Classic Poem

A transitory gloom that sight of death
Impress'd upon the assembled multitude;
But soon the brute and unreflecting crew
Turn'd to their sports. Some bare their olive limbs,
And in the race contend; with hopes and fear
Which rouse to rage, some urge the mimie
Here one upon his ample shoulders bears
A comrade's weight, upon whose head a third
Stands poised, like Mercury in act to fly.
Two others balance here on their shoulders
A bifork'd beam, while on its height a third
To nimble cadence shifts his glancing feet,
And shakes a plume aloft, and wheels around
A wreath of bells with modulating sway.
Here round a lofty mast the dancers move
Quick, to quick music; from its top affix'd,
Each holds a colored cord, and as they weave
The complex crossings of the mazy dance,
The checker'd network twists around the tree
Its intertexture of harmonious hues.

But now a shout went forth; the Fliers mouths
And from all meaner sports the multitude
Flock to their favorite pastime. In the ground,
Branchless and bark'd, the trunk of some tall one
Is planted; near its summit a square frame;
Four cords pass through the perforated square,
And fifty times and twice around the tree,
A mystic number, are entwined above.
Four Aztecas, equipp'd with wings, ascend,
And round them bind the ropes; anon they wave
Their pinions, and upborne on spreading plumes
Launch on the air, and wheel in circling flight
The lengthening cords untwisting as they fly
A fifth above, upon the perilous point
Dances, and shakes a flag; and on the frame,
Others the while maintain their giddy stand,
Till now, with many a round, the wheeling cords
Draw near their utmost length, and toward ground

They spring, and on their way from line to line
Pass, while the shouting multitude endure
A shuddering admiration.
On such sports,
Their feelings centred in the joy of sight,
The multitude stood gazing, when a man,
Breathless, and with broad eyes, came running down
His pale lips trembling, and his bloodless cheek
Like one who meets a lion in his path.
The fire! the fire! the temple! he exclaim'd,
Mexitli! — They, astonish'd at his words,
Hasten toward the wonder, — and behold!
The inner fane is sheeted white with fire.
Dumb with affright they stood; the inquiring King
Look'd to Tezozomoc; the Priest replied,
I go! the Gods protect me; — and therewith
He entered boldly in the house of flame.
But instant bounding with inebriate joy,
He issues forth — The God! the God! he cries
Joy! — joy! — the God! — the visible hand Heaven!
Repressing then his transport — Ye all know
How that in Aztlan Madoc's impious hand
Destroyed Mexitli's image; — it is here,
Unbroken, and the same! — Toward the gate
They press; they see the Giant Idol there,
The serpent girding him, his neck with hearts
Beaded, and in his hand the club, — even such
As oft in Aztlan, on his azure throne,
They had adored the God, they see him now,
Unbroken and the same! — Again the Priest
Kater'd; again a second joy inspired
To frenzy all around; — for forth he came,
Shouting with new delight, — for in his hand
The banner of the nation he upheld,
That banner to their fathers sent from Heaven,
By them abandoned to the conqueror.

He motion'd silence, and the crowd were still.
People of Aztlan! he began, when first
Your fathers from their native land went forth,
In search of better seats, this banner came
From Heaven. The Famine and the Pestilence
Had been among them; in their hearts the spring
Of courage was dried up: with midnight fires
Radiate, by midnight thunders heralded,
This banner came from Heaven; and with it came
Health, valor, victory. Aztecas! again
The God restores the blessing. To the God
Move now in solemn dance of grateful joy;
Exalt for him the song.
They form'd the dance,
They raised the hymn, and sung Mexitli's praise.
Glory to thee, the Great, the Terrible,
Mexitli, guardian God! — From whence art thou,
O Son of Mystery? From whence art thou,
Whose sire thy Mother knew not? She at eve
Walk'd in the temple court, and saw from heaven
A plume descend, as bright and beautiful,
As if some spirit had imbodied there
The rainbow hues, or dipp'd it in the light
Of setting suns. To her it floated down;
She placed it in her bosom, to bedeck
The altar of the God; she sought it there;
Amazed she found it not; amazed she felt
Another life infused. — From whence art thou,
O Son of Mystery? From whence art thou,
Whose sire thy Mother knew not?
Grief was hers,
Wonder and grief, for life was in her womb,
And her stern children with revengeful eyes
Beheld their mother's shame. She saw their frowns,
She knew their plots of blood. Where shall she look
For succor, when her sons conspire her death?
Where hope for comfort, when her daughter whets
The impious knife of murder? — From her womb
The voice of comfort came, the timely aid:
Already at her breast the blow was aim'd,
When forth Mexitli leap'd, and in his hand
The angry spear, to punish and to save.
Glory to thee, the Great, the Terrible,
Mexitli, guardian God!
Arise and save,
Mexitli, save thy people! Dreadful one,
Arise, redeem thy city, and revenge!
An impious, an impenetrable foe,
Hath blacken'd thine own altars with the blood
Of thine own priests; hath dash'd thine Image down.
In vain did valor's naked breast oppose
Their mighty arms; in vain the feeble sword
On their impenetrable mail was driven.
Not against thee, Avenger, shall those arms
Avail, nor that impenetrable mail
Resist the fiery arrows of thy wrath.
Arise, go forth in anger, and destroy!

Silent and solitary is thy vale,
Caermadoc, and how melancholy now
That solitude and silence! — Broad noon-day,
And not a sound of human life is there!
The fisher's net, abandoned in his haste,
Sways idly in the waters; in the tree,
Where its last stroke had pierced, the hatchet hangs:
The birds, beside the mattock and the spade,
Hunt in the new-turn'd mould, and fearlessly
Fly through the cage-work of the imperfect wall;
Or through the vacant dwelling's open door,
Pass and repass secure.
In Madoc's house,
And on his bed of reeds, Goervyl lies,
Her face toward the ground. She neither weeps,
Nor sighs, nor groans; too strong her agony
For outward sign of anguish, and for prayer
Too hopeless was the ill; and though, at times,
The pious exclamation past her lips,
Thy will be done! yet was that utterance
Rather the breathing of a broken heart,
Than of a soul resigned. Mervyn, beside,
Hangs over his dear mistress silently,
Having no hope or comfort to bestow,
Nor aught but sobs and unavailing tears.
The women of Caermadoc, like a flock
Collected in their panic, stand around
The house of their lost leader; and they too
Are mute in their despair. Llaian alone
Is absent; wildly hath she wander'd forth
To seek her child; and such the general woe,
That none hath mark'd her absence. Yet have they,
Though unprotected thus, no selfish fear;
The sudden evil had destroyed all thought,
All sense, of present danger to themselves,
All foresight.
Yet new terrors! Malinal,
Panting with speed, bursts in, and takes the arms
Of Madoc down. Goervyl, at that sound,
Started in sudden hope; but when she saw
The Azteca, she uttered a faint scream
Of wrongful fear, remembering not the proofs
Of his tried truth, nor recognizing aught
In those known features, save their hostile hue.
But he, by worser fear abating soon
Her vain alarm, exclaim'd, I saw a band
Of Hoamen coming up the straits, for ill,
Besure, for Amalahta leads them on.
Buckle this harness on, that, being arm'd,
I may defend the entrance.
Scarce had she
Fastened the breastplate with her trembling hands,
When, flying from the sight of men in arms,
The women crowded in. Hastily he seized
The shield and spear, and on the threshold took
His stand; but, waken'd now to provident thought,
Goervyl, following, helm'd him. There was now
No time to gird the bauldric on; she held
Her brother's sword, and bade him look to her
For prompt supply of weapons; in herself
Being resolved not idly to abide,
Nor unprepared of hand or heart to meet
The issue of the danger, nor to die
Reluctant now.
Rightly had they divined
The Hoaman's felon purpose. When he heard
The fate of Madoc, from his mother's eye
He mask'd his secret joy, and took his arms,
And to the rescue, with the foremost band,
Set forth. But soon upon the way, he told
The associates of his crime, that now their hour
Of triumph was arrived; Caermadoc, left
Defenceless, would become, with all its wealth,
The spoiler's easy prey — raiment, and arms,
And iron; skins of that sweet beverage,
Which to a sense of its own life could stir
The joyful blood; the women, above all,
Whom to the forest they might bear away,
To be their slaves, if so their pleasure was;
Or, yielding them to Aztlan, for such prize.
Receive a royal guerdon. Twelve there were,
Long leagued with him in guilt, who turn'd aside:
And they have reach'd Caermadoc now, and now
Rush onward where they see the women fly;
When, on the threshold, clad in Cimbric arms,
And with long lance protended, Malinal
Rebuffs them from the entrance. At that sight
Suddenly quail'd, they stood, as midnight thieves
Who find the master waking; but erelong,
Gathering a boastful courage, as they saw
No other guard, press'd forward, and essay'd
To turn his spear aside. Its steady point,
True to the impelling strength, held on, and thrust
The foremost through the breast, and breath and blood
Followed the re-drawn shaft. Nor seem'd the strife
Unequal now, though, with their numbers, they
Beleaguer'd in half-ring the door, where he,
The sole defender, stood. From side to side
So well and swiftly did he veer the lance,
That every enemy beheld its point
Aim'd at himself direct. But chief on one
Had Malinal his deadly purpose fix'd,
On Amalahta; by his death to quell
The present danger, and cut off the root
Of many an evil, certain else to spring
From that accursed stock. On him his eye
Turn'd with more eager wilfulness, and dwelt
With keener ken; and now, with sudden step
Bending his body on, at him he drives
The meditated blow; but that ill Prince,
As chiefly sought, so chiefly fearing, swerved
Timely aside; and ere the Azteca
Recovered from the frustrate aim, the spear
Was seized, and from his hold by stress and weight
Of numbers wrench'd. He, facing still the foe,
And holding at arm's length the targe, put back
His hand, and called Goervyl, and from her
Received the sword; — in time, for the enemy
Press'd on so near, that, having now no scope
To raise his arm, he drove the blade straight on.
It entered at the mouth of one who stood
With face aslant, and glanced along the teeth
Through to the ear, then, slivering down wards
The cheek-flap dangling. He, in that same
Of time, as if a single impulse gave
Birth to the double action, dash'd his shield
Against another's head, with so fierce swing
And sway of strength, that his third enemy
Fell at his feet. Astounded by such proof
Of prowess, and by unexpected loss
Dismayed, the foe gave back, beyond the rear
Of his strong arm; and there awhile they stood
Beholding him at bay, and counselling
How best to work their vengeance upon him,
Their sole opponent. Soon did they behold,
The vantage, overlook'd by hasty hope,
How vulnerable he stood, his arms and thighs
Bare for their butt. At once they bent their bodies
At once ten arrows fled; seven, shot in vain
Rung on his shield; but, with unhappier mark
Two shafts hung quivering in his leg; a third
Below the shoulder pierced. Then Malinal,
Groan'd, not for anguish for his wounds, but
And agony of spirit; yet resolved
To his last gasp to guard that precious post,
Nor longer able to endure afoot,
He, falling on his knees, received unharm'd
Upon the shield, now ample for defence,
Their second shower, and still defied the foe
But they, now sure of conquest, hasten'd on.
To thrust him down; and he too felt his strength
Ebbing away. Goervyl, in that hour
Of horror and despair, collected still,
Caught him, and by the shoulders drew him near
And, calling on her comrades, with their helm
Shut to the door in time, and with their weight
Secured it, not their strength; for she alone,
Found worthy of her noble ancestry,
In this emergence felt her faculties
All present, and heroic strength of heart,
To cope with danger and contempt of death:
Shame on ye, British women! shame! exclaim'd
The daughter of King Owen, as she saw
The trembling hands and bloodless countenance
Pale as sepulchral marble; silent some;
Others with womanish cries lamenting now
That ever, in unhappy hour, they left
Their native land; — a pardonable fear;
For hark, the war-whoop! sound, whereto
Of tigers or hyenas, heard at night
By captive from barbarian foes escaped,
And wandering in the pathless wilderness,
Were music. Shame on ye! Goervyl cried
Think what your fathers were, your husbands were
And what your sons should be! These savages
Seek not to wreak on ye immediate death,
So are ye safe, if safety-such as this
Be worth a thought; and in the interval
We yet may gain, by keeping to the last
This entrance, easily to be maintain'd
By us, though women, against foes so few;
Who knows what succor chance, or time thought
Of our own friends may send, or Providence
Who slumbereth not? — While thus she spied hand
That the window came, of one who sought
That way to win the entrance. She drew out
The arrow through the arm of Malinal,
With gentle care, — the readiest weapon that, —
And held it short above the bony barb,
And, adding deeds to words, with all her might
She stabbed it through the hand. The sudden pain
Provoked a cry, and back the savage fell,
Loosening his hold, and maim'd for further war.
Nay! leave that entrance open! she exclaim'd
To one who would have closed it, — who comes next
Shall not go thence so cheaply! — for she now
Had taken up a spear to guard that way,
Easily guarded, even by female might.
O heart of proof! what now avails thy worth
And excellent courage? for the savage foe,
With mattock and with spade, for other use
Design'd, hew now upon the door, and rend
The wattled sides; and they within shrink back,
For now it splinters through, — and lo, the way
Is open to the spoiler!
Then once more,
Collecting his last strength, did Malinal
Rise on his knees, and over him the maid
Stands with the ready spear, she guarding him
Who guarded her so well. Roused to new force
By that exampled valor, and with will
To achieve one service yet before he died, —
In death indeed, as sure he thought, were nigh, —
Malinal gathered up his fainting powers;
And reaching forward, with a blow that threw
His body on, upon the knee he smote
One Hoaman more, and brought him to the ground.
The foe fell over him; but he, prepared,
Threw him with sudden jerk aside, and rose
Upon one hand, and with the other plunged
Between his ribs the mortal blade. Meantime
Amalahta, rushing in blind eagerness
To seize Goervyl, set at nought the power
Of female hands, and stooping as he came,
Beneath her spear-point, thought with lifted arm
To turn the thrust aside. But she drew back,
And lowered at once the spear, with aim so sure,
That on the front it met him, and ploughed up
The whole scalp-length. He, blinded by the blood,
Staggered aside, escaping by that chance
A second push, else mortal. And by this,
The women, learning courage from despair,
And by Goervyl's bold example fired,
Took heart, and rushing on with one accord,
Drove out the foe. Then took they hope; for then
They saw but seven remain in plight for war;
And, knowing their own number, in the pride
Of strength, caught up stones, staves, or axe, or spear,
To hostile use converting whatsoe'er
The hasty hand could seize. Such fierce attack
Confused the ruffian band; nor had they room
To aim the arrow, nor to speed the spear,
Each now beset by many. But their Prince,
Still mindful of his purport, call'd to them —
Secure my passage while I bear away
The White King's Sister; having her, the law
Of peace is in our power. — And on he went
Toward Goervyl, and, with sudden turn,
While on another foe her eye was fix'd,
Ran in upon her, and stoop'd down, and clasp'd
The maid above the knees, and throwing her
Over his shoulder, to the valley straits
Set off; — ill seconded in ill attempt;
For now his comrades are too close beset
To aid their Chief, and Mervyn hath beheld
His lady's peril. At the sight, inspired
With force, as if indeed that manly garb
Had clothed a manly heart, the Page ran on,
And with a bill-hook striking at his ham,
Cut the back sinews. Amalahta fell;
The Maid fell with him: and she first hath risen,
While, grovelling on the earth, he gnash'd his teeth
For agony. Yet, even in those pangs,
Remembering still revenge, he turn'd and seized
Goervyl's skirt, and pluck'd her to the ground,
And roll'd himself upon her, and essayed
To kneel upon her breast; but she clinch'd fast
His bloody locks, and drew him down aside,
Faint now with anguish, and with loss of blood;
And Mervyn, coming to her help again,
As once again he rose, around the neck
Seized him, with throttling grasp, and held him down, —
Strange strife and horrible, — till Malinal
Crawl'd to the spot, and thrust into his groin
The mortal sword of Madoc; he himself,
At the same moment, fainting, now no more
By his strong will upheld, the service done.
The few surviving traitors, at the sight
Of their fallen Prince and Leader, now too late
Believed that some diviner power had given
These female arms strength for their overthrow,
Themselves proved weak before them, as, of late,
Their God, by Madoc crush'd.
Away they fled
Toward the valley straits; but in the gorge
Erillyab met their flight: and then her heart,
Boding the evil, smote her, and she bade
Her people seize, and bring them on in bonds,
For judgment. She herself, with quicken'd pace,
Advanced, to know the worst; and o'er the dead
Casting a rapid glance, she knew her son.
She knew him by his garments, by the work
Of her own hands; for now his face, besmeared
And black with gore, and stiffened in its pangs,
Bore of the life no semblance. — God is good!
She cried, and closed her eyelids, and her lips
Shook, and her countenance changed. But in her heart
She quell'd the natural feeling. — Bear away
These wretches! to her followers she exclaim'd;
And root them from the earth. Then she approach'd
Goervyl, who was pale and trembling now,
Exhausted with past effort; and she took
Gently the maiden's tremulous hand, and said,
God comfort thee, my Sister! At that voice
Of consolation, from her dreamy state,
Goervyl to a sense of all her wod
Awoke, and burst into a gush of tears
God comfort thee, my Sister! cried the Queen,
Even as He strengthens me. I would not raise
Deceitful hope, — but in His Hand, even yet,
The issue hangs, and He is merciful.

Yea, daughter of Aberfraw, take thou hope!
For Madoc lives! — he lives to wield the sword
Of righteous vengeance, and accomplish all.