Classic Poem

The Hoamen in their Council-hall are met
To hold the Feast of Souls; seat above seat,
Ranged round the circling theatre they sit.
No light but from the central fire, whose smoke,
Slow passing through the over aperture,
Excludes the day, and fills the conic roof,
And hangs above them like a cloud. Around,
The ghastly bodies of their chiefs are hung,
Shrivell'd and parch'd by heat; the humbler dead
Lie on the floor, — white bones, exposed to view,
On deer, or elk-skin laid, or softer fur,
Or web, the work of many a mournful hour;
The loathlier forms of fresh mortality
Swathed, and in decent tenderness conceal'd.
Beside each body pious gifts are laid,
Mantle, and belt, and feathery coronal,
The bow he used in war, his drinking shell,
His arrows for the chase, the sarbacan,
Through whose long tube the slender shaft, breath driven,
Might pierce the winged game. Husbands and wives,
Parents and children, there in death they lie;
The widow'd, and the parent, and the child,
Look on in silence. Not a sound is heard
But of the crackling brand, or mouldering fire,
Or when, amid yon pendent string of shells,
The slow wind wakes a shrill and feeble sound, —
A sound of sorrow to the mind attuned
By sights of woe.
Ayayaca at length
Came forward: — Spirits, is it well with ye?
Is it well, Brethren? said the aged Priest;
Have ye received your mourning, and the rites
Of righteous grief? or round your dwelling-place
Still do your shadows roam dissatisfied,
And to the cries of wailing woe return
A voice of lamentation? Teach us now,
If we in aught have fail'd, that I, your Priest,
When I shall join ye soon, — as soon I must, —
May unimpeded pass the perilous floods,
And in the Country of the Dead, be hail'd
By you with song, and dance, and grateful joy.

So saying, to the Oracle he turn'd,
Awaiting there the silence which implied
Peaceful assent. Against the eastern wall,
Fronting the narrow portal's winding way,
An Image stood, a cloak of fur disguised
The rude proportion of its uncouth limbs;
The skull of some old seer of days of old
Topp'd it, and with a visor this was mask'd,
Honoring the oracular Spirit, who at times
There took his resting-place. Ayayaca
Repeated, Brethren, is it well with ye?
And raised the visor. But he started back,
Appall'd and shuddering; for a moony light
Lay in its eyeless sockets, and there came
From its immovable and bony jaws
A long, deep groan, thrice utter'd, and thrice felt
In every heart of all the hearers round.
The good old Priest stood tottering, like a man
Stricken with palsy; and he gazed with eyes
Of asking horror round, as if he look'd
For counsel in that fear. But Neolin
Sprung boldly to the Oracle, and cried,
Speak, Spirit! tell us of our sin, and teach
The atonement! A sepulchral voice replied,
Ye have for other Gods forsaken us,
And we abandon you! — and crash with that,
The Image fell.
A loud and hideous shriek,
As of a demon, Neolin set up;
So wild a yell, that, even in that hour,
It brought fresh terror to the startled ear.
While yet they sat, pale and irresolute,
Helhua the Azteca came in. He bore
A shield and arrow, — symbols these of war,
Yet now beheld with hope, so great relief
They felt his human presence.
Hoamen, hear me!
The messenger began; Erillyab, hear,
Priests, Elders, People! but hear chiefly thou,
Prince Amalahta, as of these by birth,
So now of years mature, the rightful Lord! —
Shall it be peace or war? — thus Aztlan saith;
She, in her anger, from the land will root
The Children of the Sea; but viewing you
In mercy, to your former vassalage
Invites ye, and remits the tribute lives,
And for rebellion claimeth no revenge.

Oh, praise your Gods! cried Neolin, and hail
This day-spring of new hope! Aztlan remits
The tribute lives, — what more could Madoc give?
She claimeth no revenge, and if she claimed,
He could not save. O Hoamen, bless your Gods;
Appease them! Thou, Prince Amalahta, speak,
And seize the mercy.
Amalahta stood
In act of speech; but then Erillyab rose, —
Who gives thee, Boy, this Elder's privilege?
The Queen exclaim'd; — and thou, Priest Neolin,
Curb thou thy traitorous tongue! The remine,
I hold it from my father, he from his;
Age before age, beyond the memory
Of man it hath been thus. My father fell
In battle for his people, and his sons
Fell by his side; they perish'd, but their names
Are with the names we love, — their happy
Pursue in fields of bliss the shadowy deer;
The spirit of that noble blood which ran
From their death-wounds, is in the ruddy cloud
Which go before the Sun, when he comes forth
In glory. Last of that illustrious race
Was I, Erillyab. Ye remember well,
Elders, that day when I assembled here
The people, and demanded at their choice
The worthiest, to perpetuate our old line
Of Kings and Warriors. — To the wind he spirit
His black and blood-red banner. Even now,
I hear his war-drum's tripled sound, that call'd
The youth to battle; even now behold
The hope which lit his dark and fiery eye,
And kindled with a sunnier glow his cheek,
As he from yonder war-pole, in his pride,
Took the death-doers down. — Lo, here the bones
Of King Tepollomi! — my husband's bones
There should be some among ye who beheld
When, all with arrows quill'd, and clothed blood
As with a purple garment, he sustain'd
The unequal conflict, till the Aztecas
Took him at vantage, and their monarch's club
Let loose his struggling soul. Look, Hoam here,
See through how wide a wound his spirit fled
Twenty long years of mournful widowhood
Have past away; so long have I maintain'd
The little empire left us, loving well
My people, and by them as well beloved.
Say, Hoamen, am I still your Queen?
At once
The whole assembly rose with one acclaim, —
Still, O Erillyab, O Beloved, rule
Thy own beloved people!
But the Gods!
Cried Amalahta, — but the Oracle!
The Oracle! quoth she; what hath it said
That forty years of suffering hath not taught
This wretched people? — They abandon us
So let them go! Where were they at that hour
When, like a blasting night-wind in the spring
The multitudes of Aztlan came upon us?
Where were they when my father went to war
Where were they when thy father's stiffen'd corps
Even after death a slave, held up the lamp
To light his conqueror's revels? — Think not, Bones
To palter with me thus! A fire may tremble
Within the sockets of a skull, and groans
May issue from a dead man's fleshless jaws,
And images may fall, and yet no God
Be there! — If it had walk'd abroad with life
That had indeed been something!
Then she turn
Her voice toward the people. — Ye have heard
This Priest of Aztlan, whose insidious tongue
Bids ye desert the Children of the Sea,
And vow again your former vassalage.
Speaks Aztlan of the former? O my people,
I, too, could tell ye of the former days,
When yonder plain was ours, with all its woods,
And waters, and savannahs! — of those days,
When, following where her husband's stronger arm
Had open'd the light glebe, the willing wife
Dropp'd in the yellow maize; erelong to bear
Its increase to the general store, and toss
Her flowing tresses in the dance of joy.
And I could tell ye how those summer stores
Were hoarded for the invader's winter feasts;
And how the widows clipp'd those flowing locks
To strew them, — not upon their husband's grave, —
Their husbands had no graves! — but on the rocks
And mountains in their flight. And even these rocks
And mountains could not save us! Year by year
Our babes, like firstlings of the flock, were cull'd
To be the banquet of these Aztecas!
This very wretch, who tells us of the past,
Hath chosen them for the butchery! — Oh, I thank you
For this brave anger! — In your name I take
The war-gift!
Gods of Aztlan, Helhua cried,
As to Erillyab's ready hand he gave
The deadly symbol, in your name I give
The war-gift! Ye have thirsted over-long;
Take now your fill of blood! — He turn'd away,
And Queen Erillyab bade the tribe fulfil
Their customary rites.
Each family
Bore its own dead, and to the general grave,
With melancholy song and sob of woe,
The slow procession moves. The general grave
Was delved within a deep and shady dell,
Fronting a cavern in the rock, — the scene
Of many a bloody rite, ere Madoc came, —
A temple, as they deem'd, by Nature made,
Where the Snake-Idol stood. On fur and cloth
Of woven grass, they lay their burdens down,
Within the ample pit; their offerings range
Beside, and piously a portion take
Of that cold earth, to which forever now
Consign'd, they leave their fathers, dust to dust;
Sad relic that, and wise remembrancer.

But as with bark and resinous boughs they pile
The sepulchre, suddenly Neolin
Sprung up aloft, and shriek'd, as one who treads
Upon a viper in his heedless path.
The God! the very God! he cried, and howl'd
One long, shrill, piercing, modulated cry;
Whereat from that dark temple issued forth
A Serpent, huge and hideous. On he came,
Straight to the sound, and curl'd around the Priest
His mighty folds innocuous, overtopping
His human height, and arching down his head,
Sought in the hands of Neolin for food;
Then questing, rear'd, and stretch'd, and waved his neck,
And glanced his forky tongue. Who then had seen
The man, with what triumphant fearlessness,
Arms, thighs, and neck, and body, wreathed and ring'd
In those tremendous folds, he stood secure,
Play'd with the reptile's jaws, and call'd for food,
Food for the present God! — who then had seen
The fiendish joy which fired his countenance,
Might well have ween'd that he had summoned up
The dreadful monster from its native Hell,
By devilish power, himself a Fiend inflesh'd.

Blood for the God! he cried; Lincoya's blood!
Friend of the Serpent's foe. — Lincoya's blood!
Cried Amalahta, and the people turn'd
Their eyes to seek the victim, as if each
Sought his own safety in that sacrifice.
Alone Erillyab raised her voice, confused,
But not confounded; she alone exclaim'd,
Madoc shall answer this! Unheard her voice
By the bewilder'd people, by the Priest
Unheeded; and Lincoya sure had fallen
The victim of their fear, had he been found
In that wild hour; but when his watchful eye
Beheld the Serpent from his den come forth,
He fled to bear the tidings. — Neolin
Repeats the accursed call, Food for the God!
Ayayaca, his unbelieving Priest!
At once all eager eyes were fix'd on him,
But he came forward calmly at the call;
Lo! here am I! quoth he; and from his head
Plucking the thin gray hairs, he dealt them round —
Countrymen, kinsmen, brethren, children, take
These in remembrance of me! there will be
No relic of your aged Priest but this.
From manhood to old age, full threescore years,
Have I been your true servant: fit it is
That I, who witness'd Aztlan's first assault,
Should perish her last victim! — and he moved
Towards the death. But then Erillyab
Seized him, and by the garment drew him back! —
By the Great Spirit, but he shall not die!
The Queen exclaim'd; nor shalt thou triumph thus,
Liar and traitor! Hoamen, to your homes!
Madoc shall answer this!
Irresolute
They heard, and inobedient; to obey
Fearing, yet fearful to remain. Anon,
The Queen repeats her bidding, To your homes,
My people! — But when Neolin perceived
The growing stir and motion of the crowd,
As from the outward ring they moved away,
He utter'd a new cry, and disentangling
The passive reptile's folds, rush'd out among them,
With outstretch'd hands, like one possess'd, to seize
His victim. Then they fled; for who could tell
On whom the madman, in that hellish fit,
Might cast the lot? An eight-years' boy he seized,
And held him by the leg, and, whirling him
In ritual dance, till breath and sense were gone,
Set up the death-song of the sacrifice.
Amalahta, and what others rooted love
Of evil leagued with him, accomplices
In treason, join'd the death-song and the dance
Some, too, there were, believing what they fear'd,
Who yielded to their old idolatry,
And mingled in the worship. Round and round
The accursed minister of murder whirl'd
His senseless victim; they, too, round and round
In maddening motion, and with maddening cries
Revolving, whirl'd and wheel'd. At length, when now,
According to old rites, he should have dash'd
On the stone Idol's head the wretch's brains,
Neolin stopp'd, and once again began
The long, shrill, piercing, modulated cry.
The Serpent knew the call, and, rolling on,
Wave above wave, his rising length, advanced
His open jaws: then, with the expected prey,
Glides to the dark recesses of his den.