Part II, Madoc in Aztlan: XII

Good tidings travel fast. .. The chief is seen;
He hastens on; he holds the child on high ;
He shouts aloud. Through Aztlan spreads the news;
Each to his neighbour tells the happy tale, . .
Joy, .. joy to Aztlan! the Blood-Shedder comes!
Tlaloc hath given his victim.

Ah, poor child !
They from the gate swarm out to welcome thee,
Warriors, and men grown grey, and youths and maids;
Exulting, forth they crowd. The mothers throng
To view thee, and while, thinking of thy doom,
They clasp their own dear infants to the breast
With deeper love, delighted think that thou
Shalt suffer for them. He, poor child, admires
The strange array ; with wonder he beholds
Their olive limbs, half bare, their plumy crowns,
And gazes round and round, where all was new,
Forgetful of his fears. But when the Priest
Approached to take him from the Warrior's arms,
Then Hoel screamed, and from that hideous man
Averting, to Ocelopan he turned,
And would have clung to him, so dreadful late,
Stern as he was, and terrible of eye,
Less dreadful than the Priest, whose dark aspect,
Which Nature with her harshest characters
Had featured, art made worse. His cowl was white;
His trimmed hair, a long and loathsome mass,
With cotton cords intwisted, clung with gum,
And matted with the blood, which, every morn,
He from his temples drew before the God,
Id In sacrifice : bare were his arms, and smeared
Black : but his countenance a stronger dread
Than all the horrors of that outward garb,
Struck with quick instinct to young Hoel's heart ;
It was a face, whose settled sullenness
No gentle feeling ever had disturbed ;
Which, when he probed a victim's living breast,
Retained its hard composure.

Such was he
Who took the son of Llaian, heeding not
His cries and screams, and arms, in suppliant guise,
Stretched out to all around, and strugglings vain.
He to the Temple of the Water God
Conveyed his victim. By the threshold, there
The ministering Virgins stood, a comely band
Of high-born damsels, to the temple rites
By pious parents vowed. Gladly to them
The little Hoel leapt; their gentle looks
No fear excited ; and he gazed around,
Pleased and surprised, unconscious to what end
These things were tending. O'er the rush-strewn floor
They, to the azure Idol, led the child,
Now not reluctant, and they raised the hymn.

God of the Waters! at whose will the streams
Flow in their wonted channels, and diffuse
Their plenty round, the blood and life of earth ;
At whose command they swell, and o'er their banks
Burst with resistless ruin, making vain
The toils and hopes of man, . . behold this child!
O, strong to bless, and mighty to destroy,
Tlaloc ! behold thy victim ! so mayest thou
Restrain the peaceful streams within their banks,
And bless the labours of the husbandman.

God of the Mountains ! at whose will the clouds
Cluster around the heights ; who sendest them
To shed their fertilizing showers, and raise
The drooping herb, and o'er the thirsty vale
Spread their green freshness ; at whose voice the hills
Grow black storms ; whose wrath the thunder speaks;
Whose bow of anger shoots the lightning shafts,
To blast the works of man ; . . behold this child!
O, strong to bless, and mighty to destroy,
Tlaloc ! behold thy victim! so mayest thou
Lay by the fiery arrows of thy rage,
And bid the genial rains and dews descend.

O thou, Companion of the powerful God!
Companion and Beloved ! . . when he treads
The mountain-top, whose breath diffuses round
The sweets of summer ; when he rides the waves,
Whose presence is the sunshine and the calm, ..
Aiauh, O green-robed Goddess, see this child !
Behold thy victim ! so mayest thou appease
The sterner mind of Tlaloc, when he frowns,
And Aztlan flourish in thy fostering smile.

Young Spirits! ye whom Aztlan's piety
Hath given to Tlaloc, to enjoy with him,
For aye, the cool delights of Tlalocan, . .
Young Spirits of the happy! who have left
Your Heaven to-day, unseen assistants here, . .
Behold your comrade! see the chosen child,
Who through the lonely cave of Death must pass,
Like you, to join you in eternal joy.

Now from the rush-strewn temple they depart.
They place their smiling victim in a car,
Upon whose sides of pearly shell there played,
Shading and shifting still, the rainbow light.
On virgin shoulders is he borne aloft,
With dance before, and song and music round ;
And thus they, in festival array,
The water-side. There lies the sacred bark,
All gay with gold, and garlanded with flowers :
The virgins with the joyous boy embark ;
Ten boatmen urge them on ; the Priests behind
Follow, and all the long solemnity.
The lake is overspread with boats; the sun
Shines on the gilded prows, the feathery crowns,
The sparkling waves. Green islets float along,
Where high-born damsels, under jasmin bowers,
Raise the sweet voice, to which the echoing oars,
In modulated motion, rise and fall.
The moving multitude along the shore
Flows like a stream ; bright shines the unclouded sky;
Heaven, earth, and waters wear one face of joy.
Young Hoel with delight beholds the pomp ;
His heart throbs joyfully ; and if he thinks
Upon his mother now, 'tis but to think
How beautiful a tale for her glad ear
He hath on his return. Meantime, the maids
Weave garlands for his head, and pour the song.

Oh, happy thou, whom early from the world
The Gods require! not by the wasting worm
Of sorrow cankered, nor condemned to feel
The pang of sickness, nor the wound of war,
Nor the long miseries of protracted age,
But called in youth, the chosen of the God,
To share his joys. Soon shall thy rescued soul,
Child of the Stranger! in his blissful world,
Mix with the blessed spirits ; for not thine,
Amid the central darkness of the earth,
To endure the' eternal void ; .. not thine to live,
Dead to all objects of eye, ear, or sense,
In the long horrors of one endless night,
With endless being curst. For thee the bowers
Of Tlalocan have blossomed with new sweets ;
For thee have its immortal trees matured
The fruits of Heaven ; thy comrades even now
Wait thee, impatient, in their fields of bliss ;
The God will welcome thee, his chosen child,
And Aiauh love thee with a mother's love.
Child of the Stranger! dreary is thy way !
Darkness and Famine through the cave of Death
Must guide thee. Happy thou, when on that night
The morning of the eternal day shal dawn.

So as they sung young Hoel's song of death,
With rapid strength the boatmen plied their oars,
And through the water swift they glided on.
And now to shore they drew. The stately bank
Rose, with the majesty of woods o'erhung,
And rocks, or peering through the forest shade,
Or rising from the lake, and with their bulk
Glassing its dark deep waters. Half way up,
A cavern pierced the rock ; no human foot
Had trod its depths, nor ever sunbeam pierced
Its long recesses and mysterious gloom.
To Tlaloc it was hallowed ; and the stone,
Which closed its entrance, never was removed,
Save when the yearly festival returned,
And in its womb a child was sepulchred,
The living victim. Up the winding path,
That to the entrance of the cavern led,
With many a painful step, the train ascend :
But many a time, upon that long ascent,
Young Hoel would have paused, with weariness
Exhausted now. They urge him on, .. poor child!
They urge him on! .. Where is Cadwallon's aid ?
Where is the sword of Ririd ? where the arm
Of Madoc now?.. Oh! better had he lived,
Unknowing and unknown, on Arvon's plain,
And trod upon his noble father's grave,
With peasant feet, unconscious! . . They have reached
The cavern now, and from its mouth the Priests
Roll the huge portal. Thitherward they force
The son of Llaian. A cold air comes out;. .
It chills him, and his feet recoil ; . . in vain
His feet recoil ; . . in vain he turns to fly,
Affrighted at the sudden gloom that spreads
Around ;.. the den is closed, and he is left
In solitude and darkness, . . left to die!