Complete Poetical Works of Robert Southey

by Robert Southey

  Destroy them, till they shall not dare to walk

  Beyond their city walls, to sow their fields,

  Or bring the harvest in. We may steal forth

  In the dark midnight, go and burn and kill,

  Till all their dreams shall be of fire and death,

  Their sleep be fear and misery.

  Then the King

  Stretch’d forth his hand, and pointed to the lake

  Where Madoc’s galleys still to those who clung

  To the tree-tops for life, or faintly still

  Were floating on the waters, gave their aid. —

  Oh, think not, Tlalala, that, ever more

  Will I against those noble enemies

  Raise my right hand in war, lest righteous Heaven

  Should blast the impious hand and thankless heart!

  The Gods are leagued with them; the Elements

  Banded against us! For our overthrow

  Were yonder mountain-springs of fire ordain’d;

  For our destruction the earth-thunders loos’d,

  And the everlasting boundaries of the lake

  Gave way, that these destroying floods might roll

  Over the brave of Aztlan! We must leave

  The country which our fathers won in arms;

  We must depart.

  The word yet vibrated

  Fresh on their hearing, when the Bird above,

  Flapping his heavy wings, repeats the sound,

  Depart! depart! — Ye hear! the King exclaim’d;

  It is an omen sent to me from Heaven;

  I heard it late in solitude, the voice

  Of Fate! — It is Coanocotzin’s soul,

  Who counsels our departure. And the Bird

  Still flew around, and, in his wheeling flight,

  Pronounced the articulate note. The people heard

  In faith, and Tlalala made no reply;

  But dark his brow, and gloomy was his frown.

  Then spake the King, and call’d a messenger,

  And bade him speed to Aztlan. — Seek the Lord

  Of Ocean; tell him that Yuhidthiton

  Yields to the will of Heaven, and leaves the land

  His fathers won in war. Only one boon,

  In memory of our former friendship, ask,

  The Ashes of my Fathers, — if, indeed,

  The conqueror have not cast them to the winds.

  The herald went his way, circuitous,

  Along the mountains, — for the flooded vale

  Barr’d the near passage; but, before his feet

  Could traverse half their track, the fugitives

  Beheld canoes from Aztlan, to the foot

  Of that protecting eminence, whereon

  They had their stand, draw nigh. The doubtful sight

  Disturb’d them, lest perchance with hostile strength

  They came upon their weakness. Wrongful fear;

  For now Cadwallon, from his bark, unarm’d,

  Set foot ashore, and for Yuhidthiton

  Inquired, if yet he lived. The King receives

  His former friend. — From Madoc come I here,

  The Briton said: Raiment and food he sends,

  And peace; so shall this visitation prove

  A blessing, if it knit the bonds of peace,

  And make us as one people!

  Tlalala!

  Hearest thou him? Yuhidthiton exclaimed.

  Do thou thy pleasure, King! the Tyger cried:

  My path is plain. — Thereat Yuhidthiton,

  Answering, replied, Thus humbled, as thou seest,

  Beneath the visitation of the Gods,

  We bow before their will! To them we yield;

  To you, their favorites, we resign the land

  Our fathers conquer’d. Never more may Fate,

  In your days or your children’s, to the end

  Of Time, afflict it thus!

  He said, and call’d

  The Heralds of his pleasure. — Go ye forth

  Throughout the land: north, south, and east, and west,

  Proclaim the ruin. Say to all who bear

  The name of Azteca, Heaven hath crush’d

  Their country: Say, the voice of Heaven was heard, —

  Heard ye it not? — bidding us leave the land,

  Who shakes us from her bosom. Ye will find

  Women, old men, and babes; the many, weak

  Of body, and of spirit ill prepar’d,

  With painful toil, through long and dangerous ways

  To seek another country. Say to them,

  The White Men will not lift the arm of power

  Against the feeble; here they may remain

  In peace, and to the grave in peace go down.

  But they who would not have their children lose

  The name their fathers bore, will join our march.

  Ere ye set forth, behold the destin’d way.

  He bade a pile be rais’d upon the top

  Of that high eminence, to all the winds

  Expos’d. They raised the pile, and left it free

  To all the winds of Heaven. Yuhidthiton

  Alone approach’d it, and applied the torch.

  The day was calm, and o’er the flaming pile

  The wavy smoke hung lingering, like a mist

  That in the morning tracks the valley-stream.

  Swell over swell it rose, erect above,

  On all sides spreading like a stately palm,

  So moveless were the winds. Upward it roll’d,

  Still upward, when a stream of upper air

  Crossed it, and bent its top, and drove it on,

  Straight over Aztlan. An acclaiming shout

  Welcom’d the will of Heaven; for lo! the smoke

  Fast travelling on, while not a breath of air

  Is felt below. Ye see the appointed course!

  Exclaim’d the King. Proclaim it where ye go!

  On the third morning we begin our march.

  Soon o’er the lake a winged galley sped,

  Wafting the Ocean Prince. He bore, preserv’d

  When Aztlan’s bloody temples were cast down,

  The Ashes of the Dead. The King receiv’d

  The relics, and his heart was full; his eye

  Dwelt on his father’s urn. At length he said,

  One more request, O Madoc! — If the lake

  Should ever to its ancient bounds return,

  Shrin’d in the highest of Patamba’s towers

  Coanocotzin rests. — But wherefore this?

  Thou wilt respect the ashes of the King.

  Then said the Prince, Abide not here, O King,

  Thus open to the changeful elements;

  But, till the day of your departure come,

  Sojourn with me. — Madoc, that must not be!

  Yuhidthiton replied. Shall I behold

  A stranger dwelling in my father’s house!

  Shall I become a guest, where I was wont

  To give the guest his welcome? — He pursued,

  After short pause of speech, — For our old men,

  And helpless babes, and women; for all those

  Whom wisely fear and feebleness deter

  To tempt strange paths, through swamp and wilderness

  And hostile tribes, for these Yuhidthiton

  Asks thy protection. Under thy mild sway,

  They will remember me without regret,

  Yet not without affection. — They shall be

  My people, Madoc answer’d. — And the rites

  Of holiness transmitted from their sires, —

  Pursued the King, — will these be suffered them? —

  Blood must not flow, the Christian Prince replied;

  No Priest must dwell among us; that hath been

  The cause of all this misery. — Enough,

  Yuhidthiton replied; I ask no more.

  It is not for the conquer’d to impose

  Their law upon the conqueror.
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  Then he turn’d,

  And lifted up his voice, and called upon

  The people: — All whom fear or feebleness

  Withhold from following my adventurous path,

  Prince Madoc will receive. No blood must flow,

  No Paba dwell among them. Take upon ye,

  Ye who are weak of body or of heart,

  The Strangers’ easy yoke: beneath their sway

  Ye will remember me without regret.

  Soon take your choice, and speedily depart,

  Lest ye impede the adventurers. As he spake,

  Tears flowed, and groans were heard. The line was drawn,

  Which whoso would accept the Strangers’ yoke

  Should pass. A multitude o’erpast the line;

  But all the youth of Aztlan crowded round

  Yuhidthiton, their own beloved King.

  So two days long, with unremitting toil,

  The barks of Britain to the adventurers

  Bore due supply; and to new habitants

  The city of the Cymry spread her gates;

  And in the vale around, and on the heights,

  Their numerous tents were pitch’d. Meantime the tale

  Of ruin went abroad, and how the Gods

  Had driven her sons from Aztlan. To the King,

  Companions of his venturous enterprize,

  The bold repair’d; the timid and the weak,

  All whom, averse from perilous wanderings,

  A gentler nature had dispos’d to peace,

  Beneath the Strangers’ easy rule remain’d.

  Now the third morning came. At break of day,

  The mountain echoes to the busy sound

  Of multitudes. Before the moving tribe,

  The Pabas bear, enclos’d from public sight,

  Mexitli; and the ashes of the Kings

  Follow the Chair of God. Yuhidthiton

  Then leads the marshall’d ranks, and by his side,

  Silent and thoughtfully, went Tlalala.

  At the north gate of Aztlan, Malinal,

  Borne in a litter, waited their approach;

  And now alighting, as the train drew nigh,

  Propt by a friendly arm, with feeble step

  Advanced to meet the King. Yuhidthiton,

  With eye severe and darkening countenance,

  Met his advance. I did not think, quoth he,

  Thou wouldst have ventur’d this! and liefer far

  Should I have borne away with me the thought

  That Malinal had shunn’d his brother’s sight,

  Because their common blood yet rais’d in him

  A sense of his own shame! — Comest thou to show

  Those wounds, the marks of thine unnatural war

  Against thy country? or to boast the meed.

  Of thy dishonour, that thou tarriest here,

  Sharing the bounty of the conqueror,

  While with the remnant of his countrymen,

  Saving the Gods of Aztlan and the name,

  Thy brother and thy King goes forth to seek

  His fortune!

  Calm and low the youth replied,

  Ill dost thou judge of me, Yuhidthiton!

  And foully, O my brother, wrong the heart

  Thou better should have known! Howbeit, I come

  Prepar’d for grief. These honorable wounds

  Were gain’d when, singly, at Caermadoc, I

  Opposed the ruffian Hoamen; and even now,

  Thus feeble as thou seest me, come I thence,

  For this farewell. Brother, — Yuhidthiton, —

  By the true love which thou didst bear my youth,

  Which ever, with a love as true, my heart

  Hath answered, — by the memory of that hour

  When at our mother’s funeral pile we stood,

  Go not away in wrath, but call to mind

  What thou hast ever known me! Side by side

  We fought against the Strangers, side by side

  We fell; together in the counsel hall

  We counsell’d peace, together in the field

  Of the assembly pledged the word of peace.

  When plots of secret slaughter were devis’d,

  I rais’d my voice alone; alone I kept

  My plighted faith; alone I prophesied

  The judgment of just Heaven: for this I bore

  Reproach and shame, and wrongful banishment,

  In the action self-approved, and justified

  By this unhappy issue!

  As he spake,

  Did natural feeling strive within the King,

  And thoughts of other days, and brotherly love,

  And inward consciousness, that had he, too

  Stood forth, obedient to his better mind,

  Nor weakly yielded to the wily priests,

  Wilfully blind, perchance even now in peace

  The kingdom of his fathers had preserv’d

  Her name and empire. — Malinal! he cried,

  Thy brother’s heart is sore: in better times

  I may with kindlier thoughts remember thee,

  And honour thy true virtue. Now fare well!

  So saying, to his heart he held the youth,

  Then turn’d away. But then cried Tlalala,

  Farewell, Yuhidthiton! the Tyger cried;

  For I, too, will not leave my native land,

  Thou who wert King of Aztlan! Go thy way;

  And be it prosperous. Through the gate thou seest

  Yon tree that overhangs my father’s house;

  My father lies beneath it. Call to mind

  Sometimes that tree; for at its foot in peace

  Shall Tlalala be laid, who will not live

  Survivor of his country.

  Thus he cried,

  And through the gate, regardless of the King,

  Turn’d to his native door. Yuhidthiton

  Follow’d, and Madoc; but in vain their words

  Essay’d to move the Tyger’s steady heart;

  When from the door a tottering boy came forth,

  And clung around his knees with joyful cries,

  And called him father. At the joyful sound,

  Out ran Ilanquel; and the astonish’d man

  Beheld his wife and boy, whom sure he deem’d

  Whelm’d in the flood: but them the British barks,

  Returned homeward from their merciful quest,

  Found floating on the waters. — For a while,

  Abandon’d by all desperate thoughts, he stood:

  Soon he collected, and to Madoc turn’d,

  And said, O Prince! this woman and her boy

  I leave to thee. As thou hast ever found

  In me a fearless, unrelenting foe,

  Fighting with ceaseless zeal his. country’s cause,

  Respect them! — Nay, Ilanquel! hast thou yet

  To learn with what unshakable resolve

  My soul maintains its purposes? I leave thee

  To a brave foe’s protection. — Lay me, Madoc,

  Here in my father’s grave.

  With that he took

  His mantle off, and veiled Ilanquel’s face; —

  Woman, thou mayst not look upon the Sun,

  Who sets to rise no more! — That done, he placed

  His javelin-hilt against the ground; the point

  He fitted to his heart; and, holding firm

  The shaft, fell forward, still with steady hand

  Guiding the death-blow on.

  So in the land

  Madoc was left sole Lord; and far away

  Yuhidthiton led forth the Aztecas,

  To spread in other lands Mexitli’s name,

  And rear a mightier empire, and set up

  Again their foul idolatry; till Heaven,

  Making blind Zeal and bloody Avarice

  Its ministers of vengeance, sent among them

  The heroic Spaniard’s unrelenting sword.

  THE END

  NO
TES ON THE SECOND PART.

  We neighbor nearer to the Sun. — I. p. 182.

  Columbus inferred this from the elevation of the pole at Paria. “How it cometh to pass,” says Pietro Martire, “that at the beginning of the evening twilight it is elevate in that region only five degrees in the month of June, and in the morning twilight to be elevate fifteen degrees by the same quadrant, I do not understand: nor yet do the reasons which he bringeth in any point satisfy me; for he saith that he hereby conjectured that the earth is not perfectly round, but that, when it was created, there was a certain heap raised thereon, much higher thlan the other parts of the same. So that, as he saith, it is not round after the form of an apple or a ball, as others think, but rather like a pear as it hangeth on the tree; and that Paria is the region which possesseth the supereminent or highest part thereof, nearest unto heaven. In so much, that he earnestly contendeth the earthly paradise to be situate in the tops of those three hills which the watchmen saw out of the top castle of the ship; and that the outrageous streams of the fresh waters which so violently issue out of the said gulfs, and strive so with the salt water, fall headlong from the tops of the said mountains.” — Pietrao Martire, Dec. 1, Book 6.

  Tezcalipoca. — II. p. 186.

  A devout worshipper of this Deity once set out to see if he could find him: he reached the sea-coast; and there the God appeared to him, and bade him call the Whale, and the Mermaid, and the Tortoise to make a bridge for him, over which he might pass to the house of the Sun, and brine back from thence instruments of music, and singers, to celebrate his festivals. The Whale, the Mermaid, and the Tortoise accordingly made the bridge; and the man went over it, singing, as he went, a song which the God taught him. As soon as the Sun heard him, he cautioned all his servants and people not to answer to the song; for they who answered would be obliged to abandon his House, and follow the Singer. Some there were, however, who could not resist the voice of the charmer; and these he brought back with him to earth, together with the drum called Huahuneth Tepunaztli. — Torquesauda, L. 6, c. 43.

  The particular sacrifice related in the poem is described by this author, L. 10, c. 14. It is sufficient merely to refer to my authorities in such instances as these, where no other liberty has been taken than that of omission.

  She gather’d herbs, which, like our poppy, bear