Part II, Madoc in Aztlan: IX

As now the rites were ended, Caradoc
Came from the ships, leading an Azteca d
Guarded and bound. Prince Madoc, said the Bard,
Lo! the first captive of our arms I bring.
Alone, beside the river I had strayed,
When, from his lurking place, the savage hurled
A javelin. At the rustle of the reeds,
From whence the blow was aimed, I turned in time,
And heard it whizz beside me. Well it was,
That from the ships they saw and succoured me ;
For, supple as a serpent in my grasp,
He seemed all joint and flexure ; nor had I
Armour to ward, nor weapon to offend,
To battle all unused and unprepared ;
But I too, here, upon this barbarous land,
Like Elmur and like Aronan 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 crushed
Their complots here ; beneath our righteous sword
The Priest and his false Deity have fallen,
The Idols been consumed, and in their stead
The emblems of our holy faith set up,
Whereof the Hoamen have this day been made
Partakers. Say 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, chuse 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 glowing 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, but of the warrior. Never the
The Tree of Peace, till planted by the brave
Upon his enemy's grave! . . Peace-loving fools,
Fly hence! for 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 acquired 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 bretheren,
Wield we these dreadful arms, . . but when assailed
By fraud and force, when called upon to aid
The feeble and oppressed, shall we not
Then put our terrors forth, and strike
The guilty ?

Silently the savage heard ;
Joy brightened in his eyes, as they unloosed
His bonds ; he stretched 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 hath traversed ; in the lake
He dashed, now shooting forth his pointed arms,
Arrow-like darting on ; recumbent now,
Forces, with springing feet, his easier way ;
Then with new speed, as freshened by repose,
Again he breasts the waters. 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 temples with green boughs affixed ;
The door-posts and the lintels hung with wreaths ;
The fire of sacrifice, with flames bedimmed,
Burns, in the sunlight, pale ; the victims wait
Around, impatient of their death delayed.
The Priest, before Tezcalipoca's Tezcalipoca's shrine,
Watches the maize-strewn threshold, to announce
The footsteps of the God ; for this the day,
When to his favoured city he vouchsafes
His annual presence, and, with unseen feet,
Imprints the maize-strewn threshold ; followed soon
By all whose altars with eternal fires
Aztlan illumed, and fed with human blood: . .
Mexitli, womb, who from the womb,
Child of no mortal sire, leapt terrible,
The armed avenger of his mother's fame ;
And he whose will the subject Winds obey,
Quetzalcoal, 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 cursed coming.

With the train
Of warrior Chiefs Coanocotzin stood,
That when the Priest proclaimed the entered 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 wakened 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 loved
To scent, and sooner hastened to enjoy.
I failed, 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,
Up 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 mayest thou boast, young Tlalala,
For thou art brave in battle. Yet 'twere well
If that same fearless tongue were taught to check
Its boyish licence now. No law forbade
Our friendship with the Stranger, when my voice
Pleaded for proffered peace ; that fault I shared
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 foes,
Whose conquered 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,
Honour 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 answered. Never yet
By holier ardour were our countrymen
Possessed : 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 procured
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-toned pipe, and drum, that gave
Its music to the hand, and hollowed wood,
Drum-like, whose thunders, ever and anon,
Commingling with the sea-shell's spiral roar,
Closed 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 surveyed
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, blazed, and its red smoke
Imparted to the darker atmosphere
Such obscure light, as, o'er Vesuvio seen,
Or pillared 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 the hour was past,
And yet no foot had marked the sprinkled maize.