Part II, Madoc in Aztlan: XXII

Aztlan, meantime, presents a hideous scene
Of slaughter. The hot sunbeam, in her streets,
Parched the blood pools; the slain were heaped in hills;
The victors, stretched in every little shade,
With unhelmed heads, reclining on their shields,
Slept the deep sleep of weariness. long,
To needful labour rising, from the gates
They drag the dead, and, with united toil,
They dig upon the plain the general grave,
The grave of thousands, deep and wide and long.
Ten such they delved, and o'er the multitudes,
Who levelled with the plain the deep-dug pits,
Ten monumental hills they heaped on high.
Next, horror heightening joy, they overthrew
The skull-built towers, the files of human heads,
And earth to earth consigned them. To the flames
They cast the idols, and upon the wind
Scattered their ashes ; then the temples fell,
Whose black and putrid walls were scaled with blood,
And not one stone of those accursed piles
Was on another left.

Victorious thus
In Aztlan, it behoved the Cymry now
There to collect their strength, and there await,
Or thence with centered numbers urge, the war.
For this was Ririd missioned to the ships,
For this Lincoya from the hills invites
Erillyab and her tribe. There did not breathe
On this wide world a happier man, that day,
Than young Lincoya, when, from their retreat,
He bade his countrymen come repossess
The land of their forefathers ; proud at heart
To think how great a part himself had borne
In their revenge, and that beloved one,
The gentle saviour of the Prince, whom well
He knew his own dear love, and for the deed
Still dearer loved the dearest. Round the youth,
Women and children, the infirm and old,
Gather to hear his tale ; and as they stood
With eyes of steady wonder, outstretched necks,
And open lips of listening eagerness,
Fast played the tide of triumph in his veins,
Flushed his brown cheek, and kindled his dark eye.
And now, reposing from his toil awhile,
Lincoya, on a crag above the straits,
Sate underneath a tree, whose twinkling leaves.
Sung to the gale of noon. Ayayaca
Sate by him in the shade: the old man had laved
The youth beside him, from his boyhood up,
And still would call him boy. They sate watched
The laden bisons, winding down the way,
The multitude, who now with joy forsook
Their desolated dwellings ; and their talk
Was of the days of sorrow, when they groaned
Beneath the intolerable yoke, till, sent
By the Great Spirit o'er the pathless deep,
Prince Madoc, the Deliverer, came to save.
As thus they communed, came a woman up,
Seeking Lincoya; 'twas Aculhua's slave,
The nurse of Coatel. Her wretched eye,
Her pale and livid countenance, foretold
Some tale of misery, that his life-blood ebbed.
In ominous. But when he heard her words
Of death, he seized the lance, and raised his arm,
To strike the blow of comfort.

The old man
Caught his uplifted hand. . . O'er-hasty boy,
Quoth he, regain her yet, if she was dear !
Seek thy beloved in the Land of Souls,
And beg her from the Gods. The Gods will hear,
And, in just recompense of fearless, faith,
Restore their charge..

The miserable youth
Turned, at his words, a hesitating eye.
I knew a prisoner, . . so the old man pursued,
Or hoping to beguile the youth's despair,
With tales that suited the despair of youth,
Or credulous himself of what he told, . .
I knew a prisoner once, who welcomed death
With merriment and songs, and joy of heart,
Because, he said, the friends whom he loved best
Were gone before him to the Land of Souls;
Nor would they to resume their mortal state,
Even when the keepers of the Land allowed,
Forsake its pleasures ; therefore he rejoiced.
To die, and join them there. I questioned him,
How of these hidden and unknowable things
So certainly he spake. The man replied,
One of our nation lost the maid he loved,
Nor would he hear his sorrow, . . being one
Into whose heart fear never found a way, ..
But to the Country of the Dead pursued
Her spirit. Many toils he underwent,
And many dangers gallantly surpassed,
Till to the Country of the Dead he came.
Gently the Guardian of the Land received
The living suppliant, listened to his prayer,
And gave him back the Spirit of the Maid.
But from that happy country, from the songs
Of joyance, from the splendour-sparkling dance,
Unwillingly compelled, the Maiden's Soul
Loathed to return ; and he was warned to guard
The subtle captive well and warily,
Till, in her mortal tenement relodged,
Mortal delights might win her to remain,
A sojourner on earth. Such lessoning
The Ruler of the Souls departed gave ;
And, mindful of his charge, the adventurer brought
His subtle captive home. There, underneath
The shelter of a hut, his friends had watched
The Maiden's corpse, secured it from the sun,
And fanned away the insect swarms of heaven.
A busy hand marred all the enterprise :
Curious to see the Spirit, he unloosed
The knotted bag which held her, and she fled.
Lincoya, thou art brave! where man has gone
Thou wouldst not fear to follow.

Silently
Lincoya listened, and with unmoved eyes ;
At length he answered, Is the journey long ?
The old man replied, A way of many moons.
I know a shorter path ! exclaimed the youth.
And up he sprung, and from the precipice
Darted : A moment, .. and Ayayaca heard
His body dash upon the rocks below.