Complete Poetical Works of Robert Southey

by Robert Southey

  Of gossampine, bedeck’d with gems and gold.

  The livid paleness of the countenance

  A mask concealed, and hid their ghastly wounds.

  The Pabas stood around, and, one by one,

  Placed in their hands the sacred aloe leaves,

  With mystic forms and characters inscrib’d;

  And, as each leaf was given, Tezozomoc

  Addressed the dead, — So may ye safely pass

  Between the mountains, which in endless war

  Hurtle, with horrible uproar, and frush

  Of rocks that meet in battle. Arm’d with this,

  In safety shall ye walk along the road,

  Where the Great Serpent from his lurid eyes

  Shoots lightning, and across the guarded way

  Vibrates his tongue of fire. Receive the third,

  And cross the waters where the Crocodile

  In vain expects his prey. Your passport this

  Thro’ the Eight Deserts; through the Eight Hills this;

  And this be your defence against the Wind,

  Whose fury sweeps like dust, the uprooted rocks,

  Whose keenness cuts the soul. Ye noble dead,

  Protected with these potent amulets,

  Soon shall your Spirits reach triumphantly

  The Palace of the Sun!

  The funeral train

  Mov’d to Mexitli’s temple. First on high

  The noble dead were borne; in loud lament

  Then follow’d all by blood allied to them,

  Or by affection’s voluntary ties

  Attached more closely, brethren, kinsmen, wives.

  The Peers of Aztlan, all who from the sword

  Of Britain had escap’d, honouring the rites,

  Came clad in rich array, and bore the arms

  And ensigns of the dead. The slaves went last,

  And dwarfs, the pastime of the living chiefs,

  In life their sport and mockery, and in death

  Their victims. Wailing, and with funeral hymns,

  The long procession moved. Mexitli’s Priest,

  With all his servants, from the temple-gate

  Advanced to meet the train. Two piles were built

  Within the sacred court, of odorous wood,

  And rich with gums: on these, with all their robes,

  Their ensigns, and their arms, they laid the dead;

  Then lit the pile. The rapid light ran up,

  Up flam’d the fire; and o’er the darken’d sky

  Sweet clouds of incense curl’d.

  The Pabas then

  Perform’d their bloody office. First they slew

  The women whom the slaughter’d most had lov’d,

  Who most had lov’d the dead. Silent they went

  Toward the fatal stone, resisting not,

  Nor sorrowing nor dismay’d, but, as it seem’d,

  Stunn’d, senseless. One alone there was, whose cheek

  Was flush’d, whose eye was animate with fire:

  Her most in life Coanocotzin priz’d,

  By ten years’ love endear’d, his counsellor,

  His friend, the partner of his secret thoughts;

  Such had she been, such merited to be.

  She, as she bared her bosom to the knife,

  Call’d on Yuhidthiton. — Take heed, O King!

  Aloud she cried, and pointed to the Priests;

  Beware these wicked men! they to the war

  Forced my dead Lord. — Thou knowest, and I know,

  He loved the Strangers; that his noble mind,

  Enlightened by their lore, had willingly

  Put down these cursed altars! — As she spake.

  They dragg’d her to the stone. Nay, nay! she cried,

  There needs not force! I go to join my Lord!

  His blood and mine be on you! Ere she ceas’d,

  The knife was in her breast. Tezozomoc,

  Trembling with wrath, held up toward the Sun

  Her reeking heart.

  The dwarfs and slaves died last.

  That bloody office done, they gather’d up

  The ashes of the dead, and coffer’d them

  Apart; the teeth with them, which unconsum’d

  Among the ashes lay, a single lock

  Shorn from the corpse, and his lip-emerald,

  Now held to be the Spirit’s flawless heart

  In better worlds. The Priest then held on high

  The little ark which shrined his last remains,

  And called upon the people: — Lo! behold!

  This was your King, the bountiful, the brave

  Coanocotzin! Men of Aztlan, hold

  His memory holy! learn from him to love

  Your country and your Gods; for them to live

  Like him, like him to die. So from yon Heaven,

  Where in the Spring of Light his Spirit bathes,

  Often shall he descend; hover above

  On evening clouds; or, plumed with rainbow wings,

  Sip honey from the flowers, and warble joy.

  Honour his memory! emulate his worth!

  So saying, in the temple-tower he laid

  The relics of the King.

  These duties done,

  The living claim their care. His birth, his deeds,

  The general love, the general voice, have mark’d.

  Yuhidthiton for King. Bare-headed, bare

  Of foot, of limb, scarfed only round the loins,

  The Chieftain to Mexitli’s temple mov’d,

  And knelt before the God. Tezozomoc

  King over Aztlan there anointed him,

  And over him, from hallow’d cedar-branch,

  Sprinkled the holy water. Then the Priest

  In a black garment rob’d him, figur’d white

  With skulls and bones, a garb to emblem war,

  Slaughter, and ruin, his imperial tasks.

  Next in his hand the Priest a censer placed;

  And while he knelt, directing to the God

  The steaming incense, thus addressed the King:

  Chosen by the people, by the Gods approv’d,

  Swear to protect thy subjects, to maintain

  The worship of thy fathers, to observe

  Their laws, to make the Sun pursue his course,

  The clouds descend in rain, the rivers hold

  Their wonted channels, and the fruits of earth

  To ripen in their season. Swear, O King!

  And prosper, as thou holdest good thine oath.

  He rais’d his voice, and swore. Then on his brow

  Tezozomoc the crown of Aztlan placed;

  And in the robe of emblemed royalty,

  Preceded by the golden wands of state,

  Yuhidthiton went forth, anointed King.

  XX.

  When now the multitude beheld their King,

  In gratulations of reiterate joy

  They shout his name, and bid him lead them on

  To vengeance. But to answer that appeal

  Tezozomoc advanced. — Oh! go not forth,

  Cried the Chief Paba, till the land be purged

  From her offence! No God will lead ye on,

  While there is guilt in Aztlan. Let the Priests

  Who from the ruin’d city have escap’d,

  And all who in her temples have perform’d

  The ennobling service of her injur’d Gods,

  Gather together now.

  He spake: the train

  Assembled, priests and matrons, youths and maids.

  Servants of Heaven! aloud the Arch-Priest began,

  The Gods had favor’d Aztlan; bound for death

  The White King lay: our countrymen were strong

  In battle, and the conquest had been ours,

  I speak not from myself, but as the Powers,

  Whose voice on earth I am, impel the truth, —

  The conquest had been ours; but treason lurk’d

  In Aztlan, treason an
d foul sacrilege;

  And therefore were her children in the hour

  Of need abandon’d; therefore were her youth

  Cut down, her altars therefore overthrown.

  The White King, whom ye saw upon the Stone

  Of Sacrifice, and whom ye held in bonds,

  Stood in the foremost fight, and slew your Lord.

  Not by a God, O Aztecas! enlarged

  Broke he his bondage! By a mortal hand,

  An impious, sacrilegious, traitorous hand,

  Your city was betrayed, your King was slain,

  Your shrines polluted. The insulted Power,

  He who is terrible, beheld the deed;

  And now he calls for vengeance.

  Stern he spake,

  And from Mexitli’s altar bade the Priest

  Bring forth the sacred water. In his hand

  He took the vase, and held it up, and cried,

  Accurst be he who did this deed! Accurs’d

  The father who begat him, and the breast

  At which he fed! Death be his portion now,

  Eternal infamy his lot on earth,

  His doom eternal horrors! Let his name,

  From sire to son, be in the people’s mouth,

  Through every generation! Let a curse

  Of deep and pious and effectual hate

  For ever follow the detested name,

  And every curse inflict upon his soul

  A stab of mortal anguish!

  Then he gave

  The vase. — Drink one by one! the innocent

  Boldly, — on them the water hath no power;

  But let the guilty tremble! it shall flow

  A draught of agony and death to him,

  A stream of fiery poison!

  Coatel!

  What were thy horrors when the fatal vase

  Passed to thy trial, — when Tezozomoc

  Fix’d his keen eye on thee! A deathiness

  Came over her; — her blood ran back; — her joints

  Shook like the palsy; and the dreadful cup

  Dropt from her conscious hold. The Priest exclaim’d,

  The hand of God! the avenger manifest!

  Drag her to the altar! — At that sound of death,

  The life forsook her limbs, and down she fell,

  Senseless. They dragg’d her to the Stone of Blood,

  All senseless as she lay; — in that dread hour

  Nature was kind.

  Tezozomoc then cried,

  Bring forth the kindred of this wretch accurst,

  That none pollute the earth. An aged Priest

  Came forth, and answered, There is none but I,

  The father of the dead.

  To death with him!

  Exclaim’d Tezozomoc; to death with him;

  And purify the nation! But the King

  Permitted not that crime. — Chief of the Priests,

  If he be guilty, let the guilty bleed,

  Said he; but never, while I live and reign,

  The innocent shall suffer. Hear him speak!

  Hear me! the old man replied. That fatal day

  I never saw my child. At morn she left

  The city, seeking flowers to dress the shrine

  Of Coatlantona; and that at eve

  I stood among the Pabas in the gate,

  Blessing our soldiers, as they issu’d out,

  Let them who saw bear witness. — Two came forth,

  And testified Aculhua spake the words

  Of truth.

  Full well I know, the old man pursued,

  My daughter loved the Strangers, — that her heart

  Was not with Aztlan; but not I the cause!

  Ye all remember how the Maid was given, —

  She being, in truth, of all our Maids the flower —

  In spousals to Lincoya, him who fled

  From sacrifice. It was a misery

  To me to see my only child condemn’d

  In early widowhood to waste her youth, —

  My only and my beautifullest girl!

  Chief of the Priests, you order’d; I obey’d.

  Not mine the fault, if, when Lincoya fled,

  And fought among the enemies, her heart

  Was with her husband.

  He is innocent!

  He shall not die! Yuhidthiton exclaim’d.

  Nay, King Yuhidthiton! Aculhua cried,

  I merit death. My country overthrown,

  My daughter slain, alike demand on me

  That justice. When her years of ministry,

  Vow’d to the temple, had expir’d, my love,

  My selfish love, still suffer’d her to give

  Her youth to me, by filial piety

  In widowhood detain’d. That selfish crime

  Heavily, — heavily, — do I expiate!

  But I am old; and she was all to me.

  O King Yuhidthiton! I ask for death;

  In mercy, let me die! cruel it were

  To bid me waste away alone in age,

  By the slow pain of grief. — Give me the knife

  Which pierced my daughter’s bosom!

  The old man

  Moved to the altar; none oppos’d his way:

  With a firm hand he buried in his heart

  The reeking flint, and fell upon his child.

  XXI.

  A transitory gloom that sight of death

  Impress’d upon the assembled multitude;

  But soon the brute and unreflecting crew

  Turn’d to their sports. Some bare their olive limbs,

  And in the race contend; with hopes and fears

  Which rouse to rage, some urge the mimic war.

  Here, one upon his ample shoulders bears

  A comrade’s weight, upon whose head a third

  Stands pois’d, like Mercury in act to fly.

  There, other twain upon their shoulders prop

  A biforked beam; while on its height a third

  To nimble cadence, shifts his glancing feet,

  And shakes a plume aloft, and wheels around

  A wreath of bells, with modulating sway.

  Here round a lofty mast the dancers move

  Quick, to quick music; from its top affix’d,

  Each holds a colour’d cord, and, as they weave

  The complex crossings of the mazy dance,

  The checqer’d network twists around the tree

  Its intertexture of harmonious hues.

  But now a shout went forth; the Fliers mount,

  And from all meaner sports the multitude

  Flock to their favorite pastime. In the ground,

  Branchless and bark’d, the trunk of some tall pine

  Is planted; near its summit a square frame;

  Four cords pass through the perforated square,

  And fifty times and twice around the tree,

  A mystic number, are entwin’d above.

  Four Aztecas, equipp’d with wings, ascend,

  And round them bind the ropes; anon they wave

  Their pinions, and, upborne on spreading plumes,

  Launch on the air, and wheel in circling flight,

  The lengthen’d cords untwisting as they fly.

  A fifth above, upon the perilous point

  Dances, and shakes a flag; and on the frame,

  Others the while maintain their giddy stand,

  Till now, with many a round, the wheeling cords

  Draw near their utmost length, and toward the ground

  The aerial circlers speed; then down the ropes

  They spring, and on their way from line to line

  Leap, while the shouting multitude endure

  A shuddering admiration.

  On such sports,

  Their feelings centr’d 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 exclaim’d;

  Mexitli! — They, astonish’d 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

  Look’d 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

  Destroy’d 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 ador’d the God, they see him now,

  Unbroken, and the same! — Again the Priest

  Enter’d; again a second joy inspir’d

  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 abandon’d to the conqueror.

  He motion’d 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 form’d the dance,

  They rais’d 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,