Madoc’s lifted sword

  Receiv’d its edge, and shiver’d with the blow.

  A shriek of transport burst from all around;

  For, lo! the White King, shieldless, weaponless,

  Naked before his foe! That savage foe,

  Dallying with the delight of victory,

  Drew back a moment to enjoy the sight,

  Then yell’d in triumph, and sprang on to give

  The consummating blow. Madoc beheld

  The coming death; he darted up his hand

  Instinctively to save, and caught the wrist

  In its mid fall, and drove with desperate force

  The splinter’d truncheon of his broken sword

  Full in the enemy’s face. Beneath his eye

  It broke its way, and, where the nasal nerves

  Branch in fine fibrils o’er their mazy seat,

  Burst through, and, slanting upward, in the brain

  Buried its jagged point.

  Madoc himself

  Stood at his fall astonish’d, at escape

  Unhop’d, and strange success. The multitude

  Beheld, and they were silent; and they stood

  Gazing in terror. But far other thoughts

  Rose in the Tyger’s heart: it was a joy

  To Tlalala; and forth he sprung, and up

  The Stone of Sacrifice, and called aloud

  To bring the Prince another sword and shield

  For his last strife. Then, in that interval,

  Upon Ocelopan he fix’d his eyes,

  Contemplating the dead, as though thereby

  To kindle in his heart a fiercer thirst

  For vengeance. Nor to Madoc was the sting

  Of anger wanting, when in Tlalala

  He knew the captive whom his mercy freed,

  The man whose ambush had that day destroy’d

  Young Hoel and himself; — for sure he deem’d

  Young Hoel was with God, and he himself

  At his death-day arriv’d. And now he grasped

  A second sword, and held another shield;

  And from the Stone of Blood Ocelopan

  Was borne away; and fresh in arms, and fierce

  With all that makes a savage thirst for war,

  Hope, vengeance, courage, superstitious hate,

  A second foe came on. By this, the Prince

  Could wield his weapon well; and, dreading now

  Lest, in protracted combat, he might stand

  Again defenceless, he put forth his strength,

  As oft assailing as assailed, and watch’d

  So well the Tyger’s-motions, and receiv’d

  The Tyger’s blows so warily, and aim’d

  His own so fierce and fast, that in the crowd

  Doubt and alarm prevail’d. Ilanquel grew

  Pale at her husband’s danger; and she clasp’d

  The infant to her breast, whom late she held

  On high to see his victory. The throng

  Of the beholders silently look’d on;

  And in their silence might at times be heard

  An indrawn breath of terror; and the Priests

  Angrily murmur’d, that, in evil hour,

  Coanocotzi
n had indulged the pride

  Of vaunting valour, and from certain death

  Repriev’d the foe.

  But now a murmur rose

  Amid the multitude; and they who stood

  So thickly throng’d, and with such eager eyes

  Late watched the fight, hastily now broke up,

  And, with disorder’d speed and sudden arms,

  Ran to the city gates. More eager now,

  Conscious of what had chanced, fought Tlalala:

  And hope invigorated Madoc’s heart;

  For well he ween’d Cadwallon was at hand,

  Leading his gallant friends. Aright he ween’d:

  At hand Cadwallon was! His gallant friends

  Came from the mountains with impetuous speed,

  To save or to revenge. Nor long endur’d

  The combat now: the Priests ascend the stone,

  And bid the Tyger hasten to defend

  His country and his Gods; and, hand and foot,

  Binding the captive Prince, they bear him thence,

  And lay him in the temple. Then his heart

  Resigned itself to death, and Madoc thought

  Of Llaian and Goervyl; and he felt

  That death was dreadful. But not so the King

  Permitted; but not so had Heaven decreed;

  For noble was the King of Aztlan’s heart,

  And pure his tongue from falsehood: he had said,

  That by the warrior’s death should Madoc die;

  Nor dar’d the Pabas violently break

  The irrevocable word. There Madoc lay

  In solitude; the distant battle reach’d

  His ear; inactive and in bonds he lay,

  Expecting the dread issue, and almost

  Wishe’d for the perils of the fight again.

  XV.

  Not unprepar’d, Cadwallon found the sons

  Of Aztlan, nor defenceless were her walls;

  But, when the Britons’ distant march was seen,

  A ready army issued from her gates,

  And dight themselves to battle: these the King

  Coanocotzin had, with timely care,

  And provident for danger, thus array’d.

  Forth issuing from the gates, they met the foe;

  And with the sound of sonorous instruments,

  And with their shouts and screams and yells, drove back

  The Britons’ fainter war-cry, as the swell

  Of ocean, flowing onward, up its course

  Repels the river-stream. Their darts and stones

  Fell like the raindrops of the summer-shower,