Her children were surprised; and thou canst tell
How perilously they maintain’d the long
And doubtful strife. From yonder temple-mount
Look round the plain, and count her towns, and mark
Her countless villages, whose habitants
All are in arms against thee! Thinkest thou
To root them from the land? Or wouldst thou live,
Harass’d by night and day with endless war,
War at thy gates; and to thy children leave
That curse for their inheritance? — The land
Is all before thee: go in peace, and chuse
Thy dwelling place, North, South, or East, or West;
Or mount again thy houses of the sea
And search the waters. Whatsoe’er thy wants
Demand, will Aztlan willingly supply,
Prepar’d with friendly succor, to assist
Thy soon departure. Thus Yuhidthiton,
Remembering his old friendship, counsels thee;
Thus, as the King of Aztlan, for himself
And people, he commands. If obstinate,
If blind to your own welfare, ye persist,
Woe to ye, wretches! to the armed man,
Who in the fight must perish; to the wife,
Who vainly on her husband’s aid will call;
Woe to the babe that hangs upon the breast!
For Aztlan comes in anger, and her Gods
Spare none.
The Conqueror calmly answer’d him: —
By force we won your city, Azteca;
By force we will maintain it: — to the King
Repeat my saying. — To this goodly land
Your fathers came for an abiding-place,
Strangers as we, but not, like us, in peace.
They conquered and destroyed. A tyrant race,
Bloody and faithless, to the hills they drove
The unoffending children of the vale,
And, day by day, in cruel sacrifice
Consumed them. God hath sent the Avengers here!
Powerful to save we come, and to destroy,
When Mercy on Destruction calls for aid.
Go, tell your nation that we know their force,
That they know ours; that their Patamba soon
Shall fall like Aztlan; and what other towns
They seek in flight, shall like Patamba fall;
Till, broken in their strength, and spirit-crush’d,
They bow the knee, or leave the land to us,
Its worthier Lords.
If this be thy reply,
Son of the Ocean! said the messenger,
I bid thee, in the King of Aztlan’s name,
Mortal defiance. In the field of blood,
Before our multitudes shall trample down
Thy mad and miserable countrymen,
Yuhidthiton invites thee to the strife
Of equal danger. So may he avenge
Coanocotzin, or, like him in death
Discharge his duty.
Tell Yuhidthiton,
Madoc replied, that in the field of blood
I never shunn’d a foe. But say thou to him,
I will not seek him there, against his life
To raise the hand which hath been join’d with his
In peace. — With that the Heralds went their way;
Nor to the right nor to the left they turn,
But to Patamba straight they journey back.
XXV.
The mariners, meantime, at Ririd’s will,
Unreeve the rigging, and the masts they strike;
And now ashore they haul the lighten’d hulks,
Tear up the deck, the sever’d planks bear off,
Disjoin the well-scarf’d timbers, and the keel
Loosen asunder; then to the lake-side
Bear the materials, where the Ocean Lord
Himself directs their work. Twelve vessels there,
Fitted alike to catch the wind, or sweep
With oars the moveless surface, they prepare;
Lay down the keel, the stern-post rear, and fix
The strong-curv’d timbers. Others from the wood
Bring the tall pines, and from their hissing trunks
Force, by the aid of fire, the needful gum;
Beneath the close-caulk’d planks, its odorous stream
They pour; then, last, the round-projecting prows
With iron arm, and launch, in uproar loud
Of joy, anticipating victory,
The gallies long and sharp. The masts are rear’d,
The sails are bent, and, lo! the ready barks
Lie on the lake.
It chanced, the Hoamen found
A spy of Aztlan, and before the Prince
They led him. But when Madoc bade him tell,
As his life-ransom, what his nation’s force,
And what their plans, the savage answer’d him,
With dark and sullen eye and smile of wrath,
If aught the knowledge of my country’s force
Could profit thee, be sure, ere I would let
My tongue play traitor, thou shouldst limb from limb
Hew me, and make each separate member feel
A separate agony of death. O Prince!
But I will tell ye of my nation’s force,
That ye may know, and tremble at your doom;
That fear may half subdue ye to the sword
Of vengeance. — Can ye count the stars of Heaven?
The waves which ruffle o’er the lake? the leaves
Swept from the autumnal forest? Can ye look
Upon the eternal snows of yonder height,
And number each particular flake that form’d
The mountain-mass? — So numberless they come,
Whoe’er can wield the sword, or hurl the lance,
Or aim the arrow; from the growing boy,
Ambitious of the battle, to the old man,
Who to revenge his country and his Gods
Hastens, and then to die. By land they come;
And years must pass away ere on their path
The grass again will grow: they come by lake;
And ye shall see the shoals of their canoes
Darken the waters. Strangers! when our Gods
Have conquered, when ye lie upon the Stone
Of Sacrifice, extended one by one,
Half of our armies cannot taste your flesh,
Though given in equal shares, and every share
Minced like a nestling’s food!
Madoc replied,
Azteca, we are few; but through the woods
The Lion walks alone. The lesser fowls
Flock multitudinous in heaven, and fly
Before the Eagle’s coming. We are few;
And yet thy nation hath experienced us
Enough for conquest. Tell thy countrymen
We can maintain the city which we won.
So saying, he turned away, rejoiced at heart
To know himself alike by lake or land
Prepar’d to meet their power. The fateful day
Draws on; by night the Aztecas embark.
At daybreak from Patamba they set forth,
From every creek and inlet of the lake,
All moving towards Aztlan; safely thus
Weening to reach the plain before her walls,
And fresh for battle. Shine thou forth, O Sun!
Shine fairly forth upon a scene so fair!
Their thousand boats, and the ten thousand oars
From whose broad bowls the waters fall and flash,
And twice ten thousand feather’d 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!
Shine forth upon their hour of victory!
Onward the Cymry speed. The Aztecas,
Though wondering at that unexpected sight,
Bravely made on to meet them, seiz’d their bows,
And shower’d like rain upon the pavais’d 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
Dashes among the fleet. The astonish’d men
Gaze in inactive terror. They behold
Their splinter’d vessels floating all around,
Their warriors struggling in the lake, with arms
Experienced in the battle vainly now.
Dismay’d, 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. — ÊHope 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 favoring 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,
Stunn’d by the hasty and unheeding oar,
Sinks senseless to the depths. Lo! yonder boat
Grasped by the thronging strugglers; its light length
Yields to the overbearing weight, and all
Share the same ruin. Here another shows
Crueler contest, where the crew hack off
The hands that hang for life upon its side,
Lest all together perish; then in vain
The voice of friend or kinsman prays for mercy;
Imperious self controls 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 I 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.
XXVI.
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,
Watch’d the black carcass on the coming wave.
On 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,
With the noon-light their melancholy flames
Dimly commingled; while the mourners stood
Watching the pile, to feed the lingering fire,
As slowly it consumed the watry corpse.
Thou didst not fear, young Tlalala! thy soul,
Unconquer’d and unconquerable, rose
Superior to its fortune. When the Chiefs
Hung their dejected heads, as men subdued
In spirit, then didst thou, Yuhidthiton
Calm in the hour of evil, still maintain
Thy even courage. They from man to man
Go, with the mourners mourning, and by grief
Exciting rage, till, at the promis’d fight,
The hope of vengeance, a ferocious joy
Flash’d in the eye that still retain’s the tear
Of tender memory. To the brave they spake
Of Aztlan’s strength, — for Aztlan still was strong; —
The late defeat, — not there by manly might,
By honourable valour, by the force
Of arms subdued, shame aggravated loss;
The White Men from the waters came, perchance
Sons of the Ocean, by their parent Gods
Aided, and conquerors not by human skill.
When man met man, when in the field of fight
The soldier on firm earth should plant his foot,
Then would the trial be, the struggle then,
The glory, the revenge.
Tezozomoc,
Alike unbroken by defeat, endur’d
The evil day; but in his sullen mind
Work’d thoughts of other vengeance. He the King
Summon’d apart from all, with Tlalala,
And thus advised them: We have vainly tried
The war; these mighty Strangers will not yield
To mortal strength; yet shall they be cut off,
So ye will heed my counsel, and to force
Add wisdom’s aid. Put on a friendly front;
Send to their Prince the messenger of peace:
He will believe our words; he will forgive
The past; — the offender may. So days and months,
Yea, years, if needful, will we wear a face
Of friendliness, till some fit hour arrive,
When we may fire their dwellings in the night,
Or mingle poison in their cups of mirth.
The warrior, from whose force the Lion flies,
Falls by the Serpent’s tooth.
Thou speakest well,
Tlalala answered; but my spirit ill
Can brook revenge delay’d.
The Priest then turned
His small and glittering eye toward the King;
But on the Monarch’s mild and manly brow
A meaning sate, which made that crafty eye
Bend, quickly abash’d. While yet I was a child,
Replied the King of Aztlan, on my heart
My father laid two precepts: Boy, be brave!
So in the midnight battle shalt thou meet,
Fearless, the sudden foe. Boy, let thy lips
Be clean from falsehood! in the mid-day sun,
So never shalt thou need from mo
rtal man
To turn thy guilty face. Tezozomoc,
Holy I keep the lessons of my sire.
But if the enemy, with their dreadful arms,
Again, said Tlalala, — If again the Gods
Will our defeat, Yuhidthiton replied,
Vain is it for the feeble power of man
To strive against their will. I augur not
Of ill, young Tiger! but, if ill betide,
The land is all before us. Let me hear
Of perfidy and serpent-wiles no more!
In the noon-day war, and in the face of
Heaven, I meet my foes. Let Aztlan follow me;
And if one man of all her multitudes
Shall better play the warrior in that hour,
Be his the sceptre! But if the people fear
The perilous strife, and own themselves subdued,
Let us depart! The universal Sun
Confines not to one land his partial beams;
Nor is man rooted, like a tree, whose seed
The winds on some ungenial soil have cast,
There where he cannot prosper.
The dark Priest
Concealed revengeful anger, and replied,
Let the King’s will be done! An awful day
Draws on; the Circle of the Years is full;
We tremble for the event. The times are strange;
There are portentous changes in the world;
Perchance its end is come.
Be it thy care,
Priest of the Gods, to see the needful rites
Duly perform’d, Yuhidthiton replied.
On the third day, if yonder God of Light
Begin the Circle of the Years anew,
Again we march to war.
One day is past;
Another day comes on. At earliest dawn
Then was there heard through all Patamba’s streets
The warning voice, — Woe! woe! the Sun hath reach’d
The limits of his course; he hath fulfill’d
The appointed cycle! — Fast and weep and pray, —
Four Suns have perished; — fast and weep and pray,
Lest the fifth perish also. On the first
The floods arose; the waters of the heavens,
Bursting their everlasting boundaries,
Whelmed in one deluge earth and sea and sky,
And quench’d its orb of fire. The second Sun
Then had its birth, and ran its round of years;
Till, having reach’d its date, it fell from heaven,
Complete Poetical Works of Robert Southey Page 88