Part II, Madoc in Aztlan: XIII

That morn from Aztlan Coatel had gone,
In search of flowers, amid the woods and crags,
To deck the shrine of Coatlantona ;
Such flowers, as in the solitary wilds.
Hiding their modest beauty, made their worth
More valued for its rareness. Twas to her
A grateful task ; not only for she fled
Those cruel rites, to which nor reverent use
Nor frequent custom could familiarize
Her gentle heart, and teach it to put off
All womanly feeling ; . . but that from all eyes
Escaped, and all obtrusive fellowship,
She, in that solitude, might send her soul
To where Lincoya with the Strangers dwelt.
She, from the summit of the woodland heights,
Gazed on the lake below. The sound of song
And instrument, in softened harmony,
Had reached her where she strayed; and she beheld
The pomp, and listened to the harmony,
A moment, with delight: but then a fear
Came on her, for she knew with what design
The Tyger and Ocelopan had sought
The dwellings of the Cymry. .. Now the boats
Drew nearer, and she knew the Stranger's child.
She watched them land below; she saw them wind
The ascent: . . and now from that abhorred cave
The stone is rolled away, . . and now the child
From light and life is caverned. Coatel
Thought of his mother then, of all the ills
Her fear would augur, and how worse than all
Which even a mother's maddening fear could feign,
His dreadful fate. She thought of this, and bowed
Her face upon her knees, and closed her eyes,
Shuddering. Suddenly in the brake beside,
A rustling startled her, and from the shrubs
A Vulture rose.

She moved toward the spot,
Led by an idle impulse, as it seemed,
To view from whence the carrion bird had fled.
The bushes overhung a narrow chasm,
Which pierced the hill; upon its mossy sides
Shade-loving herbs and flowers luxuriant grew ;
And jutting crags made easy the descent.
A little way descending, Coatel
Stoopt for the flowers, and heard, or thought she heard,
A feeble sound below. She raised her head,
And anxiously she listened for the sound,
Not without fear. .. Feebly again, and like
A distant cry, it came ; and then she thought,
Perhaps it was the voice of that poor child,
By the slow pain of hunger doomed to die.
She shuddered at the thought, and gave a groan
Of unavailing pity ;.. but the sound
Came nearer, and her trembling heart conceived
A dangerous hope. The Vulture from that chasm
Had fled, perchance accustomed in the cave
To seek his banquet, and by living feet
Alarmed : .. there was an entrance then below ;
And were it possible that she could save
The Stranger's child, ... Oh what a joy it were
To tell Lincoya that !

It was a thought
Which made her heart, with terror and delight,
Throb audibly. From crag to crag she past,
Descending, and beheld a narrow cave
Enter the hill. A little way the light
Fell, . . but its feeble glimmering she herself
Obstructed half, as, stooping, in she went.
The arch grew loftier, and the increasing gloom
Filled her with more affright ; and now she paused ;
For at a sudden and abrupt descent
She stood, and feared its unseen depth ; her heart
Failed, and she back had hastened ; but the cry
Reached her again, the near and certain cry
Of that most pitiable innocent.
Again adown the dark descent she looked,
Straining her sight ; by this the strengthened sight
Had grown adapted to the gloom around,
And her dilated pupils now received
Dim sense of objects near. Something below,
White, in the darkness lay : it marked the depth.
Still Coatel stood dubious ; but she heard
The wailing of the child, and his loud sobs; . .
Then, clinging to the rock, with fearful hands,
Her feet explored below, and twice she felt
Firm footing, ere her fearful hold relaxed.
The sound she made, along the hollow rock
Ran echoing. Hoel heard it, and he came
Groping along the side. A dim dim light
Broke on the darkness of his sepulchre.
A human form drew near him ; . . he sprang on,
Screaming with joy, and clung to Coatel,
And cried, Oh take me from this dismal place !
She answered not; she understood him not ;
But clasped the little victim to her breast,
And shed delightful tears.

But from that den
Of darkness and of horror, Coatel
Durst not convey the child, though in her heart
There was a female tenderness that yearned,
Even with maternal love, to cherish him.
She hushed his clamours, fearful lest the sound
Might reach some other ear ; she kissed away
The tears, that streamed adown his little cheeks ;
She gave him food, which in the morn she brought,
For her own wants, from Aztlan. Some few words
Of Britain's ancient language she had learnt
From her Lincoya, in those happy days
Of peace, when Aztlan was the Strangers' friend.
Aptly she learnt, what willingly he taught,
Terms of endearment, and the parting words
Which promised quick return. She on the child
The endearing phrase bestowed ; and if it chanced
Imperfect knowledge, or some difficult sound,
Checked her heart's utterance, then the gentle tone,
The fond caress, intelligibly spake
Affection's language.

But when she arose,
And would have climbed the ascent, the affrighted boy
Close clasped her, and his tears interpreted
The prayer to leave him not. Again she kissed
His tears away ; again of soon return
Assured and soothed him ; till, reluctantly
And weeping, but in silence, he unloosed
His grasp; and up the difficult ascent
Coatel climbed, and to the light of day
Returning, with her flowers she hastened home.